Career/finance-wise, i wouldn’t say I am where I want to be. I suppose billions of people in the world would echo the same words), but am not blogging about them am I? Nope. So, we continue. I am not at a place where I’d say, “yes! this is it!” Some days, I’m really scared I might never get there actually. I have had many disappointments, especially job offers I’d been so sure was coming my way, and at the final stage something happened. Either, I got bored of repeating myself interview after interview, or I was tired of having to convince someone that I was of some good. Or, I’ve written articles after articles, and typos continue to plague me no matter how many times I edit. Or, I just can’t seem to connect to my audience. And I’d go home and wondering, “what the frigging use!!!”
No, this is not a depressing article, so stick with me a little while.
As much as I would say that many things haven’t gone my way, a great deal have worked better than I feared. When you were about graduating from the university, stories of ‘how to make it in life’ start gaining momentum. Many of us did not have any connections in high places, so of course we wondered what hope there was for us. Many of us also did not graduate top-of-our-class, nor where sure of a masters degree program that would be sponsored by a daddy, uncle, rich boyfriend, rich fiance, and all the like. Many of us were pretty clueless about how things would turn out.
I was the first graduate in my dad’s house, and he was done with paying school fees for me. Him feeding me, of course, was a thing I couldn’t wait to be over and done with. No, I didn’t want to be reminded of how much food I was wasting. No, I didn’t want to wait three hours or more for him to give me the N100 to buy garri in the market. No, I did not want anymore of his generosity. So living at home until a good husband comes along was out of the fucking question!
My first job paid me N5,000 a month. I was a computer teacher in three secondary schools outside Owerri where I lived. Mind you, I had no formal computer training. Anything i knew about using the computer was strictly DTY. But, I was able to convince the company, that won a contract from the Imo State govt to boost computer literacy in schools, that I knew what I was doing. And then proceeded to teach myself from their curriculum. Anything I didn’t get, I improvised. N5,000 is not a hell of money, but I had just left school, was waiting for NYSC, and couldn’t stand my dad’s presence 24/7. Besides, now I could recharge my cellphone without bugging my mom, who had three kids on her hands that my dad had written off.
By NYSC, I was got pretty tired of not having any connection. People were being posted to Lagos and Abuja. I was sent to Adamawa. People were being retained in Yola, I was thrown to Gombi. People were being sent to Julius Berger, I was to teach chemistry where I was paid N1,500 per month, to be received at the end of service year. Living only on the N7,500 allowance from NYSC, I have to admit that it sometimes got to me that some collected as much as N30,000 from their placed primary deployment, and they could be converted to staff (if they wanted) after passing out. I would spend one year in a village, paid practically nothing, and then join the entire human race in searching for job come August 2005. Can’t one frigging get a break!
My first post-NYSC job was with an NGO. A local organisation run by a doctor who was making his money from his private practice, so this NGO business was more like a hobby for him. He paid me N20,000 to manage the office, and I would see him once a day when he drops by to know how we were doing. I wasn’t ungrateful. I had been searching for a job for 6 months, and getting mighty depressed from sitting at home and watching AIT. Moreover, N20,000 is a long way from N5,000, wouldn’t you say. Of course, most of that money went into transportation, but a job is a job is a job. I was 23 and wasn’t thinking about my mate, Britney Spears, who was earning millions of dollars. I did, however, tried really hard not to think about my mates working in Oceanic Bank and Zenith Bank. I remember one of them. We sat for the Diamond Bank test, and even before the results were out, chick was debating what clothes she would wear to the interview. She of course got called for the follow-up interview, and was given the job. I didn’t.
A break! Thank you, Lord!
A friend of mine called me, said there was an opening in her company. She sent me the JD, and suggestions of how I could package my CV to make it attractive. I did, and then went to her office to ask her what she thought of it. She had a few more suggestions, and while she was working them into my CV, I sat before her and waited. Then, the Oga of the office walks in. Let me describe my attire that day. My hair, braided with wool, was a mixture of black and blue. My clothes, a simple tank top that was very sweet on my boobs. My trousers, a fading blue jeans that had lots of room in them. I can’t remember if I had make-up on or not, but most probably not, as I am not very big on appearance. If you asked me, I would say I was pretty. But obviously, the Oga felt so. And requested, through, my friend that I apply for the job if I wasn’t otherwise employed. This is an international NGO, of course I would employed in an instant if they wanted it! I was however warned not to expect anything. But to give my best to the interview process, as nothing was guaranteed. Long story short, two weeks after I was fired from the N20,000 job (long story. Will tell it another day), I was offered a N80,000 position with this organisation.
Since that first job with an international organisation, I have worked with three more NGOs like it. Unlike the first one, where I knew someone working there, I had strictly responded to newspaper/online adverts. For each job interview I was invited to, eight others have pass me over. And for these eight, I had felt the rejection like bee sting. It hurt the most the times I have been in-between jobs, jobs I had left because of my family. And those low moments, I’d dream of having someone – maybe a powerful minister – whose one phone call would get me that wonderful job with out of this world salary, trips around the world etc. I get tired of getting everything for myself. I want to be carried into guaranteed success. Trials and errors, failing and rising up, receiving plenteous ‘NO’s while fervently praying that, just this once, there would be a yes. It takes a toll on one. i think about hundreds of people are doing much better than me. Earning more, jumping on and off airplanes like I used to jump on and off buses. They don’t have to save for a year to buy a car. They don’t have to worry about being able to afford putting themselves through a UK masters degree.
In all, I am who I am today because I have achieved things by myself. I can dream of getting more, because I know I have gotten once and I would always get another. Yes, ‘NO’s still get me down. But, there’s joy in knowing that I’m capable. I’ve a dream of owning a farm some day in the future, and while it scares me to wonder if I’d succeed in business, I take a lot of pride in myself that I’ve come this far by myself, so why the hell not!
Again, I’m not at the peak. But, it’s only a matter of time.
p.s: yeah, don’t forget to drop by my Daily Times page and leave a comment
p.p.s: if anyone is wondering, no that oga did not tell me that I don’t become his mistress, no job for me. He wasn’t even my direct supervisor, so life wasn’t a cruise for me just cos I got the job.
p.p.p.s: If you’re not getting a job, it’s not just cos you don’t have connections! So, get off your lazy ass and go empower yourself
Filed under: Shotmusinz, career, independent woman, life's tough mehn
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