Augusta, Georgia
6:34 AM Monday, January 19
“The reason birds can fly and we can’t is simply because they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.”
Chinara Okoye ran a hot iron against a pair of black pants. Steam puffed in front of her face, warming her nose. She tugged her worn sweater tighter over her uniform, fingers numb from the lack of heat in the damp basement she called home. Just have faith. No, perfect faith. That’s what would give her the wings to fly away.
Footsteps overhead alerted Chinara to hurry. She quickly hung the pants on a hanger right as the door at the top of the stairs creaked open. Chinara paused long enough to discern the slow, weighted steps belonged to Miss Lee. Mister Lee stomped down the stairs, rushed. Others, if they ever came downstairs, had the hesitated steps of fear like she had on the day she arrived.
“Chinara, why is the window open?”
Miss Lee set down a basket of laundry next to the one Chinara was working her way through and started for the window. To get there, she had to push her round body through the stacks of boxes, overflowing black trash bags, and piles of paper covering the floor. She closed the window, silencing proof that life existed outside of the damp and dirty basement.
“We’re not paying to heat the outside.”
They weren’t paying to heat anything. Chinara’s fingers slipped to the tattered hem of her sweater. It was one size too small and showed the evidence of her haphazard sewing skills—an attempt to keep it from unraveling. At least it cut out some of the chill.
“Sorry, madam. I like to hear the birds.”
“Birds.” Miss Lee snorted with a shake of her head. She pointed to the laundry basket. “I’ve got one more load to bring down. And then you can have breakfast before Mister Lee takes you to work.”
“Ma’am, may I have more books? To read?” Chinara pulled out a white shirt. There was a patch on the chest pocket. Augusta. That word she knew from listening to Miss Lee and her husband speak. She rolled the sounds of the next words on her tongue. Elec . . . tric . . . coop . . . er . . . a . . . tive. She frowned, not understanding. “I think knowing American words will help for school.”
“You work hard.” Miss Lee tapped the ironing board. “Work hard and good, and one day you might get what you want. But books? They will only fill your head with dreams that never come true.”
Hope shattered within Chinara’s chest. Fingers trembling over the iron, she swallowed several times against a rising sob. A single tear fell from her eye, darkening a spot on the next pair of pants. She pressed the iron over it, her sorrow singed with a hiss.
“You keep frowning like that and you’re going to wrinkle your face, and then nobody will want to marry you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Chinara told herself to relax her face, but that only made it harder. She didn’t want to get married. She wanted to go to school. Become a teacher and return to her homeland in Nigeria and teach young girls so they could be strong and independent.
A few weeks after arriving at the Lees’ home, Chinara wanted to begin school, but she was told she must wait. Finally, after more than a month, she grew tired of waiting and packed her small bag. Mister Lee met her at the door, refusing to let her leave, and when Chinara dared ask why, he slapped her so hard it loosened a tooth in her mouth.
“You are not an American.” He spit in her face. “I have your paperwork. One phone call to the police, and they will lock you up and you will never see your family again.”
The memory made Chinara’s stomach twist like she was going to throw up. Miss Lee had taken care of Chinara’s bleeding mouth and brought soup down for her to eat for a week. She did not ask again about leaving until the day two girls with tanned skin and long black hair arrived at the house.
Chinara had tried to talk to them, but both girls remained huddled next to each other in the corner of the room, refusing, or maybe unable, to speak. The next morning both girls were gone. When she asked where they had gone, Miss Lee said they had found work. She asked Miss Lee if she would get to leave for work too.
“You don’t want that kind of work, Chinara. I’m protecting you. You wait, and we’ll find the right home.”
“I do not want a new home. I want to go to school.”
“Maybe the family will allow you to go to school. But for now, you must do good work so a family will want you.”
Her own family did not want her. They had given her to the man in a black car who promised she was lucky. She was going to America where dreams come true.
“Grab your coat, Chinara,” Mister Lee called down. “We’re already running late.”
Chinara looked at Miss Lee, alarm fluttering in her chest like a caged bird.
Miss Lee grabbed the basket of clothes and hurried Chinara up the stairs. “She needs to eat.”
“We’re late.” Mister Lee’s stern tone caused fear to slide down Chinara’s spine. He turned on her. “Get your coat.”
Afraid of Mister Lee’s quick temper, Chinara hurried to the rack by the door and grabbed the smelly coat that had once belonged to him. Miss Lee pushed a paper bag into her hand, and when Chinara peeked inside she found an apple, a peanut butter sandwich, and crackers. She smiled at Miss Lee, grateful for the simple kindness.
“Chinara!”
Hurrying to the car, she climbed into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt, unsure of where or what was happening, only that her nerves were causing her fingers to twitch with nervousness.
“The reason birds can fly and we can’t is simply because they have perfect faith, for to have faith is to have wings.”
The words read to her out of a book by a missionary who dared to enter the filthy streets of El Ashiru were the first English words Chinara learned. Those words fed her need to both learn and discover, and she clung to the imagery of a faith so strong it could carry her away. As she began to understand what drove her mama and papa to flee their war-torn village in Nigeria and go to Egypt, the words felt as though they were spoken from the heavens to reassure her all would be well.
Chinara prayed for perfect faith, barely noticing the surroundings she rode by until Mister Lee pulled the car up in front of the biggest house she had ever seen. It was an estate like the ones royalty owned in her home country.
Mister Lee stopped the car at the end of the long drive and faced her. “You will help clean the home today.” He looked around, and Chinara sensed her nervous energy inside Mister Lee too. He pulled out a photo and showed it to her. “Do you see the badge on the man’s chest?”
She took the photo and studied it. A white man, old with no hair, stood with a white woman with dark, curly hair. On the man’s chest, she saw a badge. “Yes, Mister.”
He took the photo back and shoved it into his pocket. “What do you want more than anything, Chinara?”
Tightness wound in her chest, and she worried how she should answer. Was this a trick? Would he not allow her the freedom to clean this home for fear she would try to run away? She glanced around the neighborhood, winter’s frost shimmering on wide lawns. Where would she run if she could?
“Chinara!”
Mister Lee’s sharp tone jerked her gaze to meet his. “Mister?”
“You want to go to school, right?”
Swallowing, she nodded, fearing if she spoke the words of her dream, Mister Lee would find a way to steal it.
“If you want to go to school, you find that badge today and you bring it home, ya hear?”
Chinara frowned. “Y-you want for me to steal it?”
“Borrow.” Mister Lee’s funny accent scratched against her ears. “Do you know what that means? Borrow?”
She did not but her insides felt like jelly, so she nodded. “I will ask—”
“No!” Mister Lee growled. “You will go inside the home and clean it like you do for our house, ya hear? When you find the badge, you bring it to me tonight, and I will make sure you go to school. You don’t speak to anyone or you’ll be sorry. And bring me the badge. Do you understand?”
Chinara nodded quickly.
“Get out. I’ll be back to pick you up later.”
As she reached for the door handle, Chinara was yanked backward by the collar of her coat, Mister Lee’s bony fingers holding tight. She peered into his dark, angry eyes.
“Don’t mess up.”
Chinara shook her head, unable to form words over the terror balling in her throat. Mister Lee released her, and she scrambled to get out of the car, nearly slipping on a patch of ice. Regaining her balance, she walked carefully but quickly up the drive toward the house that seemed to grow larger the closer she got.
At the door, Chinara peeked over her shoulder to find Mister Lee waiting in the car, watching her. She rang the bell and prayed God would help her find that badge or give her wings like a bird to escape the wrath of Mister Lee.