Chapter 3
In a green Panama hat, a well pressed white top, and a pair of green trousers, the Security of Jona Group of Companies eased up in his tracks when the frontage of one of Ana's car revealed itself from a distance. He always thanked his stars for the fact that the company's location always made view for him to see who was approaching from a kilometre away. If not for the vantage, he bet he would have been sacked before long. During most times of the week, car horns would jerk him awake from his nightmares when a worker was entering or wanted to leave.
Before he went to the gate, he flagged one worker who was entering the front door that her CEO was coming. She run to her desk and upon sitting, sent a bulk message across.
'The WITCH is in.'
In a matter of seconds, the whole place fell into dead silence. Some in the haste knocked their knees to the hard wooden compartments and hopped on one leg to their seats, squirming in agony as they logged on to their respective accounts and began work. Only pecks from keyboards did any talking from that point forward.
Most at times the Security felt a stupid urge to lie down when Ana's car was slowly thrusting into the compound. He would greet Ana about three to four times before she entered the front door.
Ana entered with majestic steps. As she walked to her office, as though she was not watching, she could see from end to end in her peripheral view. They knew beyond doubt that she was watching with hawk eyes.
She quickly settled in her swivel chair, replied all emails, shuffled some files on her table, and span around to her side. The view she loved so much, seeing her sea of workers spread out beneath like worshippers seeking blessings from a goddess. She loved to watch the hustle and bustle at work. Her working environment was perfect for strict supervision. Diligence is the mother of good fortunes, so she wanted to instil diligence in her workers.
Ana's office stood a floor high from the rest of the building, so that she could see everybody through the transparent glass walls. When one was outside, one could not see inside her office but she could see from the inside to outside. She had been subject to the feeling of being constantly watched by her Director in a similar building so she knew how it felt like. This kept her employees on their toes every time.
When Ana landed herself a job fourteen years ago, it was worse. She never knew humans like her Director existed. The old man lived and breathed his work. At present, Ana found herself doing same. When she was in her heavenly office, no one dared idled without pretending to work. If you were caught dozing or barring, if only she was not in her normalcy, you would pass free, but if she was, your day would be a mess. One would pass for the laziest worker of the day. A spectacular volley of tongue-lash would be hollered at that worker. Mostly, the silence that would ensue after the fiasco would pass for the Guinness Book of Records. She believed in kill one to warn a few. No one wanted to be Ana's scapegoat by will. Moreover, she always kept her fingers on the pulse so that her company was the best or one of the best.
That morning, Ana had nearly called out Becky, her personal assistant, when it dawned on her that Becky quit last week. She was about her eleventh personal assistant to quit working under her.
Most of them found her inhumanely demanding and dictatorial. Working as her personal assistant, one would have to meet multiple deadlines, multi-task through out the day, and occasionally work some overtimes before retiring for the day, leaving only the personal assistant and Ana at the work place. They would type until their nails wanted to fall out. Her workers called her by many names she was not aware of: Hitler, Idi Amin, wicked lioness, the list continues. Today, she was called 'the witch,' because Becky screamed the word in her face when she quitted. Before Becky, Ana was 'Monster'; the Personal Assistant before Becky wrote the word on her windscreen with her red lipstick on her way out of the building.
Each time it was about closing time, Ana could read the beam that shone on her workers face. Today was no different.
'Lazy people.' Her employees could not wait to leave. Most especially the males, who never spent a second in the building after 4 p.m. She watched them contemptuously with a slow head shake.
The annual dinner was in a few weeks' time. No personal assistant meant that she had to plan the dinner by herself. It was another work that could break the back of a camel, she concluded. On top of the backlog on her workspace, just picking up the phone to call some decor to plan the upcoming event was too tiring an act. Ana hardly availed herself to the opportunities and pleasures that life offered, her only times were funerals, parties she was invited to that she gave deep consideration before attending, and the annual company dinner.
Today, she had planned on promoting one of them to the position of Personal assistant, and she knew too well that no one would vie for the two edged position. Once her personal assistant, one's salary would brim a little, but Keeping up with her pace was the other cup one needed to fill. Around noon she called for a meeting and for the first time hang her proposal in the air. This time she did not forcefully appoint someone like she always did, hand-tying the chosen one to smile and jubilate against his or her will. They all went Roman Catholic with the sign of cross when she dismissed the meeting. Some shot surprised glances at others, asking when the devil confessed Christ. Something had certainly changed about their CEO. Ana knew no one would knock on her door asking for the position so she deleted the expectation in her memory.
Having little to do, she left work in quite some haste that day, nearly causing the Security's soul to run out of his body with a loud honk that bounced him up from sleep.
She branched off to the Accra mall and bought some rose flowers. A mournful air ventilated her car. That day was exactly sixteen years her husband died in the fatal car accident. It was a bold decision on her path, because for all those years she had never visited his gravestone. Today was the first time after the burial that she had decided to visit. A face between straight and scorn was what her visage wore. It had become a natural reflex each time she felt like lamenting over the heartbreak.
When she arrived at the cemetery, stepping out of her car was another decision that required great effort and forgiveness.
Why am I here in the first place?
If he truly loved her, he would not have made her a choice. Making her a second wife but pretending she was his world in front of everybody.
She rested her forehead on her wheel and closed her eyes. Tears had wetted her lids when she opened them. She stepped out and had no difficulty at all in locating the gravestone. A few steps away from her car, she became weary and weak. She felt like some part of her had joined the lady-killer down there in the grave. Reaching in front of it, she read his name but did her best not to pronounce it in her head.
He had become a name too abominable to think of.
On impulse, she tore her sight from the name and looked else where. A cortege of mourners were not too far away. She finally squatted after a thorough debate whether to throw the scented red cluster on the stone or continue what she was doing now. She felt a soft weakness in her chest. It shook her to signal that a cry was not far away. After all these years, she finally told him to rest in peace. These three words, she had kept to herself, because she wanted him to burn in hell, to rest in painful pieces.
After about a minute, she wanted to ask the dead why it bore her to such an abyss, but the weakness in her chest had reached just behind her lips.
They quivered with an impatience to cry.
Just a word, and tears would burst out of her like a punctured pipe line. She pressed her eyes shut in sorrow and swivelled to the side away from the mourners, lest a relative of one of her workers saw her. As strong as she was, an emotion too strong to suppress was slowly engulfing her. She read the signs and stood up, plastered her bag onto the front of her thighs and began tottering to her car. When she was almost by her car, it erupted out of her, causing a number of mourners to look her way. She quickly entered her car and fetched herself a tissue. The long held tears were now forcing themselves out.
She found herself doing things she referred to as too feminine; jerking to sobs and pressing her hands to her chest as the soft sobs mushroomed into loud cries. She quieted intermittently but relapsed into the pain afterwards. In all, she used four tissue papers before returning to calm. She regretted visiting the gravestone. This was exactly what she did not want to do, cry because of him. It made her feel he still controlled her after all these years.
Not wanting to aggravate her state any more, she ignited her car and headed home.
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