In the early evening dusk, a small figure emerges from the dense bush. A woman is on her way home after the day’s work. Her face is worn; partly by age, and partly by the years of physical labor borne by the women of West Africa. Perhaps she has been fishing all day; perhaps toiling in a distant garden. The specific work itself is not important. She has been laboring, serving, to provide for her household.
But as a servant her work this day is not yet done, for on her head she’s carrying a ten-foot log found as she followed the trail through the bush. She will now go home, split the wood, and kindle a fire to cook the evening meal. She will not partake of the food she has prepared with her own hands until the master, her husband, is sufficed. She will stand by at the ready to serve him in whatever capacity he may require. She is a servant.