They say the grass isn’t greener on the other side, but I was convinced otherwise. In the Great House, Ngozi and I served diligently. My role was to maintain cleanliness throughout the expansive dwelling, while Ngozi was responsible for all the cooking.
Each day, I meticulously swept and cleaned every nook and cranny, ensuring no speck of dust remained hidden. I also washed everything that needed cleaning—from dishes and curtains to clothes and linens.
The daily grind of my duties felt unrelenting, and I couldn’t help but compare my situation to Ngozi’s. In my mind, her job seemed effortless. “All she has to do is cook and serve meals,” I thought. “How difficult could that be?”
Ngozi’s role occupied my thoughts increasingly. I imagined her days filled with nothing more than ensuring the Great House’s inhabitants—the master and his wife, their eight children, the servants, and the gateman—were fed three times a day, with occasional snacks in between.
Gradually, envy crept into my heart. As I struggled with my cleaning duties, Ngozi’s job appeared easier by comparison. My resentment grew, manifesting in daily complaints that soon gave way to bitterness. I began to berate Ngozi over trivial matters, secretly wishing I could trade places with her. “If only I could cook instead of clean,” I mused, “my life would be so much simpler.”
To my surprise and delight, my wish came true when our Master instructed Ngozi and me to switch roles. Eager to prove my superiority, I couldn’t wait to show everyone how much better I could handle the cooking duties. After all, how hard could it be?
On my first day in my new role, I awoke early and strode confidently into the kitchen, a smile playing on my lips. However, reality quickly set in as I stood there, suddenly at a loss for what to prepare for breakfast. It took several minutes to decide on a menu, and even longer to calculate the portions needed for the entire household.
Three hours later, I finally finished preparing tea, banana bread, and egg omelettes. By then, the household was awake and irritated by the delay. I apologized profusely, only to realize I had miscalculated the portions—there wasn’t enough food for everyone. Grumbling and hissing were my only thanks that morning.
Determined to do better, I immediately began preparing lunch: boiled rice, grilled fish, and curry sauce. After a trip to the market for ingredients, I threw myself into cooking. Despite my efforts, lunch wasn’t ready until 4:30 PM, and our Madam complained about the excessive use of curry. Once again, my work went unappreciated.
Dinner was cucumber stew and mashed potatoes with barbecue fish which proved equally challenging. I overcompensated and prepared far too much food, leaving a mountain of leftovers. Madam admonished me, explaining that they only ate fresh food in the house and warned me never to make that mistake again.
By the time I retired to bed, exhaustion had set in. The long hours standing over the stove, the trek to the market, haggling with vendors, enduring complaints, and the mental strain of meal planning had taken their toll. The realization that I’d have to repeat this process daily was daunting.
After just one week, I longed for my former role. I finally understood that Ngozi’s job was far from easy. The mental gymnastics required to plan meals, cook them well, portion correctly, and keep the house stocked with food was more demanding than I had ever imagined.
In contrast, my previous cleaning duties now seemed manageable. I could use the washing machine for laundry, and occasionally skip a day of mopping the floors without major consequences. Cooking, however, was something else—there was no option to skip a day, and it consumed nearly all my waking hours.
This role reversal taught me a valuable lesson: Ngozi and I each had our place in the Great House. We both contributed to its smooth operation in our unique ways. It was foolish to think one role was more important or demanding than the other.
When our Master restored us to our original positions, I embraced my cleaning duties with newfound appreciation. I realized I excelled at maintaining the house’s cleanliness—the role I had been assigned for good reason. Ngozi, in turn, was far more skilled in the kitchen than I could ever hope to be.
In the end, I learned that every role in the Great House was essential, and comparing our duties was futile. Together, Ngozi and I worked towards the common good of all who dwelled within its walls, each playing our part to perfection.
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