The Secret Life of Olamidé Toure

“Swimmers for the 50 metres freestyle, please come forward.” Olamidé reluctantly took a step towards the diving block. She looked down at the water - right now it looked like an azure sheet of glass, but it would soon turn into a churning white mass, as the swimmers bolt their way to the other side of the swimming pool. Her nerves started to tingle inside her, like being tickled with a feather, as she stepped up onto the block. “Take your marks… set…go!” The klaxon sounded with a deafening “honk!”, immediately followed with a “splash” of the competitors, shattering the glass and shooting themselves downwards. Underwater, Olamidé focused on streamlining her body position, in order to maximise her speed. When she broke the surface of the water, she instantly rose her arms above her head and started swimming as if there was a horrifying monster chasing her. She had made it to the other side. Tumble turn. Streamline body position. Everything her coach had told her, she had surprisingly recalled. Olamidé was so near to the end, only three more strokes… two… one. “Beep!”…

“Why are you washing your face with the washing up water Olamidé? That water is dirty, you foolish child!” Olamidé’s mother was standing in front of her. Her usually calm and pleasant demeanour had completely changed. Her face was contorted into an image of perfect rage. Her eyes seemed to spark with fury, as they fixed on her daughter while she waited for an answer. “I’m sorry Mother, I -“ “Go to the Bafing to fetch some more!” Olamidé sighed a heavy sigh - she knew that no quarrelling with Mother was possible. Unwillingly, she grabbed the bucket. The six kilometre walk ahead of her was not going to be the highlight of her day. “Plod, plod, plod” as she dragged herself across the barren land of Mali. The heat of this day could fry an egg within seconds. After what seemed like thirty hours of walking, Olamidé took a rest and gently shut her eyes…

A gorgeous golden gown slipped over Olamidé’s head and fitted her torso perfectly. The dress was her symbol of elegance. The dazzling fabric glistened in the sunlight and complimented her skin tone. Her posture was perfect: her shoulders were pulled back, and hands were together in front of her. Cayla, a friend, burst through the door, “Your partner is waiting for yo-…oh my. You look perfect, my friend”. “Thank you”, said Olamidé, as she spun on the spot to show off her magnificent attire. As she walked sophisticatedly into the hall, she saw her partner Salomao, slow dancing with another girl in the neighbourhood. Millions of thoughts raced through Olamidé’s mind. She had competition. She had competition, and she was determined to win. As the next song began, Olamidé began to sway with her partner. Occasionally, she would look into his eyes, to flaunt her delightful makeup. “You look the most beautiful out of all of the girls here tonight, Olamidé”, said Salomao. Finally, that ball of warm fire rushed inside her stomach…

“Ow!” Olamidé looked up to find herself shadowed by Kamaria, her close friend who lived in the same neighbourhood. “Why did you pinch me?!” “I was calling your name and you did not respond” The extremely high temperatures were draining Olamidé’s energy; she even found it challenging to reply to her friend. Kamaria reached out a hand for Olamidé to haul herself up with. She smiled a sweet smile and together, they continued their never ending journey. They swung their arms simultaneously, they giggled with each other, and they reminisced about their past in Mali. They were so engrossed in each other’s company, they had not realised they had arrived at the River Bafing. “Glug, glug, glug” as Olamidé filled her bucket with the River’s stained water. “Are you done Kamaria?” “Almost!”. She waited patiently on the banks of the river…

The frequent flashes of cameras hit Olamidé, as she fidgeted in the seats provided for her. The anxiety curled in her stomach. Her palms had moistened. Her pulse skyrocketed. She had awaited this day for what seemed like a century. When all was said and done, it was time for the immense announcement: “The results are in.” Olamidé inhaled and exhaled three times. “… The president of our country, Mali, is… Olamidé Toure!” The flashes appeared once again, all wanting to capture the new president’s reaction, which was a combination of laughing in disbelief, crying tears of relief and breathing heavily in between. She was gently pushed onto the ornate podium, and all eyes were on her, expectant of her speech: “…Wow.” A few spectators chuckled. “I don’t want to make this too long, because I will cry again, but I want to say thank you. Thank you to everybody, who made this possible for me”. Olamidé smiled an endearing smile, and on the verge of tears again, she stepped away from the paparazzi and the crowd of interviewers…

“What are you thinking about Olamidé?” questioned Kamaria. “Huh?” “Your thoughts… what are they? You looked like you were concentrating very hard on something.” “Oh, nothing. Are you ready to go?” Kamaria nodded, and they both began to walk while carrying substantial buckets, full to the brim with water. The return to the village was soundless, apart from the occasional “splash” of water from the bucket and smacking the ground. From time to time, the two girls would look at each other and give warm, weak smiles. At last, their village was in sight - and how thrilled they were to see it! Olamidé expected a compassionate welcome from her mother, but instead: “Now you have the water, get back to washing.” She bid farewell to Kamaria, and cautiously placed the bucket on the floor, so not to spill anymore. The large bowl of clothes and woven seat, were left just as before. Olamidé exhaled deeply, as she lowered herself into the splintering chair and continued to wash her family’s clothes.