Warning: This story contains extreme humiliation and dehumanization of a male subject, capable of offending your mind. Check the tags before you proceed.
Read, only if you are comfortable with this theme. Thanks.
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The bike went past a hawker selling bread and stopped in front of a row of shops. It's another Monday morning in Ghana and the city has fast come alive. Ajoba got off the bike and paid her fare. The shop owners on her left and right greeted her and she greeted back as she opened the door of her shop. While engaged in light conversations with them on random market women talks, one after the other, she brought her wares out of the store and displayed them on the racks and tables right in front of her store. Silverwares, kitchen utensils, household items, from cheap to expensive items, an array of things you'll find most Ghanian women shopping for.
Before the hour ran out, she got done with displaying her wares, from the cheapest, around $5 worth of goods, to the expensive ones, as high as $250 worth.
But all of these worths as much as one cherished possession of Ajoba, one that is also housed in that shop, but never gets displayed for anyone to see or purchase.
Before she left home, very early in the morning, she had cooked her breakfast and dished it in a portable cooler. Now it's time to eat, but she wants to pee first, and for that, she uses her most priced possession, not the public toilet that serves the row of shops.
Behind the wooden partition at the back of her shop, is a box built into the ground, housing her most cherished possessionβa white slave whose name she does not even care to remember. The only thing she knows about him is that he's her human toilet.