Working Class

As I lay and tossed on my bed I remembered the events that had just happened from last Monday till today, I mean I couldn't even end my August in peace and enter September full of joy.

I thought of how much money, time and energy I had wasted, and thought about how Nigeria cannot ever be great if we continue to have these kinds of people at top seats.

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August 22-September 1

I was so excited when I saw the job advert. I quickly sent everything to Ifeoluwa and of course as usual, he encouraged me to try it out. Fully motivated, I sent in my cover letter and CV and waited patiently for a favourable response. The recruitment company replied in no time and my days of toiling began. I was so nervous as I arranged my not so perfect credentials and the words my mother kept saying rang in my ear:

"who would employ you? You don't even have an NYSC certificate!"

I didn't let the drag get to me so, as i usually do for all the umpteenth number of interviews I had been to, I choosed to chin up and not be held back by any negativity; after all Ifeoluwa was on my side, what could possibly go wrong?

The Aptitude test was scheduled for the 24th at 10am and I had slept and woke up to congratulatory and encouraging text messages from Ifeoluwa so I actually felt loved. I hurriedly had my bath, and opted for a jean skirt with a black long sleeved turtle neck top after i regrettably found out my red "interview" gown was no longer my size.

"My hips Sha o!" I complained as I dropped the heavy gown on the bed and stared at my wardrobe once more. I call the gown "interview" gown because I wore it only to interviews. It was a straight sewed red and plain gown with a very big bow at the collar bone. Because of the material of the gown, it very easily slapped to my body each time I wore it and the way I would sway my hips from side to side inside that gown gave me this heavy aura of confidence and boss lady feeling, a boss lady that can kill all your questions at a blow.

"Yes dear, I just stepped out of the gate now, I will call you as soon as I enter bus"

I assured Ifeoluwa as I hurriedly locked our gate and started my long walk to the main road. I cursed under my breath occasionally as I stumbled and wobbled my way through our zig zag street filled with portholes. It was 9am already and we were to be seated in the hall by 9:30.

"Why did Opay go?" I asked myself in disgust.

"Hello, ...yes...I don't even know...shebi he went to put fuel ...I don't even know... we're almost there...I don't even know...I'm late already...yes...I'm calm o...I'm calm...I don't even know...why did I enter this kind of bus...I'm calm... okay give us five minutes... okay I love you bye"

I was getting more and more angry and the only person I could vent to was Ifeoluwa. So I complained and complained when he called asking where I was. I didn't even wait for the bus to stop, I jumped down but being careful not to sprain my ankle as I had changed from my flat slippers to sandals. Yes, I really needed to look super confident and no lady looks less confident on heels. However, I still had a good distance to cover and in plaza, you can never walk straight you just have so many people and cars passing at the same time so for someone like me, who wasn't that good on heels, just a few maneuvering and bumping into different people, my ankles were already shouting abort mission! abort mission!

"Why are you wearing heels to an interview"

A soft yet caring voice said behind me.

Was it my head? I quickly turned and look and behold. It was my boyfriend, Ifeoluwa. Short, neat and as crisp as he could be. He wore a white semi rumpled shirt-for he loathed doing the laundry-, black trousers, red, yellow and brown vintage tie, brown belt and brown loafers. I screamed and hugged him so tight and in plaza, that kind of a show is sure to attract attention. But I didn't care I hugged him deeply, pushing him under my armpit, and i could feel him struggling to breathe. When I finally released him, I started complaining all over again, barely giving him chance to reply. When I finally did, I asked what he came for and he said

"My queen is having an important day today so I came to support her"

So was that why he dressed that formal? More than I that had the interview? Don't worry, you can't answer that. My boyfriend? A real drama king.

I blushed purple and blessed him in a thousand languages as I could and hand in hand, we walked over to the building. It was about 9:28am-that means I had used 28 minutes for a 13 minutes journey. Thank you o Mr bus man- he encouraged me, gave me biscuits and water, and two perfectly hand written notes with lots of "I love you". After i got settled, he left. I'm blessed, I know.

One note was "for when you need motivation" and the other note was "for when you're anxious i opened each note carefully, smiling all the way and trust me, when I was nervous and needed motivation, I knew right where to go!

After much delays, the aptitude test which was to last for 30mins began. I stared in shock at the 30 questions filled with deep and heavy grammer.

"Na presenter I just apply for o not English and Linguistics teacher" I repeatedly cursed beneath my breath. But by God's grace I wrote what I could and couldn't Wait a second for the papers to be collected and when they were, I rushed to go complain and lash out my frustrations on Ife.

Nervousness and anxiety about how the aptitude test had been had eaten me up and I kept doubting myself if I would make it-trust me when I say I doubt myself, it's always severe-and I sure filled his ears with those complaints and self esteem feelings. Immediately I got back to the house, I slept off so I woke at about 12am and rushed to check my mailbox. There it was! A confirmation email, informing me, I had scaled through the aptitude test and had been selected for the oral interview, the next day-or that day because it was 12am already-i bolted up screaming and picked up my phone.

"I've passed! I've passed!"

Of course he filled my ears with "congratulations" and "I'm proud of you" and "I love you" and then once again, I had to struggle to look for what to wear. No "interview" dress, no official dress! I couldn't even sleep that night, I kept tossing and tossing.

Early the next day, I woke and decided nothing would spoil my day. I ate Palm oil soup, and donned a black and silver flowered pattern skirt, under a black jacket and i wore a grey camisole to match the skirt. With my heels safely in my bag, and my determination not to put them on till I got to the building, I set off for the interview which was scheduled for 9:30am, no sooner had I sat, than my stomach start dancing. I desperately wanted to do an urgent wattery number 2 but I couldn't because I hate using public toilets so instead, I avoided standing up, farting or engaging in any stranious activity and just kept withering on the chair.

"Who send me and soup oooo" I kept lamenting.

Truth is, in excitement, and anxiety, I had forgotten that my stomach wasn't friends with the southern Nigerian native Palm oil soup. No matter how it's cooked or who cooks it, I will still Purge. As if that wasn't enough, Nigeria helped me too and i got interviewed by 4:33pm! You guessed right. I was mad! I was angry! I was furious! I was...you can name it and insert there! My intestines were about to blow up and the precious parasites in my stomach were tired of mooching on the abyss of motivational speakers telling them patience is the virtue. I was hungry, pressed, tired, sicky, nervous, I mean I wasn't just okay one bit however, the interview went smoothly, and I was told I wasn't going to be hired because I hadn't gone for NYSC therefore I was reduced to intern only and once again, I hurried to Ife's place to complain, curse the company, and destroy his toilet with hot shit. As that's the only place I am totally free to be me 500% . I stayed for days, without hearing from the recruitment company, that I had given up hope on ever even knowing the "new top notch tv station in town" that I had applied for.

On the 30th, I got an SMS stating that I had been chosen to meet with the media company for an orientation, the next day being the 31st. Smiling and feeling proud of myself, I forwarded the message to Ife and got heartwarming felicitations.

The 31st of August came quickly and in no time, I dressed up and was on my way to the recruitment center, earlier than the 1:30pm that was scheduled. After all, I wanted to make a good first impression for the media company that was hiring their best intern ever! I and Ife had even planned to negotiate my salary or stipend into the price range of N45,0000-N60,000 I mean, I didn't want to charge much. I'm that lenient. Soon others came and we continued to sit and wait. Topics were thrown out for discussions to ease the tension that was fast rising in the room due to the rapid growth of impatience amongst us. By 4:15pm we were marched like a herd towards the media company. I entered the hall that was nearly empty save some seats here and there, cracked walls with cobwebs for curtains.

"Well, maybe this is not their real face" I consoled myself. I ran into my course mates, who were working there, and I was briefed that interns don't get paid save they bring jobs that would get them rewarded with 10% of the money. And finding jobs, my dears, were like finding a pin in a haystack. My shoulders sank and I went back to my seat then i decided to do a background sweep of the media firm online. What I saw made me even sadder and I decided to reduce my salary into N15,000-N25,000 I mean there was no way these people could pay me, even if I was charging N10,000 a month. By 5:45pm, after waiting that long, we were told the Boss had travelled and would not make it. I mean!

"Why didn't they tell us since morning?" People here and there started grumbling as we scrambled to go to our various houses. We were tired, stressed, hungry and angry. We were no weather expert, as such the windows of heaven opened and we were flooded with rain. I couldn't get a Keke to my house, so I opted for Ife's house. I was cranky, sad, hungry, depressed, disappointed, angry ....once again, name it, and not to forget, completely drenched in rain that my human hair till date, got spoilt. I, at a point stopped running and looking for shelter and instead walked slouching under the rain. I felt so empty and like a huge failure. I mean I have been to several interviews but this one? No this was the last straw that was going to break my back I swore to myself. I cried and was happy the rain was washing away my tears, my only problem was my contact lenses that were fast becoming gummy. Ife stood in front of his gate with umbrella to carry me back to the house but what was the need? I was already drenched so I walked past him taking my time to put my leg in every stagnant pool of water. From the corners if my eyes, i could spy him struggle to shield me with the umbrella and repeatedly say "sorry sorry" but I was having none of it. I just wanted to fail deeply, wholeheartedly one last time. I hate failing, I hate things not going the way I had planned. What was wrong with me? Why was I a twin to failure and losing.

We got into the house and I started peeling my clothes off my body, crying as I did as one would carefully peel an onion and suffer the consequences. He helped me dry the clothes and my shoe and my wig, and brought his dry clothes and socks and slipped them on me effortlessly while I sat there numb. Then he went to fix me dinner.

I screamed and walked out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind me. Actually, I had gone to talk to Ife and he ended up allowing me vent so much I exploded. I kept talking about how Nigeria was so messed up in all spheres, and how something must have been wrong with me. I even remembered vividly how I had missed an interview through email once and my conscience kept stinging me everytime I saw my course mates post pictures of themselves at that same work place. I curse you phone issues! I just was fed up with how everything was happening to me, so fast and quick and terrible that it made my stomach churn mixing all those horrible feelings together. My dinner was set, I ate rather sadly and received some scolding from Ife on how I was a queen and had to hold myself so.

The next day, I was so reluctant to wake up and kept asking myself must I go back? Coupled with the fact my clothes of the previous day were still damp, there was no way I was going to go for the interview, or whatever it was. Ife loaned me his shirt and shoes and I packed my damp belongings into his school bag. With his heavy bag on my back, my unkept hair that refused to listen to the commands of my comb, oversized shirt and oversized shoes, I set out on my journey that morning, walking on unsteady but firm strides that made it seem as if I was walking in water. The more I walked, the more tired I became but I pushed on.

I got to the venue at exactly 8:30am, and saw my then colleagues-if I would say so myself-, who had come earlier. We all sat in the cobwebed hall and wrote our names in several attendance sheets. Soon, the interview started, as the company, conducted a fresh one, both written and oral. I was already exhausted but I choosed to wait.

Soon, it was 3:30pm and I wasn't called in yet. Ife had called for the upteenth time as usual, and was already tired of hearing my sunken

"I'm still here o"

As at this time, some people had gone without being interviewed because they were simply fed up. Others formed clusters and played games or engaged in conversations that seemed to make them feel better about their current situations and the foodies went out from time to time to eat but I was all alone. I even engaged In one or two conversations with people and sat back on my own. Slowly and steadily, I was running mad and I could tell and with no water nor food, so I won't have to visit the rest room, I just kept getting depressed and more depressed.

By 4pm, I told myself I had had enough. I was going to go back to my mother's house no matter what, if I had been called in or not and as God would love it, Ife told me to do same. One by one others were called in but I wasn't. Finally I was called in, and I sat in front of the boss feeling this huge anger rush towards me as she looked all shades of beautiful and comported. I imagined her seating and feeling beautiful while I sat before her looking sick and malnourished. She had nothing to say to me, seeing I was no corper nor ex corper. So, all she said was

"Apply for internship. Don't be proud. I'm the only boss here and maybe you can pay me to teach you, you can go"

Deep down I had envisioned giving her a total smackdown and I'm seriously not limiting myself to WWE. I was really mad at the woman. Was that what they couldn't mail to me? Just that 5seconds conversation?

I staggered out very unhappy. I couldn't even get angry anymore. Do I hate my country? you answer that. The funny thing is my mother kept telling me to apply to them, her plea of which i vehemently denied each time it came up. I just know, I promised myself I would also be boss someday soon, but I won't let someone's child go through all those pains. I know better so I'll do better, so help me God.

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