JOB PALAVA

Imagine this scenario:
You, a lady in a well pressed shirt tucked into a knee length skirt. Your skirt shows off your long legs balanced on four-inch NEXT shoes. Not a strand of hair saluting the skies. Even your smile can win you a place on the front cover of a Virgin Nigeria flyer. You know you look perfect, well co-ordinated (seriously, your English can put the Queen to shame) but there’s just one teeny-weeny snag...
You, a guy in a no-nonsense three piece suit. Grey colour, the colour GQ magazine quoted was the new trend for well discerning guys headed for the top. You smile at the lady in front of you; beside her is a plaque that reads FRONT DESK PERSONNEL. You wish she can see your shoes; they are brand new, not from those bend down boutiques along Obalende. These ones are solid shoes but she can’t see them because she is almost charmed by your smile. Until she notices that little snag...

...the file clasped in front of you.

Her smile slips a little then disappears completely. You almost hear her mind snap, “try me today. Let me see how you will pass through that door while I’m here.”
“Hello,” you say to her. “Having a nice day?”
Her frown quenches your eager smile. You can see the oil shinning on her face and you think that it should be just enough to fry an egg; the tiredness that makes her eyes almost red; you can hear the faint song from the game she was playing on her computer.
“What do you think?” she snaps at you. You know she is thinking: look here, I also went to school like you. University graduate too. See where it landed me. Come and pass here, let me see how you will do it...mschewww...
“Um...” you try to remember all the words that will take you to your dream destination but somehow all the words seem to float out of your head, hovering around like annoying mosquitoes. “Um....” you try again. “Please may I see the head of the Human Resources department?”
“For what?” she barks. Her eyes are no longer red but a bright white as if your utterance has fuelled the energy in her. She looks ready to attack if given the chance. You take one step backward.
“Um...I would like to ...um...” you swallow. You think: ah-ah, I am sure I am older than this little girl here. See how she is using me to do ten-ten.
“Please I would like to discuss something very important.”
“My friend,” she chirps going back to her game. “Drop your cv over there. We will get back to you.”
You look at where she pointed. A pile of papers and files stand abandoned like a mini skyscraper gathering dust at the end of her table. Soon you would probably buy roasted plantain and find your discarded cv was used to wrap your plantain. A spider is belly dancing on one of the papers with an edge that looks like it must have served as a rat’s dinner.
“Excuse me, please can I quickly see....”
“I said drop your cv there,” she says more firmly pinning you down with a stare. She looks pointedly at the direction where a uniformed guard is yawning on a stool by the door, his baton across his lap. You get the hint. You drop your file on top of the belly-dancing spider and wonder if you squashed it. You wish she could turn into that spider so you can squash her but she has gone back to her game which sounds quite familiar like the one you play at home when you are idle which is really most of the time.
“Have a nice day,” you say stiffly and walk out. She does not reply.

On your way home, you start to think of all the things you should have done. Maybe, you should have barged in and demanded to speak with the head of the human resources unit. Maybe you should have pretended to be the Brand Manager of ExxonMobil demanding an urgent meeting with the human resources department. You start to think of all you did wrong including letting that small girl intimidate you.
The nerve of a girl. A mere common girl who might have been your junior in secondary school! Your heart winces in pain.

Then as you walk under the heat to the bus-stop, you come across posters of Nollywood movies; most of them have strange titles...Izaga, Isakaba, Igodo, Karashika...and you suddenly get a burst of inspiration. You smile as the sun boils your head, as sweat creeps down your face until your handkerchief is too wet to handle any more. In your mind you recreate the scene, fixing in details of what you should have done and should not have done.

Imagine:
You, a lady, dressed in a two piece skirt suit. Black. The skirt reaches your ankles. You have a red scarf tied around your neck and a matching one on your head. You have kohl painted underneath your eyes until your eyes look like they are standing out of darkness. You have red coral beads around your wrists and ankles that jingle as you move and a long black mark drawn cleverly down the middle of your forehead. There is one more thing to do...

You, a guy dressed in a three piece suit. Black. You hold a cane on one hand because you are faking a limp. You have kohl painted underneath your eyes and red breads around your wrist in place of your leather wristwatch. You have a patch of red cloth over one eye that you tie at the back of your head. You had ensured that the smoke from Iya Kofo’s roasted corns permeated every hole in your clothes so now you smell really weird. There is one more thing to do...

“Hello,” you say. You smile at the lady in front of you; beside her is a plaque that reads FRONT DESK PERSONNEL. She looks up at you. At first she is confused, intrigued then when she sums everything she sees in front of her, terror creeps into her eyes. She pushes her chair further away from you. She brings out the rosary hidden inside her blouse to view and fingers it. You smile wider. You like the warning.
“May I see the head of the Human Resources Department?” you ask.
“Who...who are you?”
You like that she is the one stammering. You relax a full minute before answering.
“My name is KarashikaIzagaDuduosunIkenga from the great Ogboni Kingdom, the third in line to the priesthood of Igbudu. I need to drop my cv.” A pause. “Please.”
In a second, she is out of her seat. She is trying hard to smile but her smile is wobbly; makes her look like she is about to burst into tears.
“This way please. Would you like Coke or Mirinda? We even have Beer if you want. I can organise for wine if you prefer that.”
“No thank you,” you reply hiding your smile.

Before you know it, you are seated before the Managing Director himself and you know you just got yourself a job but then you remember that you have to attend today’s night vigil just in case the evil spirits are watching and decide to take you serious.