Email from Sandra: Mopping woes
I lift up my eyes to the shops, from whence shall I find a quality mop bucket to buy? Argh! Am I the only person who cannot find a good mop bucket to buy?
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This is the eighth bucket I have bought in three years. Why? Would I have bought so many even if I owned a janitorial company? All I need to do is to try squeezing out water via the in-laid wringer and kplohn, it falls in, damaged.
Then I am left with no other option than to resort to squeezing the mop out with my bare hands when cleaning the floor. Why? Seriously, I loathe that occurrence.
My cousin who is sojourning with me had travelled to the village to visit her children. So I was on my own last weekend. At a snail-paced fashion had I, on Saturday prepared three stews and two soups to last at least a period of two weeks.
I had early on that day managed to clean all 84 pieces of louver blades in our apartment. As well, I had emptied both laundry baskets by washing every item. Our clothes for Sunday’s church service had I also ironed.
A pal had brought me a black polythene bag full of kpakposhito while returning from a trip in the hinterland. I was so grateful for her gift because kpakposhito has become so expensive, it’s not even funny anymore. Last week I bought a margarine cup full for Ghc7.00. I can’t wait for the month of influx.
Not wanting the kpakposhito to rot, I had to break off their pedicles, wash, bag and then store them in the deep freezer. So in fact, on Saturday, I was totally spent. Obodai had been out with Naa Atswei the whole day – at his mum’s.
They didn’t get back till after 10 p.m. And I couldn’t have waited for him to come back to mop my floor in the kitchen. So I went ahead to boil some water, poured it into the mop bucket, and then laced it with some millilitres of my choice detergent.
Next, I dipped the mop in the hot water, and without squeezing it, dampened the entire floor with hot water. I wanted every sticky grime to soften. That done, I rested for about 10 minutes and went back to properly swab the floor clean.
I had started mopping from the kitchen door which leads to the living room. As soon as I washed the mop to squeeze, kplohn, came the sound. As usual, the wringer at the spout had fallen into the hot water with a big swoosh, splashing some of the water onto my toes and a bit towards my right ankle.
My reflexes, made me skip away from the bucket. In the process, the mop’s handle fell. Before I knew, the bucket had been knocked over, resulting in a big flood in my kitchen.
I almost slipped trying to salvage the fast spreading water whose feet were speedily heading for my living room. A sharp pain hastily fired around my pelvic area. I could feel the baby move gidigidi. I got a bit scared.
At that moment, I realised how vital my safety was - I let go of the ensuing drama and took a seat at the balcony of my kitchen, angry; thinking of how to salvage the woollen carpet on the living room’s floor from the domestic flood.
My phone was at the time in my pocket. The first person I called to the rescue obviously was Obodai. “Nii Kaafoedan Obodai, where are you at this time of the night with my daughter. You knew I would need help around here … I almost fell … where are you?” I asked angrily, gathering my lips.
That statement was one I regretted asking. My later assessment of the tone indicated that I had been very harsh! “No submissive wife should talk to her husband that way”, my conscience cautioned.
The mop had enraged me, and I had extended my wrath to an innocent man. He said nothing in response. After about 30 seconds, he cut the line. That very moment, I knew a cold war had commenced in my home.
Apparently, he and Naa Atswei were about 10 minutes from home. As soon as he entered, he put the sleeping toddler in the sofa, waded through the water on the kitchen floor like a moonraker, made some warm water in the kettle, bathed Naa, got her dressed up, and put her back to sleep.
I dreaded the ensuing moments because that was a sure way of marring my Fathers’ Day plans which I had elaborately put in place for a good celebration the next day.
Without saying anything to me, he mopped the floor, kitchen and living room combined, took a good bath and went to bed. The painful aspect of the whole thing was that he went to bed facing the wall.
That way, he wouldn’t even sight me – a very deliberate attempt to disregard me. How was I going to give him his Fathers’ Day card? And his present? And the lunch I had already made a reservation for in a Chinese restaurant … I was so hurt at what the mop wringer had done me. I went to bed in tears.
I wept some more when I read a text on his phone later that night – it was from his mother, asking whether he finally got someone to fix the car; whether Naa was safe; whether he was beaten by the rain; whether Paa Tee, his cousin who brought in the mechanic took money from him for running that errand.
Oh! I regretted being harsh to him on the phone. I could have asked him first if everything was okay with them before charging on him the way I did. I should have been more gentle with my tone; I wept and wept. Then I slept.
Oh I’m being told my space is finished. Perhaps, I may continue next week. Have a great weekend.
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