Chapter six

We crossed the busy road holding hands and spotted some tricycles waiting for passengers. Keke Napep is popularly known as a four-person vehicle with three passengers occupying the back seats and a passenger sitting with the rider up front.

We approached a Keke Napep that has two passengers sitted already so we mounted it as well to complete the ride. Bankole sat with the rider at the front while I sat at the back, sandwiched between two fat market women who wouldn't stop lamenting on the increment in cassava.

The woman at my right side was oozing terribly and the moment she raised her flabby arms to give the driver money, her foul stench loitered over my small frame and drained me of oxygen for some seconds before I recovered. my intestines died and resurrected as the horrible smell mixed with sweat slapped me hard in the face. One of the terrible reasons I hated taking public transport.

The woman on my left side decided to alight at the next bus stop. She carried her items of luggage from the back and gave the driver fifty naira.

"Madam your money na hundred naira now?" The man furrowed his brows looking angry.

"Please help me manage it, it is the remaining fifty naira I want to use to mount a bike." She pleaded, rubbing her hands together, looking so ashamed.

The Keke man smiled, looked at her and returned her money to her and told her to go without paying anything. The woman excitedly knelt in appreciation and walked away. The Keke man started the engine again and soon, we were on our merry way.

I adjusted myself to the other side now that we are only two at the back.

The woman on my right side scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Hmm! If you keep allowing people to go without paying you, how do you intend saving up money to buy a huge mansion or a better car to upgrade yourself?" She asked the keke man.

"If I'm destined to be rich to truly buy a mansion and an expensive ride then hundred naira won't dim my progress." He said without looking back.

"That is your problem." The woman spat facing the road.

"Sometimes, una suppose they help pesin without thinking plenty nonsense." He slammed her hard and hissed. Bankole and I shared a little smile from the mirror but uttered nothing.

When we finally reached tollgate, I alighted and gave him two hundred naira. He began searching his shelf for a hundred naira change.

I smiled. "Keep the change, let us keep supporting one another." I turned towards the pedestrian bridge with Bankole and we began heading towards the bank that was opposite oriental five-star hotel.

"That woman is such a snitch, imagine the way she was chatting with the other woman with bright smiles before she dropped and the moment she did, she turned against her." Bankole shook his head in negativity as we pondered about human nature.

"No one can be truly trusted indeed, by the way, how much is a hundred naira that she had to react that way." My heels clicked as we entered the bank.

"It was pure envy, she is a green-eyed monster." Bankole pulled out his identity card.

"So it was nice meeting you today, you should have my complimentary card so you can call me if you need anything." He smiled, adjusting his blue tye that sat elegantly on his black tuxedo.

"Same here, have a nice day." I stretched my hands for another shake, but he pulled me in for a hug. He felt warm and smelt like cinnamon.

"Best of luck." He whispered and entered the building, leaving me flushed and trying to digest what the hell just happened.

The bank is a sky scrapper, huge and enormous with windows so large that it reminds me of those holly wood tall buildings. Expensive and luxurious cars were parked at the large garage and the security men were dressed in a smartly tailored uniform speaking impeccably English. Everywhere looked glazing and dazzling with perfections with not a single object in sight to contradict its beauty. 

A security man stood just outside the bank with a huge gallon sanitizer to sanctify every foot that stepped in. The cool breeze from the air conditioner welcomed me in and washing away all the stress I passed through in public transportation. It reminded me that I needed to sell my car, add some money to it to purchase a better one. I can't continue this way. Beautiful ladies robed in perfect suits and short and well-ironed skirts with heels and their identity card hanging on their neck reminded me to redeem my posture. As the sharp Lagosian babe that I'm, I need to be able to fit in and adapt fast to wherever I find myself.

Some people lined up around a vending machine trying to purchase one thing or the other, others were in front of the automated teller machine, trying to withdraw money. Everyone looked busy in their respective ways as the wandered around like robots. They were just too perfect to be real.

This place has the air of a morgue, the lack of smiles, the sparse use of flowers and the music that serves to reduce the hostility of the environment. I guess these banks modelled their reception areas like the big five stars hotels all around the island, or perhaps, it is simply a sense of grandeur they are seeking to invoke.

"How may I help you." A musical voice snapped me out of my reverie.

"Hi, I got a mail from this bank saying I have an interview scheduled for 9 am," I said, patting my gown in an attempt to press away all folds from the stressful journey of public transport.

She eyed me from down to up and when she finally found my face, she gave a plastic smile. "your name?" 

"Boluwatife Coker." I swallowed, watching her type away on her computer.

"Head to your right, you will see an elevator, sixth floor and good luck." She said the well-practised phrase she has probably been using since she got the job.

"Thanks." I sighed and turned around to follow her description.

I remember when I was six and mom sent me on an errand to buy a specific type of beans. I ended up losing the money while playing around, so I had to beg different household to donate cups of beans till I got the initial quantity I was sent.

People offered different sizes and colours of beans making everything a complicated mess. I got home to a fuming African mother holding a pestle with narrowed eyes and constantly tapping her feet on the floor. It was at that moment I knew the madness in me will be pounded out. I was nervous and anxious as hell and today, I'm more than nervous, I wish there was another adjective that describes nervousness plus anxiety in full force.

I hear the soft clicks of my heels hitting the marble floor as I walk through the door the secretary directed me to. The walls are covered with grey and ivory wallpapers and motivational photography with silver frames. They were two small sections of offices across from each other and between them is a small cubicle where a woman stood up to greet me. I felt a wave of anxiety hit me.

"Hi, welcome to Access bank plc. My name is Ngozi." She was a woman close to her forties, short brown curly hair and somewhat overweight.

She extended her hand towards me. "And you are?"

"My apologies, I am Boluwatife Coker, you can call me Tife for short." I shook her hand as gracefully as I could with a small smile on my face.

The interview lasted for three hours as I had to wait till my name was called by a fat, round manager with a huge pot-belly and a permanent scowl on his face.

I'm currently waiting as we were all told to do after the interview. How well I did? I can't judge but I did the best I could produce. I tried to appear fierce like I knew what I was saying even though sometimes I think I went off point. But the man didn't stop jotting a thing or two about me. 

I'm on the seventh floor where the cafeteria is situated. I was hungry and felt I might malfunction due to lack of nourishment in my paunch. I took a bottle of water from the dispenser to digest my plate of hot Jollof rice, chicken twice as big as my head, plantain, beef, and salad.

My phone began ringing aloud attracting unwanted attention to me. It was Harriet.

"Babe, how are you?" Her loud voice screeched.

"I'm good, what's up?" I replied, drowning my bottle of it fluid.

"Anhan! Can't I call my bestie again?" Her tone laced with disbelief.

I rolled my eyes, "fine, I'm sorry, what happened?" I ate a spoonful of rice.

"Ehm!" She paused. "I am currently in a fashion competition on the internet and the winner gets a token of five millionaire, isn't that huge?" She asked.

"Sure it is, but what makes you think you can qualify?" I munched my plantain.

"Are you kidding me? I'm hot, sexy and fair in complexion so I'm overqualified joor." She hissed.

"Okay fine." I surrendered. "So why are you telling me this?" 

"I need you to vote for me via Twitter and Instagram since you are my best friend."

"Madam, I'm currently in an organization waiting for my interview result and here you are disturbing me about one nonsense fashion pageantry." I hissed.

"Please now, won't you support your best friend?" She pleaded.

I rolled my eyes. "Not when you will end up squandering it."

"But I don't waste money, I spend It on needs." She argued.

"And how did you lavish the ten million Alhaji gave you last month? you bloody spendthrift." I pouted.

"I only used it to buy designer clothes and shoes to package myself, do you want me to be looking like a beggar ni." She countered.

"Really? And what happened to the numerous new clothes you haven't even worn that are laying comfortably in your wardrobe?" I asked.

"Those ones are now old fashion, I need to be trending now." She maintained.

"Look, if I vote for you ehn, you must buy foodstuffs in the house for three months."

"Ahh!" She screamed over the phone and I had to shift it from my ears before I go deaf.

"That's too much now!" She groaned.

"But it is never too much when you burn food in the house all in the name of cooking." I shook my head.

"I said I was sorry then now." 

"Please let me hear word." I shut her up.

"So is that a yes?" She asked softly.

"A yes to what?"

"A yes to vote for me now." She whined.

"Only if you will wash the plates for two weeks," I smirked.

"You witch, isn't that too much?"

"Not at all, so whether you win or not you must sort out the dishes."

She whined in frustration.

"Is that a deal?" I asked one more time.

"Whatever." She clicked her tongue. "Yes."

"Good girl, now send the link to me on WhatsApp and watch me perform magic." I chuckled.

"Okay, bye." She said. "Best of luck." She hung up.

We were ushered into another reception on the twelfth floor, we were to go inside and listen to our results, so with prayers and faith, I walked into the office with my heart heaved up.

These jobs are always interviewed by a panel, questions fired too fast to answer with too much thought. All they want to see is what is under the veneer of your persona. And always, the cameras are trained on your face, the computer giving analysis on your micro-expressions. Not this time apparently, a guy is swinging around in a big comfy swivel chair. 

I almost backed out when he muttered fiercely. "We meet again, snake." 

Holy shit! It was the same guy I had insulted in the horrible traffic jam, that particular one that bumped into my car and at this point, I knew I screwed up big time.