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CHAPTER ONE
| L |
In which I started my
agos, the destination of a thousand souls, the target of a million dreams, the goal of a zillion heartbeats.
I got my baptism into the city in the most appropriate way; almost being ran over by a danfo. Getting down at Oshodi and feeling cool with myself, all dressed up in my corper uniform, enjoying the cacophonous din exuding itself around me and suddenly out of the blue: BAM! A sudden push from my side shocking me back from my reverie. To say I was astonished would be an understatement as lo and behold; a yellow bus with black stripe was pushing at me and I had to stagger in the opposite direction. While still trying to gain a sense of stability, shouts erupted from two gentlemen ruffians, who I later found were the bus driver and conductor asking that I dematerialise from the curb or they would help me do it with the aid of their bus. I promptly complied and got my first lesson of living in
I came to
The decision to be a writer was not an easy one to make. I had to painstakingly examine all the career prospects open to me after being given a course I did not want at the university. Some I found exciting but not profitable, most profitable but boring while others both boring and not profitable. Then a friend, in my second year at the university, introduced me to Wole Soyinka’s works and then everything changed. Haven been a fan of his first cousin, the great Fela Anikulapo-Kuti and grown up listening to the deluge of admiration in the press for him, I expected an enjoyable read of Ake, his first autobiography. What I got out of it was something akin to a religious experience; a whole rebirth on the way I saw things going on around me. Being a born, bred and buttered Egba son, I was completely enthralled by the evocation of vivid images and strong emotions and like a heroin addict, I got stuck. When I learnt that he is a Nobel Laureate, I immediately picked up a pen and wrote my first short story, a childish wig wash in retrospect, and felt I was on my way to become the next Nobel Laureate in literature to emerge from
When I got posted to
After I recovered from the shock of the danfo saga, I jumped into another one heading for Ojuelegba, en route the NYSC secretariat with the thought for my first book; “Rules of Surviving Lagos- A Newbie Guide”. I immediately brought out my pen and jotter, and started planning the theme and layout of the book. But fate had the second lesson ready for me.
Rain had started pouring down torrentially a minute after my danfo took off from Oshodi to Ojuelegba, much so that alighting would be a problem. The danfo driver proposed to drop everyone under the bridge, in order to shield us from the rain; a proposal everyone assented to. I didn’t have much choice; I don’t even know the colour of Ojuelegba.
A few minutes after we got to Ojuelegba, the rain subsided and I stepped out from under the bridge to proceed on my journey to the NYSC secretariat. Suddenly, a splash of water from the bridge overheard drenched my right side of the body. Apparently, cars above were speeding to their various destinations, unperturbed by the plight of pedestrians. As I was still languishing in shock I heard the prospect of another dose of dirty water coming my way so I sauntered away only to run when I saw the avalanche was closer than I thought. I escaped the dirty rain water but got my left foot stuck in a gutter of murky water. I immediately made a mental note of lesson two; “A car, in
After extricating myself from the gutter and cleaning myself as much as possible from a public tap nearby, I took an okada to the secretariat to register myself as an official slave of the nation for a whole year. There I met other corpers in front of the locked gate, the gatemen refusing them entrance unless they settle. As a street-life neophyte, this was my first encounter with bribe demand by a government worker; I wondered what treasure the gatemen could be guarding to elicit their demanding of some sweet-belle. I must have wondered aloud because the guy standing beside me answered.
“Don’t you know that only the children of the high and mighty get posted to
I turned to observe the guy talking. He looked rather distinguished in his corper uniform and I could have sworn that his father is a General in the army because of his carriage, mien and swagger. The only thing that stopped me from swearing was his pronunciation and intonation. It was terrible. It was not tush. I was curious so I introduced myself in order to spark conversation.
“Hi, my name is Johnson. Femmy Johnson”
“Name’s Seun Ajewole”
“So where in
He smiled and seemed pleased with my question. “So you think I’m from
I was pleased to know I was not the only
“Hmm”
We stood there and watched the spectacle of corpers bribing before entering the secretariat. The modus operandi was to pay to one of them stationed far off under a tree, who will give you a ‘get-in’ ticket that admits one, is non-transferable and valid for a day. After purchasing the ticket, which is nothing more than a sheet with a line for your name, date and the signature of the issuing gateman, you approach the gate and present the ticket to the gorilla-of-a-man guarding the small gate, who then gives you thoroughfare. I guess it brought accountability to their commonwealth of crooks.
“How do you intend to get in?” I asked Seun.
“Well, I’m not paying a dime to these thieves”, he said “I would go through the compound of the National Population Commission next door. Scale the dividing fence, you know. I’m just not in a hurry to get inside.”
“Okay.” I said. “I’ll accompany you when the time comes” pleased with the prospect of my first show of rebellion in
So we stood there gisting and swapping war stories from our university days. We were having a ball, trying to out-shock each other with weird, bizarre and downright comical stories of our lecturers, friends and course mates when the heaven opened and SHE came down. Okay I exaggerate; she came down from the back of her dad’s Jeep.
Wait. What does a man see when he looks for the first time on the woman whom afterwards he comes to love? Not reality, surely; not the woman who is there; but a distortion, a heightening, an image to some degree false, created by the shock of recognition at perceiving his desire, his need, fleshed out into a form, a face, he has known always in his heart of hearts without knowing how or why or even that he knew. Therefore, description is useless. My partner-in-crime, Seun swore later that Bukola Owoyemi resembled nothing so much as a yellow mouse. Even discounting male chauvinism (she actually rebuffed him when he tried to chat her up that first time) he wasn’t entirely wrong. But I saw a mist of sunlight on spring snow, a mouth the palest pink of roses, eyes the colour of the fire in a diamond. You see? A man describing the woman he loves makes bad poetry, falsifies always, Is ridiculous. Say Bukola is a petite light-skinned girl who was moderately pretty. Will you accept that? It’s a lie! She is the most beautiful thing who ever drew the breath of mortal life! Don’t expect the truth of me. To me truth is that she was Aphrodite new-risen from the foam, the quality of tenderness, all the loveliness there ever was. Eros personified. A cross between Vanessa Williams, Agbani Darego, Jennifer Lopez....Ha! Enough!
As she came towards us, I could see every single atom of her body, even the deep pulsating vein beating in the base of her alabaster throat. Her skin was that fine, that transparent. I stared at her so hard, so rudely, that a tide of colour rose in her face. I knew that if I could make my heart survive the next few minutes, I would never suscept to a heart attack in my life.
Seun, Casanova incarnate, jumped to the front and said “Hello beautiful, how may I be of help to you?” flashing his Don Juan smile. Now she could have fallen for the line (she told me this later) but for the heavily Yoruba-accented English that it was delivered in. She gave him a sweeping look-over, as if she was in the presence of a just-released Kirikiri Maximum Prison inmate, let out a short sigh and turned to me “Excuse me, why are we paying money to enter?” she asked.
How I managed to keep myself from drooling or talking absolute gibberish at that moment I do not know. I suffered a kind of death somewhat; an out-of-body experience. I heard myself explaining calmly the whole kola-giving scenario to her. I saw myself talking with the ease and debonair ways of a James Bond. What, with my Americo-british accent gained from years of watching
Then it was my turn to be impressed. She wooped out a Canon EOS 150D camera, black and top-of-the-range from the look of it and started taking pictures of the whole scene from afar. The way she worked and caressed the camera, you get the feeling that she loves the camera as a Rastafarian loves his marijuana. After taking some shots, she showed us the pictures on the image viewer of the camera. The pictures showed glaringly the whole modus operandi of the gatemen’s extortion ring.
“Will you guys act as my bodyguards?” she asked suddenly while I and Seun were still arguing about what should be done with the pictures.
“What for?” snapped Seun who was still smarting from his silent but effective rejection by Bukky and clamouring vociferously that pictures be sent to media organisations with an accompanying letter of protest signed by as many corps members as possible.
”What problem are you intending to get in?” asked the pacifist me, as I really could not fathom a situation of engaging in a brawl and confrontation, so was arguing that the pictures should be deleted at best or at worst shown to the state coordinator of the Youth Service Corps.
“Well, when you little boys stop chest-beating about having the best idea, you will recognise that there is actually a middle ground; a third option which is immediately beneficial to us and requires little confrontation” she quipped. When she saw that we were looking at her as if she was speaking heresy, she ordered. “Follow me and I will show you instead of standing around playing lawyers”
She turned and strutted away while I and Seun stood transfixed by the way her buttocks were gyrating under her Khaki uniform like twin chicks trying to hatch. I was the first to recover from our lust-induced trance and I shot Seun a baleful look, murmuring under my breath
“Back off. This babe is mine.”
“I know”. Seun replied “But I can commit lookery”
We rushed to join her by the time she was reaching the gate.
”Look as mean as possible and seem bored while I’m talking. Do not interrupt me nor leap into the argument and make a show of being disappointed if it does not degenerate to fisticuffs” she whispered to us as she made to enter the compound as if the gateman was not there. I was about to ask her to clarify the fisticuffs part of her statement when the gorilla look-alike gateman jumped in front of her and shouted in the manner of a regimental sergeant-major.
“Stop. Where do you think you are going?”
“In” replied Bukky with enough condescension in her voice to sink a ship “and you are blocking my way. If you don’t mind, I have important matters to take care of inside” she added, finishing with a look of pure disdain and disgust which I swear on my great-grandfather’s dead body makes her look like Sharon stone and Demi Moore rolled into one. It took supreme effort not to lose my look of uninterested macho calmness and start drooling like a lovesick puppy which was exactly the way I was feeling. Oh! Enough!
“Well, where is your gate pass? Or do you think I’m playing here? Don’t you see other corpers using their pass to get in? Why don’t you ask them how it is done here before you want to go in? Go and ask them now” Gorilla the Gateman spoke to Bukky in the manner of an elder rebuking a recalcitrant child. Apparently, Bukky’s beauty brought on his feint attitude as he immediately got his sergeant-major’s voice back immediately he took cognisance of our presence “The two of you should vamoose to where you are coming from.”
“They are with me. And I have something to show you” retorted Bukky as she dug into her bag and brought out her camera. She showed the Gorilla Gateman the picture she had taken. She let the pictures speak for themselves as she refrained from uttering a word as the Gorilla Gateman started sweating and shivering at the same time. He made to grab the camera but was cleverly sidestepped by Bukky who in the same fluid motion pushed the camera into my hand. Gorilla Gateman quickly followed the direction of the camera, moving towards me threateningly like a wrecking ball with intent clearly written all over his face i.e. to get the camera, at the cost of my head if need be.
I stood there rooted as if I was an obeche tree planted two centuries ago, praying silently to my legs to wake up from their slumber. Alas! My legs went on holiday right there and then. I quietly resigned myself to the fate of being crushed by Gorilla Gateman.
Suddenly, from my right came a tackle that belongs in the rugby’s hall-of-fame for the best tackle. Seun, with his lean muscular body, well-toned from years of hard farm work in Offa knocked down Gorilla Gateman and saved me some broken bones. Relief swept through my body like a gale and it seemed to have called back my legs from their sabbaticals. I moved to where Seun was extricating himself from Gorilla Gateman, who was still blinking, wondering what hit him.
“Thank you.” I muttered to Seun “I owe you one.”
Bukky stooped down beside the gateman and was about to speak when the second gateman who looked like an overgrown watermelon got to the gate and blustered.
“What is going on here? You have the boldness to attack an officer of the ….”
“What?” thundered Bukky rising to her full length with the grace of a gazelle “We just showed your friend here some pictures of your little venture and he attacked us. We just want to get inside and register but both of you want us to subsidize your family’s expenses and bad habits. Now listen, we will not show your Ogas the pictures on one condition.” She paused for effect, looking at the pitiable sight of Melon Gateman helping Gorilla Gateman up.” We just want to enter the secretariat as many times as we please, with as many of our friends as we please without paying a kobo. If you have any problem with the conditions, say it now so I can instruct my sister to send the pictures to the National Secretariat immediately.”
“No problem Aunty. We agree with everything you said. You can come and go as want. But please, let the condition be for you three. You see, we’ve not been paid our salary for three months now and what we get here is the only thing we survive on.” said Melon Gateman with the Gorilla Gateman nodding furiously, whether in agreement to Melon Gateman’s statement or trying to clear his head of concussion, I could not tell.
“Okay. But no more harassment.” said Bukky who turned and entered the gate. I and Seun followed, with Gorrila Gateman looking at Seun as a cow look at a butcher. I heard Melon Gateman shouting at the corps members who just finished witnessing the scene.
“What are you looking at? You better clear out and come back in ten minutes. We are going for a break.”
He then closed the gate and followed Gorilla Gateman into their shed by the gate. We walked stoutly towards the office of the state coordinator with our shoulders held high as if we just won World War III.
When we were out of their earshot, I hissed at Bukky “Why didn’t you tell me your plan included getting me broken into pieces? Why did you incite him and then pass the camera to me to suffer the consequences of your action? Why…”
“O come on! You know if I told you what I wanted to do you wouldn’t have accepted. And look at what I got us; free passage all the time.” She replied “Besides, no one in
“Okay. But please tell me your plan the next time so I can prepare myself to be ripped apart” I retorted, at the same time bringing out my mental notebook and penned her last sentence as lesson three.
“Awww. I’m sorry I endangered both of you. Let me make it up to you guys. Let me buy you drinks to calm your nerves and reduce your adrenaline before we go and register, because if we go there now, I’m afraid you guys will get into a fight” said Bukky as she made her way to a shed where an old woman was selling refreshments. I and Seun followed her like obedient servants, the thought of refusing never crossing our randy minds.
After taking gulps of chilled soft drinks, Bukky, with a mischievous smile, started to banter “Well, I think this service year should be interesting. I already have two partners-in-crime whom I do not know anything about except they are both very handsome”. She paused, excepting that either of us will jump at the chance to introduce ourselves but we were still reeling from the fact that a very beautiful girl thought we are handsome. “Well, let me introduce myself properly. I’m Bukola Owoyemi, a graduate of economics from
“I’m Johnson. Femi Johnson.” I said “A graduate of Computer Engineering from
“I’m Seun Ajewole. I studied Accounting at Kwara State Polytechnic. I redeployed from
“Wait a minute.” I gasped, my mind doing a summersault, “Did you just say you redeployed from
“Well, actually, I don’t know what happened. I guess I’m suffering from “priviledgomiasis” or something like that. The novelty of serving in the capital city, being close to so much power, wore off after about two weeks in camp and I was confronted with facing accommodation problems after camp. I will have to use my own money to subsidize a comfortable living there. The suitable accommodation expense alone is more than my allowance. Since I had free accommodation at home here in
“Please don’t tell anyone else here this story o. Some people here had to part with a lot to be posted or redeployed to
“You mean people actually sleep with NYSC officials to be posted or redeployed?” asked Bukky, with an amused look.
“Girl,
“Why did you guys redeploy?”
“Well for me, it was simply because I could do it. My aunt was going to redeploy my cousin using her influence and I just tagged along. Besides,
“My brother got me redeployed” quipped Seun. “He’s a businessman that’s always on the road and his wife is pregnant. So I’m in
“Well, we need to go and register ourselves to be posted to our place of primary assignment.” said Bukky, getting up from her seat.
Seun and I followed suit and we all strutted towards the registration point, discussing our preference of companies to work for. We were on this topic, weighing the pros and cons of working in one particular firm or the other for the four hours that we stayed on the queue. The queue moved ever-so-slowly, that we were dehydrated and tired by the time it got to our turn.
“Come back in two weeks time for your posting letter.” snapped the woman conducting the registration after collecting our files. Her countenance brooked no argument and we were too fagged out to offer any.
We dragged ourselves away from the secretariat, with Bukky still managing to glare at the gatemen, who looked morose on sighting us.
Bukky entered her dad’s waiting jeep, promising to be in touch. Seun and I were heading in the same direction, so I decided to give him a lift. We went to a nearby eatery to wait for my uncle’s driver who was on his way to pick me up.
“Men, I envy you o.” said Seun wistfully. “If not for my spoken English that is bad, I for follow that babe reach her house today. Bukky is a hot catch any day but it seems you’re the one she fancies.”
“Well, we don’t even know if she already has a boyfriend or even a fiancé.” I replied as we settled into a chair in the air-conditioned hall with relief from the hot afternoon weather.
“What are you saying? You don’t know how to snatch a girl? You don’t know how to kindle her obvious fascination for you?”
“Well, I think I do, but not with a babe this sophisticated”
“Sophisti-what? All women are the same. Don’t worry; I’ll help you win this babe. But you’ll have to teach me how to speak good English”
“Deal. So it’s two weeks of chasing Bukky and practicing English.”
“No. Its one week of chasing Bukky. I have the perfect plan and formula. But I won’t tell you now. Just don’t call her or pick her call till we see tomorrow. I will come to your place.” said Seun as we rose to join the driver parked outside.
I started giving Seun lessons about how to sound American or British and how to vary his tonality, depending on the occasion. His was going to be a long study because of his deeply entrenched Yoruba-laced intonation.
He dropped off later along Ikorodu road, with a description of how to get to my house the next day, to perfect the plan of “Operation Capture Bukky.”
I got home around five pm and was really tired. I was now beginning to understand the phenomenon I observed earlier on, that in
This was a dilemma for me as I was used to collecting my thoughts at the end of the day, but on this day I was left staring off my notebook as my mental muscle went to sleep. I took to loafing around the house in order to kill time before my uncle and his wife came back from the office, trying to prepare myself for the questions they will ask about my registration and first day in
When they came in, I was mildly disappointed as the only question I was asked was if I had eaten by my uncle’s wife. They just went to their room, took their bath, ate and went to sleep. That was when I realized that it might have been a most exciting day for me, for them, it was just another day in
CHAPTER TWO
In which I fell in love, forced to fall out of it, fell into depression and got a job
| S |
eun and Bukky taught me my next major lesson in
Next day as promised, Seun showed up at my house fully ready for his lesson and rearing to go. His is an enthusiasm that is hard to resist. When he sets his mind on something, he attacks it with the gusto of flies to a corpse. We had our lesson for four straight hours with heavy reliance on recordings I and he had done overnight on our respective phones, as there was no public supply of electricity to watch various movie clips and cable television. I could have put on the generator, but there was no money to buy petrol since both of us were on lean budget as our first month allowance was already stretched thin and I was courteous not to have my uncle regret his acceptance of me into his house by burning up his reserve of petrol.
His progress was quite encouraging to us both, despite his poor showing the previous night, which he attributed to his lack of mental preparation, and all I had to do was give him assignments for our lessons to be complete. I started fearing for the hearts of ladies that catches his fancy after our lessons. This much I told him, in response to which he laughed heartily and said
“Guy, I beg. I give love, not sorrow. Besides, don’t hate the player; hate the game. It’s guys like me who make girls appreciate good boys like you. I can’t imagine not having at least one girl at my beck and call. Guy you dey try o.”
“Well, I’ve had my own share of girls o. I’m not a monk. It’s just that after all the fights between my last girlfriend and I, I decided not to date for a whole year. Although that one year don pass, I’m a bit rusty in toasting so…” said I in a weak defence.
“The more reason you need my help with Bukky. Guy, I’ve heard that the best way to toast a rich
“Maradona style?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you hear that? Is it not yesterday we both entered
“Guy, sit there. You think I stay in this your mansion houses with big walls? It’s one bros I met yesterday at the beer parlour beside my house. The guy was just gisting his friend about how he gets his girls without spending a lot of money on them. He said he simply seem uninterested in them at first, make sure they see him around beautiful girls while he remain just an acquaintance. This will lead them to be jealous and covetous. The hunter will become the hunted. They will be the one chasing him.”
“So he dribbles them like Maradona?”
“Yes o. that’s exactly what we need to do about Bukky. We need to…”
“But I don’t know any beautiful girls I can flaunt in front of Bukky.”
“Do you have money you can flaunt in front of her?”
“No.”
“Then you must find beautiful girls. It’s easy. There were some girls I took their numbers yesterday at the secretariat before you came. I’ll hook you up with them.”
“Ok. I guess.”
“Well that’s that. But come o, don’t tell me that you are not going to touch that beautiful housemaid of yours o. I mean she can become quite handy on those lonely days for a guy.”
“No way. Haba, if one is to eat a frog, one should settle for the one with eggs.” I said, after which I made my stance known to him of my belief that domestic staffs should be treated with dignity and not exploited because of their economic disadvantage.
What I did not tell him was the text message I sent to Bukky early that morning. In it I told her of the way I felt about her. My mind had gone on overdrive the night before after my uncle went to sleep despite my tiredness, thinking of things both mundane and far-flung.
Things like how beautiful she’ll look in a wedding dress, how big (from me), bold (from her), and brilliant (from us) our sons will be, and how petite (from her), pretty (from her again) and pleasant (finally me!) our daughters will be. Things like how we will conquer the world together, build a model home and grow old in each others arms. How lovely she’ll look as the mother-of-bride on our first daughter’s wedding day, the smile on her face when I win the Nobel Prize, the pride in her voice as she takes the oath of office as…Ha! Enough!
When I woke up that morning, I quickly wrote a poem, “Love grow faster that a Mushroom” to capture how I felt. This was a new record for me as I normally conceptualize and conclude a poem in a week. I quickly dispatched a text message to Bukky with a feeling of orgasmic exhilaration and a heart beating with trepidation.
My talk with Seun about her made me wonder why she had not replied the text after about seven hours of her receiving it. I wanted to call her there and then but couldn’t, as that would have drawn the ire of Seun, who had already launched into a diatribe about how sleeping with housemaids was not exploitation but a way of satisfying mutual need and acknowledging their humanity.
This led to a hot series of argument between us that bordered on morality, sexuality and belief systems that should be considered archaic and those that needed re-invention. This went on for about two hours after which Seun took his leave, with a promise extracted from me not to contact Bukky till we meet again at the end of the two weeks giving by the NYSC lady.
This was a promise I did not keep as I dialled away as soon as he left the horizon. Bukky did not pick the call. I thought she probably left her phone somewhere, so she will call later when she sees my missed call.
Alas, this was the beginning of emotional torture and anguish for me. Within the next two weeks, “Operation Capture Bukky” turned into “Operation Plead with Bukky”. I was practically begging her on the phone to see her. She continually rebuffed my suggestions, always having a program to attend or a friend to see. She even told me she was going to attend a parley at Erin-Ijesha Waterfalls, which prompted me to ask angrily whether she was going to a meeting of witches and mermaids. She immediately dropped the phone and neither picked nor returned my calls. Even the tons of text messages I sent to her, apologizing, was like water rolling off the back of a camel.
This was all new to me, as I’ve never wooed a lady within the first week of knowing her. With Bukky however, I found myself acting totally out of norm. The deep longing that stirred in my soul was both beatifying and confusing. To make the confusion go away, leaving a feeling of pure paradise, I had gone against my normal practice of knowing a girl very well before wooing her and was getting stonewalled.
The only hope I had to meet her was at the NYSC secretariat, where we were to collect our posting letters to our place of primary assignment. I was one of the first people to get to the secretariat at the expiration of the two weeks given by the NYSC lady, in order not to miss her. I stood by the gate to latch on her immediately she comes in, with the Gorilla Gateman looking menacingly at me. I simply glared at him as he continually sang abusive songs of kids that do not respect elders.
Seun got to the secretariat before Bukky did. After exchanging pleasantries, I told him he doesn’t need me as his teacher anymore because he was near perfect, something which his constant practice of the assignment I gave to him two weeks earlier will make perfect. He was delighted and wanted to introduce me right away to two good-looking girls, who were calling him to come over and stay with them under a tree. I told him I wasn’t coming with him. When he asked why was when I told him about my contacting Bukky.
He was unhappy at my hot-bloodedness and demanded to know the whole story. When I finished telling him, he was livid and dragged me away from the gate to a nearby shed.
When we got there, he furiously lambasted me for behaving like a love-sick puppy chasing after his first rabbit. He re-lectured me on ways of making girls come to you instead of you going to them. He said he had further made investigation into this strategy and believes it works every time. He started telling different stories and giving various instances and examples, which was taking very long. I wanted to get back to the gate to monitor the corpers coming in, so I told him to let us move back to the gate. He was about to blow his top so I had to tell him that she was the ultimate test of his growing proficiency of spoken English as her reaction to his delivery will determine how far we have succeeded, which he grudgingly accepted.
The two girls that were friends of Seun came and told us that our letters were not ready. After some chit-chat with the girls, they left the secretariat whilst I and Seun waited for Bukky. The clement weather did nothing to dampen the hostile glance and the hiss Gorilla Gateman directed at us intermittently.
We waited in vain. It seemed someone had alerted her about the delay in our letters getting ready, so she stayed away. I could not help but think she stayed away because she knew I was going to be waiting for her. Seun continually tongue-lashed me as we expected her arrival for being such a pantywaist.
When it became apparent that she was not going to come, Seun and I left the secretariat for Ojuelegba. We boarded a bus at the intersection of
I dialled her number thrice with no reciprocative picking up. As the bus crawled in the traffic jam on
I thought the text message will go the way of the previous ones, unanswered, but by the time we were alighting at Ojuelegba, a reply came. I opened it with my heart beating as if I was about to open a parcel bomb. The text read “Sorry if you think I have been playing you. Femi, I believe there can be love between us but it will not be mutual. Can’t we be just friends? We’ll see next week at the secretariat for our posting letters. Takia.”
Drama, prose and poetry had been written by writers of various generations about “A woman scorned”. Not enough has been written about “A man scorned”. Maybe it was because we men have been indoctrinated, right from birth to be stoic and bear emotional pain and anguish with equanimity. I remained calm and chatted with Seun as if nothing was wrong, not because I was trying to maintain my manliness in front of him, but because I was ashamed of my handling of “Operation Capture Bukky”. Dejection, sorrow and worthlessness where having a ball inside of me whilst on the outside I was arguing with Seun about the international politics piece we were perusing on the newsstand under the bridge, which was critical, as usual.
We boarded another bus going to Ketu. I was going to alight at Obanikoro, long before the bus gets to Ketu, where Seun was still going to board another bus to Ikorodu, so he made sure he sat beside me in the bus because of what he wanted to tell me. He said he was going to think of a way to salvage the situation with Bukky by the time we got to the secretariat next week but I was to make absolutely sure I did not call or send a text message to her. If she called me I was not to pick her call or reply her text message.
I told him I was no longer interested in Bukky to which he laughed heartily and said he would believe that when hell freezes over. He didn’t know my resolve was forged in the fire of love and cooled in the lakes of hate, a combination of which produced steam that suffocated the flame of my hell and it died from lack of oxygen.
By the time I got down, I was very angry. Angry at Bukky for rejecting my love. Angry at Seun for mocking me. Angry at the whole world for conspiring, through the intricate process of birth-parental selection and social classification, to rob me of happiness. (This was an incoherent anger against the world but I was still angered anyway).
I crossed to the other side of the road using the pedestrian bridge. It must have been on it that the twin brother of anger, misery caught up with me and it gnawed at my soul with the silent efficiency of a rat enjoying a delicacy of moulded bread and expired sardine with a swig from a tin of discarded milk can. Despite its silent nature it stayed on with the tenacity of a bulldog latching on the legs of an intruder.
Misery is a whole country. Once it gets you, everything else visible, audible and olfactory takes on a general wretchedness. It seems everything conspires to work against you and make you feel bad, sad, gloomy and blooey.
Getting to my street, I saw an old couple drive off after a visit to their daughter, a young couple lounging under the shades where they cant seemingly get their hands off each other and the neighbourhood watchman, whose life story (that he told me a week earlier while I was trying to acquire useful relationship in the neighbourhood) smacked of rejection, dejection and loneliness. This seemed to be providence telling me my fate and it did little to lift the veil of despondence on my soul.
For the next four days I couldn’t revel in my literary joy. I had promoted my ritual silent brooding and little writing to full scale sulkiness and no writing. Life had lost its meaning to me and I was just existing, not living. I was content with switching on the TV and just continue staring. Not watching, just staring and existing in a mild catatonic state where you mind oscillates between the noise of the TV and the static in your head.
I was also increasingly sloppy in my handling of simple hygienic and domestic matters. I refused to shave, postpone my bathing till evening, sometimes till the next day and ate little food. What was the point? I asked myself. Its not like its going to win me Bukky’s heart. Let me continue to wallow, dreaming life away for what might have been.
What saved me was the little light shone on my darkness by my seven year old cousin, Timi. My uncle and his wife were busy people who had little time for observing emotional distress but Timi noticed and he, on the fourth day, beseeched me to cast all my sorrow unto Jesus and should cheer up and not worry anymore. It was the sweetest speech ever heard by me, even sweeter the Martin Luther King’s own.
That speech saved my life. Not for the content but for the vessel. Timi was an exceedingly brilliant boy with a chest full of laurels and awards even at that age. He had turned the first position, both in school and Sunday school, into his birthright. His teachers had ran out of superlatives to describe him. When he gave me the “Jesus Saves” speech, I really looked at him and saw the close resemblance we bore to each other. The thought came to me that half of me is half of this guy. If this guy can have so much promise and potential, who said I don’t?
I decided to write a short poem to purge myself of Bukky. I was beginning to find poetry as a useful tool to make things that are in the dark reveal themselves a little more. The poem titled “Walking away” read:
I’ve got many rivers to cross
But I’m starting with this one
Walking away from you my love
I’m leaving with a heavy heart wondering
How you failed to acknowledge my loving
Of you for all eternity
I’ve gone to conquer the world
Since I haven’t got much to hope for
Winning the most important battle of all
So I start with this lonely road wondering
How my love so big cannot be convincing
Grieving, for my world has ceased existing
It did a lot in helping take a detached view, mildly objective, of the whole situation. This proved to be the single thread that leads to a big rope. My mind gripped it tightly and gradually pulled itself out of the abysmal pit it had found itself.
Three days later, my mind was almost its normal self. The next day, I went quite early to the secretariat to collect my posting letter because I was desperate to avoid Bukky. I was the third corper to get to the secretariat. Gorilla and Melon Gatemen had not started their joint venture and I guessed they focus on peak hours or to avoid found out by the directorate. The familiarity with which the other corpers greeted themselves suggested that they normally come early in order not to pay for entering the secretariat.
However, the bureaucracy of the NYSC grinds slowly. Despite getting there for 7:30 am, the lady that will distribute the letter did not start until two hours later, thereby making the number of corpers swell, with the resultant pushing and shoving and me unable to avoid bumping into Bukky and Seun.
Seun was the first to get to the secretariat amongst the two and he smiled as he approached me.
“Guy, how far? I think I have the solution to the Bukky issue. It’s her best friend. We need to have her on our side. So what we need to do is identify her and become good friends” he said.
“I already told you I’m no longer interested” I replied.
“Why not? Because she is still playing hard to get?” asked Seun.
The corper behind me on the queue leaned in on the conversation. He had this nerdy look and you could tell he felt giddy in mixed company. The corper in front was lost in an argument about an issue on a national situation, which was critical as usual, and paid little attention to our conversation. Seun and I simply ignored Nerdy Corper as we continued in our discussion.
“For a number of reasons.” I replied “I hardly act based on one reason. One, I think I’ve messed up the whole issue beyond repair. A lady that classy must be courted properly, not wooed. Two, I don’t trust her judgement anymore and by extension she’s not as perfect as I want her to be. A lady that cannot make good snap judgements is not fit to be the mother of my children. Three, she already told me she will not be my girlfriend.”
Seun went silent for a while, rolling his eyes in a left-right manner which I later came to attach to his brain working double-speed in an overdrive function. I was about to ask if he heard me when he said
“When did she tell you this?”
“About a week ago.”
“And you did not tell me? Why?”
“Well, I was ashamed of my handling of “Operation Capture Bukky”.” I answered. Nerdy Corper was greeted by another corper who was trying to strike up a conversation with him. He looked wistfully at us as he was engaged in a discussion that had to do with his alma-mater.
“Well, you should have told me. A lady of class must be courted, not wooed. Hmmm, are you adding that to your list of lessons of
“Maybe”
“Maybe you should add this to it. A faint man cannot win the heart of a true lady. How can you pursue a girl for two weeks and because she said “No” you’re not going to chase her?”
The door to the office where we will collect our letters flew open at that instant and we were asked by the NYSC lady to come in, five at a time. I was due to go in with the first batch, so I only managed to whisper to him
“Guy forget it. I’m not chasing her anymore”
I went inside and looked for my letter in the heap of letters.
As I stood under the tree, I began to think about my posting. I had been hoping for a place where I wouldn’t be required to go in everyday and work long hours. Maybe a school or a quarterly magazine. But I was being sent to a bank to slave away. The computer department of a bank would have been an excellent opportunity for a computer graduate but I had long ago closed my mind to the joys of coaxing machine and opened it to the task of inspiring people by telling good stories.
Other corpers joined me under the tree, juxtaposing their postings. The ones posted to multinationals and other lucrative offices engaged themselves in acts of self-congratulation, congregated together and started sharing interview tips. Those that got posted to less remunerative places wore mournful looks and also congregated to bemoan their fate. However, theirs was a placid one when compared to those that were posted to places of little remuneration and far-flung, out-of-the-way places like Epe and Badagry. They wore miserable, mournful and angry looks all rolled into one and some lamented openly at their plight. They wondered how they will survive inhospitable accommodation, inadequate finances and being away from their friends for a whole year.
As corper after corper joined us under the tree, the absurdity of the whole posting process hit me. I saw civil engineers, physicists and Yoruba language graduates posted to banks, accounting and economics graduates posted to civil engineering firms with microbiology and biochemistry graduates posted to stockbroking and investing firms. What was the rationale behind the postings?
Seun got his posting letter and came to join me under the tree. He was posted to
“Guy, this is what I was hoping for. Ojota is not far from Ikorodu and it’s a girl’s school. Now I have my testing ground for some of my theories. Congrats on your posting to a bank. We go wash am o.”
“See, I’m not really happy with my posting. I cant imagine myself wearing a suit. I really want to get down to serious writing this year so I’m not really keen on working in the computer department of a bank where I will be working about 80 hours a week.” I said.
“Well you can always get yourself rejected at the bank and come join me in a school. Thank God both of us have free food and accommodation so we don’t need much money to survive. I’m even thinking of asking my brother for a car.” He replied.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The NYSC state director just told a group of corpers that anyone that is rejected by any organisation will be posted to primary schools in Epe” said Nerdy Corper, breaking into our conversation.
“Besides, I think it’s a very good opportunity you must not let slip. Half of the corpers here will like to be in our shoes. I have been posted to Continental Bank Plc and I’m happy. It’s a dream come true.” He continued.
NC turned out to be quite a good story teller and he spoke animatedly about banking, bank interviews and bankers. NC said bankers in
NC told stories of some bank interviews he had heard before. Banks had a technique known as the stress interviews, which they give to people they wanted to recruit fresh from school. If you were invited to a bank’s head office in
Other corpers had joined our group by this time and another corper chipped in with his own story about another stress-inducing trick called “The Silent Treatment”. You’d walk into the interview chamber and the man in the chair would say nothing. You’d say hello. He’d stare. You’d say that you’d come for a job interview. He’d stare and shake his head. You were in soup. Then he’d pick up your resume and begin to read. He was testing your ability to take control of a meeting. The corper said we need not worry about that as the banks do just a single generalized interview for corpers and will look at your performance during your service year, if they want to offer you permanent appointment, to evaluate you.
The group eventually broke up with some people going straight to report at their place of primary assignment. Some of us chose to wait till the next day to report as we thought, “Half a day wouldn’t matter since we are going to be their slave for a whole year”.
Seun and I left the secretariat with him continuing his argument about the utter foolishness of abandoning “Operation Capture Bukky”. He pointed out strenuously that if I ever really loved her, I will not abandon her to wallow in her own pride, slack judgement and blindness to see that I love her. I argued that me loving her doesn’t mean her loving me. I might love her while she’s in love with another person who also is in love with her. I told him to let the matter rest and he should call her to ask why she was not at the secretariat to collect her posting letter.
Bukky picked his call (imagine!) and said she would be collecting hers the next day because she went to welcome her dad back from the
The next morning, I wore my NYSC uniform of green khaki trouser and shirt with orange combat boots (NYSC uniform designer should be sued by fashionistas!) to the head office of International Bank Plc since I couldn’t boast of a respectable trouser, shirt and have no tie. My uncle’s wife dropped me off as it was on the way to her office with a plea to call her once I’m through.
Like the head office of most banks, International Bank Plc’s head office was a grand, magnificent building with a wide glass door between two giant alabaster pillars filled with smartly dressed bankers, sprinkled unevenly with a mild array of customers (an assumption) trouping in and out. I climbed the seven steps leading to the ground floor door from the street level with my eyes roving hither-thither, taking in as much as I could.
The reception area was fairly large with seats for visitors on the right facing a flat-screen television tuned to a cable news channel. Two beautiful receptionists faced the door at the end of the room while the left area paraded a bank of elevators. I approached the receptionists to ask for the floor level of the Human Resource Department. I was directed to the fourth floor, with the receptionist looking at me as if I was a moron and I wondering why. I joined the queue at the elevators with my mind making a guess list of what could have warranted such look. I concluded it must be my raggish corper’s outfit that made her throw such an insult with her eyes.
When I got to the lobby of the fourth floor, I met some people seated there. Some were immaculately clothed in suits and ties while others were clothed, like me, in corper uniforms. As I was approaching one of those dressed in corper uniform to ask for whom to report to, an effeminate-looking man came out of the door leading to the offices, clutching some pieces of paper. He looked at me and spoke with a surprising bit of steel in his voice
“Are you part of us?”
I must have looked befuddled because he asked, with the steel in his voice increasing
“Were you posted to International Bank?”
“Ye-Yes.” I stuttered, nodding at the same time.
“So you are one of the five people we’ve been waiting for. Why didn’t you report yesterday? We got a letter from NYSC yesterday telling us the number of corpers posted to us but you five refused to show up” he hissed.
“I actually got my letter late yesterday” I lied smoothly, wondering if my interview had already stated.
“Hmmm. Well, I hope you brought your credentials and some passport photographs along” he said.
I nodded in affirmation, thanking my stars I picked them up at the last minute to occupy my hands. He continued
“You are going to have your interview today after this other corpers who reported earlier. Fill this.” He pushed a form into my hands and called out two names to follow him. He proceeded to the elevator and left with them.
I exchanged pleasantries with others and settled down to fill the Prospective Employees Form. I eavesdropped on the conversations in the room while doing this, and from it I garnered that the man that gave me the form’s name is Chukwuma and he was a corper also, but of the previous batch. I also learnt that the interview was taking place at a conference room on floor six where a panel of interviewers were waiting.
Chuks appeared from the elevators and I handed over my filled form to him. He repeated his chagrined questions to three others who had joined us, and gave them forms to fill and entered the door leading to the rows of offices.
The two people earlier called came out of the elevators after about thirty minutes and called the next two, giving them description of how to get to the conference room, they made for the door leading to the row of offices, apparently in search for Chuks, but were hindered by other corpers who pumped them about information on how it went. They told us that they were given a written test of fifteen minutes and an oral interview of like time. While one was writing his test, the other was being orally grilled and they switched roles afterwards. They said the test and oral interview were based on aptitude skills and general knowledge. I mentally calculated how long it will take for it to be my turn and sighed when I guessed it would be at least four pm before it reached my turn.
I didn’t take into cognizance the fact the interviewers would recess for lunch. Around two pm, the two people last called came down and said the interviewers themselves will send someone down to call the next set. We waited for this till around 3pm when some of us couldn’t stand the hunger tearing at our stomachs and the tension of waiting. Phone numbers were exchanged with others who were too nervous to allow themselves feel hungry, and we pleaded with them to call us immediately there was word from the interviewers. One of the ladies that were going to be called next expressed her disappointment at not being able to follow us for obvious reasons and asked that we get her some snacks. As we went downstairs, we had no idea where to get food to eat, but we trusted to find some bukateria along the road.
We entered the compound and were promptly faced with the problem of choice. There were many bukaterias in the compound offering various dishes to the not-so-rich and downright poor workers of the Central Business District in
When I returned, the interview had not yet resumed. It was around four-thirty that it did and I started wondering when I was going to have mine. Around seven-thirty pm, it came to my turn. My weary bones were animated by adrenalin as I made my way to the conference room with another corper.
Like a philosopher once said, “The anticipation of death is worse than death itself”. The interview turned out to be a piece of cake. We were asked to do the written test and oral interview concurrently. While we were writing the test, the interview panel comprising of two ladies and a man were busy with some paper work (maybe it was test script marking) and exchanging light banters. When it was time for the oral interview, they just asked us to tell them about ourselves, our motivation and our goal in life. Then they just resumed their banter, albeit now including us in their discussion of which English Premiership club is the best and why
Chuks met us in the lobby of the fourth floor and boarded the elevator with the last two corpers after telling us to report the next day for our acceptance or rejection letter as the case may be. (I never got to know what happened to the last corper).
It was eight pm and I had to get home quickly. In the heat of the day’s waiting, I had forgotten to call my uncle’s wife, who must have assumed I had returned home early, and would be almost home now. I asked for directions from my fellow corper who didn’t know, despite being a resident of
I got home around 10 pm to find my uncle’s wife just coming in. she was surprised to find that I had not been home and remonstrated me for not calling her. I reassured her it was not out of spite but of forget fullness on my part. She was really upset and reminded me of how women are supposed to behave when scorned. I started wondering about the only person to have scorned me, Bukky, and her posting. I really wanted to know and could have called or sent a text message to her or Seun to ask, but I wanted to prove my resolve of not pursuing her so I did not.
The next day, I got to the lobby of the fourth floor of the head office to find tensed corpers awaiting the verdict of the interview panel. Some corpers called their contacts in the bank just to be sure they had lobbied in their favour while others simply looked prayerful as if calling on their heavenly father to lobby on their behalf. I knew I was going to scale through, albeit unhappily, so I assumed an air of nonchalance and glared back unflinchingly at staffs that were trouping in and out of the offices on the floor and casting amused glances at us as we waited for our letters, acceptation or rejection.
Chuks came out of an office with two set of letters. He said every one accepted will get two set of letters. One will be taken to the bank’s hospital for registration while the other will be our letter of temporary employment to be shown at a meeting with our regional HR heads later that day at three pm. Anyone that is given just a letter has been rejected by the bank and will have to go back to NYSC for reposting.
I got two letters with one stating I had been given an appointment of one year in the Lagos Mainland region, while the other was addressed to a hospital in Ikeja. I didn’t know how to get to the hospital or the regional office but followed others posted to the same region that seemed to know the way. Since it was around ten-thirty am, it was decided we head off to the hospital first, before going to the regional office.
At the hospital, we waited our turns to be needled (for a blood test), shot at (with X-rays) and interrogated (by doctors filling out our medical history on some forms) with a cheerful air around. I couldn’t help but tap into the euphoric feeling of others and started feeling enthusiastic about having clinched such a promising posting with ease. I found out that only those posted to Lagos Mainland region were being registered at that particular hospital.
We got to the regional office around two-thirty pm and were promptly herded into the cafeteria, where remnants of the sweet smell of lunch eaten were still whiffing in the air, to wait. The aroma got into our heads, prompting a discussion about how wonderful it will be to be made a staff at the regional office. We were still on this discussion when the regional HR head came in, with a young lady in tow, carrying some booklets and some letters.
The regional HR head spoke with the airs of a senior sister. She asked how our interview and medical examination went, and congratulated us on our new appointment. She signalled to the young lady, who distributed the booklet to us. It turned out to be the bank’s code of conduct and the HR head went through it with us. It was filled with a lot of do’s and dont’s. Do smile at the customers. Do wear only shirts in the bank’s colour (blue and white) and black suits. Do obey directives of superiors at all times. Don’t climb okada. Don’t eat at a bukateria but at an eatery because of the bank’s image which you represent. If found in a Mercedes Benz 911 aka Molue to consider self sacked. I now understood why banks pay huge amount of salaries to their staffs. It was simply to maintain a certain lifestyle of affluence.
We were told to resume to our various branches on Monday and was given a letter of introduction to the branches. I was posted to
I asked a question about why I was not posted to the Computer Department but marketing. I have never sold anything in my life and very much doubted my having any marketing skills. HR head answered that only full staffs that were from executive assistant and above were ever posted to the IT department and to get to that level, I would have to work for at least three years apart from my NYSC year. The feeling of euphoria left my body for
We left the regional office around four-thirty pm and dispersed to our various abode. The weekend fever was already in the air, as gaily dressed people in regal attires passed by in various automobiles. I took a bus that would pass through Obanikoro junction. As I dropped at the junction and the bus picked other passengers, I wondered if the touts haranguing the conductor for money would ever have to wear a suit and tie yet were still is generating an income for him themselves.
The okada riders at the junction called out to me to board their motorcycle to my destination with high frenzy. They really should have learnt about my disregard of their existence in my locomotive planning and preference for walking. They probably hoped that by enthusiastically calling out to me every time I will change my mind and become a regular customer. They seem natural hustlers who can’t take “No” for an answer. They will continue to call on me, as they do others, come rain or sun because it means survival. I might have landed a job that day, but for them, it’s just another day in
Chapter three
In which I started work; excelled as a banker; made a friend and buried a mentor.
| T |
here are four meaningful factors that determine a wage. The intricate interplay and delicate balance between these factors explain a lot about the nature of the job. These factors are the unpleasantness of the job, the specialized skills a job requires, the demand for the services that the job fulfils and the willingness of people with the ability, to do the job (according to economists). The unpleasantness of being a banker was the first thing that hit me on Monday morning, justifying a bit of why they are paid armed-robber salaries. The code of conduct said that resumption time was 7:30 am but to beat the traffic that builds up as early as 6:30 am all around
I had to wake up by 5:00 am and rush through toilette. I settled for my newly bought shirt and tie, which was bought over the weekend at Yaba market. Seun and I had combed the market on Saturday for a cheap yet quality shirt and ties that would complement the two used shirts my uncle donated to the ‘kit-femi-for-work’ drive. Sunday was spent washing the shirts, trousers (which I already had two with the right colours), ties and praying that PHCN should please bring public electricity supply. They eventually did around 11 pm, so I had to iron my clothes till around 12:30 am. Waking up at 5:00 made me feel groggy and I had the same feeling I felt for Bukky for my bed: I wish I can have you, but it’s not meant to be.
I never knew
I got to the branch at 6:40 am and met the security men at the gates. After introducing myself, they allowed me entrance with a certain feeling of espirit-de-corps, as if welcoming a new convert at a local tavern. When I entered, I met a lady at the customer service desk, Jane Ilukpor, who directed me upstairs to the office of the Branch Head.
The Branch head was on the phone when I got to her office, and she motioned for me to sit down. When she was through with her call, she smiled a genial smile at me and I immediately felt at ease. She introduced herself as Gbubemi Babasola and asked me which of the two departments, Retail and Personal Banking (nice sounding euphemism for marketing) and Operations, I would love to work. I told her I would prefer to work in Operations, as I was very much afraid of the idea of me selling anything. She nodded her head as if that was the answer she wanted to hear. She told me to wait downstairs as she needed to prepare for the weekly branch meeting at 7:00 am.
I got back downstairs and sat at the Customer Service desk. Jane came out of the customer service store and promptly got me engaged in helping her prepare the area for the day’s business. So under the instruction and guidance of Jane, I performed my first task as a banker: arranging various registers and account opening packages. I didn’t have the time to ponder on this because as I was about to finish the arrangement, the Branch Head came down into the banking hall and everybody started following suit.
The meeting started with the branch head announcing a new policy by the bank about adopting a protocol called BASEL II accord. She launched into the finer details of what the protocol meant and she spoke a lot of jargon I couldn’t comprehend. This aggravated my dumbfoundness, as I had already psyched myself up to be introduced as a new member of staff. I felt like a chicken seated in a meeting of eagles without being questioned about its credentials for being at the meeting. I decided to mirror the looks on the other staffs faces, that of seriousness mixed mild disinterest and use the time to really look at the members of staff
There were seven male and seven female staffs, the branch head inclusive. Two of the seven males were dressed like me i.e. without a suit and I decided that they must be corpers too. They also looked a bit lost in all the mumbo-jumbo the Branch Head was saying and had a bit more carefree attitude about them. The rest of the staffs looked like a bunch of, er, bankers. Trifly flashy and assuming with eyes roving a sea of face frowned a little bit as if suffering from a bad case of haemorrhoids. All except one of the females, who look serene and quite put together. I was trying to guess why she was different when I was jolted by the mentioning of my name.
The branch head was introducing me to the staff and I bowed slightly to each person as she reeled out their names and position and pointed out the person. The two guys with no suit were actually students on industrial attachment and were the branch’s bulk tellers. She announced that she would have loved to put me fully into the marketing department but because Jane and the Operations Manager, Aretha Njemanze, had been pestering her with a request for another hand at the customer service desk to help Jane, she was going to split me into both departments. I was to be a full operations staff for two full weeks, where I would be trained and work in all the units but more as a customer service officer after which I was to become part of the marketing team as well. My task as a marketer would be limited to being a dealer i.e. the secretary of the team, in charge of keeping records of all transactions and being the interface between operations and marketing. I was also to be given a monthly target of accounts I must open and a minimum amount to be in those accounts but I will be restricted from opening certain kinds of accounts. Company accounts were a no-no because of the intricacy of their multi-faceted financial needs and except I hand them over to other marketers, I was not to even think of people who want loans.
Jane asked what time I was supposed to go and get customers if I was to also perform as a customer service officer and a dealer. She opined that being a customer service officer alone is a demanding job and she thought it would be better if I was just a customer service officer rather than a utility staff. My heart leapt for joy at Jane’s suggestion. I held my breath for the full ten seconds the branch head used in considering the proposition. She glared alternatively at Jane and I, and I duly averted her gaze like a true serf, hoping this will tip the scale of her decision in my favour.
Alas, when she spoke, it was to put the icing on her earlier directive. She said she believed I would be able to cope with the challenges (more like headaches!) of the two departments as I was only to be in an assisting role in one. Beside, the branch could not afford to take on a new staff as it was struggling financially to pay back some of its debts (I wonder why banks everyone should owe, owe itself). She concluded that the most senior marketing staff, Oyedeji Fatoki, who had been acting as the dealer should take me under his wings after the initial two weeks period, and show me the nitty-gritty and the nuances of being a dealer and a marketer. Jane and I should work out a suitable time schedule for our customer service work and I must come back to work after finishing my Community Development programme on Fridays. I was about to protest this last part as unfair, since my Fridays were meant to be work-free in order to go to the local government office of the NYSC, but the branch head beat me to it. She said she knew it’s a bit unfair but given the amount of work I have to do every week, it would be best for all concerned for me to be coming back to work immediately after the programme. And so was my fate sealed for a year.
The meeting ended and everyone dispersed to their various duty posts. Jane was very gentle and patient with me, as she raced through a list of do’s and don’ts of a customer service officer. She showed me, on that first day, that the key to good customer service was calmness. She was unhurried, yet fast in dealing with customers’ inquiries, demands and problems. I learned more from watching her perform her tasks with practical ease and deftness than I did reading the code of conduct from cover-to-cover.
The next two weeks was stultifyingly boring. I found out that much of banking operations, at the branch level, can be handled by JSS 3 certificate holders with a good head for numbers. The advent of IT products had made banking operations quite easy, and the use of one’s thinking faculty is not really necessary and mostly unwelcomed. To display one’s creativity and mental vibrancy will quickly earn one a tag of likely-to-commit-fraud. (You should have seen the uproar and hula-baloo generated when I embarked on changing the filing system for better efficiency in file-retrieval. I was lectured for 15 minutes, jointly by Jane and Aretha for being too adventurous!). By the end of the week, I had worked in the three units of Operations i.e. Cash, Funds Transfer and Customer Service, and came to the conclusion that working in the operations department of a bank was profitable but very repetitions and excruciatingly dull. I found myself looking forward to the end of the two weeks if it was only to break the monotony of operations and have a little excitement. Besides, it is only on the streets that I can look at
The only oasis I had in the midst of boredom desert was Oluwakemi Anibaba. She was the staff member with the serene comport I noticed in that first branch meeting. I found out we were actually both indigenes of
It was easy to see why. I thought I had the best teacher ever in Jane, until I was seconded to Kemi to understudy her. Being a paying teller can be pretty tricky as you have impatient customers, balancing of cash transactions and internal risk control mechanism to deal with. The first and the last do not always work in tandem but Kemi brought finesse and grace to bear in managing both. With her Queen’s English, easy smile, and pristine looks, many a customer fell under her spell.
I did too. Kemi was an easy person to fall in love with. We had a lot of things in common that continually generated heart-warming, light-natured conversation between us and I could not resist the magnetic pull of her personality, person and her sumptuous and adoringly luscious body. To describe her, would be to describe a Meryl Streep in the body of Janet Jackson. Cool, calm, collected with an easy smile and a body that promises
Despite all this, I could not fall in love with her. Though I tried strenuously and vigorously, the mental blocks created by me after the snub from Bukky was quite powerful enough to deflect any intending girl from my core. There was this lack of spark, a lack of spiritual connection that makes love seem irrational when viewed on a physical plane. In my first three months at the bank, I tried twice to bring up the topic of starting a relationship with her, but I got bogged down on both occasions by a sense of emptiness and sadness at going into a relationship with her. Instead, I became her close confidant and best male friend (tragic) and she in turn became like a sister to me.
At the beginning of the third week, Jane and I agreed that I would assist for first two banking hours everyday in order to help prepare morning mails and other issues. I should be back in the banking halls by 12 noon and help attend to customers as this was the peak banking period for two hours. At 4:30 pm, I should be back at the unit to help pack away, into the store, all the packables. The rest of the time should be used as I deem fit, though she gave me her opinion about how it should be spent.
Anyone with a fair knowledge of a spreadsheet application would make an excellent dealer. When ‘Deji Fatoki showed me their dealer’s account book, it was filled with a lot of ink due to cancellations. I asked why they were not using a spreadsheet application that was on the system instead and he dazed me by saying none of the marketing staff knew how to use one. He further stressed that this i.e. the account book was what was required at the regional meeting of Branch Heads every Friday and so I should not bother selling the spreadsheet idea to the Branch Head. I immediately chose to start using the spreadsheet application because of its ease and then conveniently copy the balanced figure into the account book. This made my record neat and tidy, a fact the Branch Head acknowledged with a grunt every Friday morning when she takes it to her meeting.
On the second day of the third week, I went out marketing for the first time. I followed ‘Deji Fatoki on his marketing rounds that day to watch and understudy him. The rest of the week was spent in like manner, albeit with a different marketer each day. I learnt how to speak about the bank’s product that most suited the potential customer’s net income, a figure you have to determine in the first five seconds of meeting him, in less than a minute and half. I learnt how not to take a no for a final answer. Even if the person has a million accounts with other banks, he must open one with ours. Even if he has another type of account with the bank at another branch, he must open another type with our branch (a trick I later learnt was account moving. If you are able to convince the customer that you will take better care of his money and him at your branch, you can cajole him to move his account from another branch to yours – and you should expect a backlash from the other branch). Even if she keeps telling you no, go and disturb her intermittently, else another marketer from another branch will come and reap where you have sowed the day the woman decides to become the bank’s customer and you are nowhere to be found.
The fourth week, I was thrown to the streets on my own with a target number of accounts to be opened. When I got to the streets, I simply chose a direction and started walking. I was afraid at the seemingly daunting task. Should I just accost people on the way and ask if they want to open an account (Yeah right!)? What if they just slap me or just hiss and continue walking? Should I go and meet them at their homes and offices and start pestering them (I didn’t have links, both formal and informal, that the other marketers use to gain audience with their prospects so this was out of it)? What if they just ask their security man to throw me out (Most likely)?
I walked down to a little shed selling soft drinks and sat down bemoaning my fate. Sipping on a bottle of soft drink, I had a flash of inspiration. The word “security man” just kept turning round and round and round in my head like badly digested semolina. Security man (sip). Security man (sip). Security man (sip). What stops the security man from opening an account (sip)? The security man can also be a valuable customer; at least I'm not asked to bring in hundreds of millions (sip). Once I get the security man, I can get the cleaners too. And the maid. And maybe ultimately the madam. Wait a minute! I can also get all this people selling biscuits, soft drinks and recharge cards! (sip and drink finishes).
The woman that sold me that soft drinks became my first customer (wonder why she was close to banks and had no account). I essentially turned all the low income earners on
Those two months, I settled into a kind of routine. I bought two suits that I alternately wore, some shirts, no more ties and plenty notebooks. The notebooks were of various fanciful designs and varying portability, as I continually deluded myself I would start writing my first novel the very next day. I was now adept at waking up at 5:00 am, even without the alarm clock. My Fridays were spent at the local government secretariat of the NYSC in the morning, where I meet Seun and he revels me with some of his theories and a lot of his escapades, and the office in the afternoon. My Saturday is spent washing, sleeping and sometimes acting as Seun’s shadow as he runs his errands all around
One day, in the third month, Kemi asked me to help her purchase a new cell phone at the
I didn’t have a customer in the market, so I had to hop from one shop to the other, trying to gauge the average price of the phone, during the time for my 10am – 12noon marketing runs. After having an idea of how much the phone costs, I decided to buy the phone from a shop I had noticed had a bit more of exterior than the remaining shops. It was a hybrid-kind of shop, partitioned into two with one part selling phones and its accessories and the other involved in repairs (people engage in a lot of co-tenancy and subletting in
As I was haggling with the shop attendant, trying to see if I could still beat down the price, two guys were busy arguing just outside the median strip of the shop on a national issue, burning and critical as usual. They were really rooting for their side of the argument, as they engaged in our number one national pastime – complaining about the state of the nation. I finished buying the phone and stepped out to witness a little of the debate before I get on my way.
Two more people were watching the two arguers haul their arguments at each other with one holding a newspaper and shaking his head with a bewildered smile and the other seemingly enjoying the spectacle. Mr Papers looked quite comported and had the air of distracted detachment associated with pastors, imams and professors who are lost in their own worlds. He had the confident poise, mixed with a slight restlessness of a man in his thirties. I stood there watching the arguers and his reaction to their various emotion-bent logic. Eventually, after about three minutes of their dancing around, Mr Papers said
“You guys are missing the point. I’ve told you several times but you don’t get it. I believe in political solutions to political problems. But
He turned on his heels, entered the repair shop and sat down on a plastic chair to peruse the newspaper. The two guys and the other bystander joined the stream of people on the streets with the bystander joining another spin-off argument from the earlier one.
I was perplexed to hear such words in a place of hard, street-level, eyeball-to-eyeball commerce. His tone and air as he said those words were that of a philosopher who was mildly annoyed at having to condescend to the level of lesser mortals and explain the happenings in his world. His diction was cultured and his carriage, despite putting on what seemed to be the uniform of the
I approached him as he was unfolding his newspaper and asked “Er...Sorry sir. I heard you talking about
He looked up his newspapers with a puzzled look and glared at me for some seconds as if he was trying to gauge me and then he said
“well, they are quite much and would have spelt chaos in other nations except
“I, er, my name is Johnson. Femi Johnson”
“You are a full Yoruba man?”
“Yes. From
“Ok. I’m Segun Braithwaite. I’m part Yoruba and part Ikwerre. I was raised mostly in the north. My mixed parentage and growing up in the north has given me a peculiar vantage point and made me realized that all the tribes in this country want the same thing; development. They want the best roads, the best hospitals and the best schools. Unfortunately, they believe that they have to fight other tribes, tooth and nail, to get this. So they believe that
By this time I was seated on the bench reserved for customers and extremely fascinated by what I just heard. I had lost track of time and quickly checked my watch. It was 11:30am, and I was supposed to get moving if I wanted to be at the Customer Service desk for 12noon. However, as if a switch flipped inside me, I decided to get to the bank late, 1pm if necessary. This goldmine had to be fully mined!
Segun finished attending to the customer and sat down in his plastic chair and immediately resumed his lecture
“Nigerians are not learning. When a people learn their lesson, they break free of the chains holding them back and release their energy for development, rather than using it to survive the next torture of their slave master, Ignorance. Unfortunately this is also the story of the entire black race.
“There are five professions that are acknowledged by Nigerians. If you tell them you work as anything except these five, they will not deem your work and by extension, you, as important. These professions are engineering, medicine, accounting, law and teaching. However, they only honour the first four. Teachers are not treated with dignity that should be accorded them because of the importance of their jobs. In developed countries, incentives in terms of scholarships, monetary compensations and tax exemptions are granted teachers, so that the brightest can take on the task of passing the torch of knowledge without losing much financially because of his shunning of more high profile jobs but in Nigeria, the contempt in which teachers are held continually drives our brightest to work in more lucrative professions while the below-average students become the teachers. So the academically challenged are shaping the future of this nation while the brightest are becoming bean counters in stock broking firms and banks. So I’m not really surprised that the worst of us are ruling the best of us because the worst of us are teaching the next generation. Any nation, group or even individual that fails to invest in continual knowledge growth will find itself, sooner than later, powerless to help itself and thus must become slave to those that are knowledgeable. Knowledge is power.” he paused again as he sipped his ginger-flavoured drink.
“Closely related to this is our disdain for history. We just hate history and do no learn from it. We have failed to see that yesterday is the father of today and the child of tomorrow. What happened yesterday gave birth to what is happening to today – life is a continuum. However, the seed sown yesterday will start germinating tomorrow, becoming a young seedling that needs to be nurtured into the great Iroko tree of two day’s time. How the dusk will be can be judged from how the dawn looked like, like our forefathers use to say. When you look at what Nigerian children are taught in schools, you will be shocked at the near lack of history being taught them when compared to their counterparts in other countries. An average 10 year old American kid will tell you the story of the Boston Tea Party with pride, an average fifteen year old French kid will bore you with various stories about the 1789 and other subsequent revolutions while a twelve year old English child will quote from Sir Winston Churchill's speeches at the height of the World War II campaign. If you ask a 30 year old Nigerian to tell you the story of the Biafran War, 8 out of 10 will not say anything meaningful. How then do you expect the ten, twelve or fifteen year old kid to tell you the story of how Pa Anthony Enahoro moved the motion of independence or that the capital of
“Let me guess: you are a banker” he said when I consulted my wristwatch as he was finishing his diatribe.
“Er, actually I’m a corper serving with International Bank Plc.”
“What course did you study in school?”
“I’m a Computer Engineer”
“Can you imagine? I’m sure you have a target” I nodded in affirmative. “Instead of you to be in a computer firm or even the meteorological service where you will be of better use, instead of looking for money that is not lost for a fat bank chairman to make more money he doesn’t even need. Do you know that all the booming fishing businesses in this country in the 80’s collapsed because the Asian nations used infrared satellite imaging to pinpoint where there will be abundance of fishes in the ocean just short of our territorial waters? So they mine the fishes with pin-point accuracy and the fishes never got to our fishing trawlers. The little fish that they were getting was not commercially viable, as they could not survive the pricing war that the Asians waged against them. What stops us from using such technology to our advantage? All we need is bright young minds that are rotting away in all kinds of mundane activities in big companies, to flush out the dry woods in the meteorological service, who can then pass information on plankton movement to the fishermen.”
My mind by then had gone from the state of heightened awe and excitement at such singularity to that of appreciative familiarity so curiosity got the best of me as I asked “What school did you finish from and what course did you study?”
He smiled at the question before he replied “I am the black sheep of my family. All my siblings have at least two degrees while I have a B.sc in Physics from
“Why don’t you want to serve the country? At least if you are posted to a school, you would be able to impact some of the things you think should be taught to the children” I quipped.
“I have nothing against the NYSC. It is a scheme that should be encouraged and further enhanced so that a unique Nigerian culture with inputs from all ethnic groups can be forged and be a basis for unity in this country. In fact, I totally support some NYSC state directors who post corpers only to schools except doctors and lawyers. However, I have not had the time to go and serve because of some researches I am conducting.” He replied with a slight wry smile and sipped from his ginger drink.
“What kind of research?”
“I cannot share the nitty-gritty of it with anyone until I have pursued the study to a respectable stage so that it cannot be hijacked by jackals but I can give you a broad overview. It’s in a field I want to pioneer in Physics. I call it Social Physics. It is going to interprets social interactions using Physics.”
“I don’t understand. How is that possible?”
“Why do you feel like sneezing when you see another person sneeze? Why is it that if four or five boys are walking on a road and one stops to urinate, the others immediately feels the urge to follow suit?” he asked with his eyes shimmering with a sparkle that seems to come from a star. “These are the things I’m trying to study and bring out something that will humans more predictable. I believe human beings emit matter waves from their brain and it is the interaction of these waves that determine a lot of social interactions. If you like someone you just met instinctively, like I do towards you, it is because your matter waves are in constructive interference. Most of the time, ladies have destructive interference towards each other. That is the phenomenon I’m studying now at the new house I just moved to in Ayilara.”
He stopped as he saw me looking at my wristwatch again and asked “Are you supposed to be somewhere?”
“Yes. I’m supposed to be back in the bank.” The time was 12:45 pm and my phone, which was on vibration had been buzzing since 12:20 pm with calls from Jane. “I have to go. Can I come back tomorrow to continue our discussion?”
“O! Sure. However, tomorrow I will be asking the questions”
He stood up, and made for behind the counter. “Why don’t you read some of my write-ups published in newspapers so that tomorrow you will be doing the telling of what you think of this country.” He added as he handed me five newspaper clippings as I made for the exit.
I quickly boarded an Okada and sped to my branch. Jane was swamped by customers by the time I got there and she was livid that I was late and most especially that I didn’t pick her calls. I mumbled an apology and a lie about being detained by a customer and quickly swung into action in attending to customers. The beautiful thing about Jane is that she forgives easily; she never mentioned my lateness again.
After getting home, having my bath and eating dinner, I got out the clippings of Segun and read them. They were very analytical and precise, espousing on various themes affecting the Nigerian polity. “Of MASSOB and Nigeria Unity” dealt with the ever present threat of a repeat secession by
I quickly brushed through “Nigeria: A Failed State?” which sounded like a piece by a staff columnist: alarmist and “Back to Basics” which detailed the faulty foundation on which the formation of the nation was built and how it has to be corrected before any sustainable progress can be achieved in the country (I love his pun “Everyone can see 419 in the 1914 amalgamation”). It was his wonderful piece about the
Due to fatigue, however, my thinking had to be taken over to the dreamland where I saw myself commissioning projects, delivering a speech at the United Nations and firing incompetent PHCN officials for throwing Lagos into darkness for 30 minutes in one year (I woke up to find my bed soaked with sweat – I must have dreamt that last bit as a reaction to the heat I felt after PHCN took public electricity supply and heat descended with the usual ferocity of Sango, the fierce Yoruba god of thunder)
The next day by 10:15 am, I strolled into Segun’s shop and met him perusing a newspaper casually as he sipped from his metal flask. Trace of ginger aroma was evident in the air as we exchanged pleasantries. After I got seated he asked “so what do you think of my articles?”
“They are okay; though I did not understand half of what you wrote in “Power Rotation”. Come, how did you come to be so philosophical and well grounded in history despite being a physicist?”
“I read therefore I am. I have been reading any book I can lay my hand on for the past 17 years and I’ve not even read a quarter of the books I know exist that I want to read. A good book is the best of friends, the same today and forever. So you agree with everything you read?”
“Mostly. But I was really inspired by ”
“What?”
“I would make sure there is a toilet to every Nigerian child: one child, one toilet.” I answered with a forced straight face.
“Toi-toi-let?” bumbled Segun while trying hard to suppress is laughter.
“Yes, toilet. Don’t get me wrong. Any child that is going to use a toilet must have been fed well before he can have something to excrete. The toilets are going to be made in
“Chei, you are another proof that water finds its level. Can you hear yourself speak? You are mixing philosophy with a sense of practicality. You are thinking like a philosopher-king, though short on the kingship.” said Segun with a beatifying smile that smirked of self-congratulation.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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