Sochima thought that she had finally received the ticket that would grant her entry into the life she always dreamt of. That was after she had received an e-mail about her transfer letter to the company’s branch in Abuja, along with a pay raise. She had screamed in delight after opening the e-mail. But when she had told Munachi, her best friend about the transfer, she had seemed more skeptical than happy.
“I’m not sure, Sochy. Abuja is too expensive. You know all that glitters isn't gold,” Munachi said.
“Munachiiii,” Sochima groaned. “You worry too much. I’ve spoken to some old school friends there. They promised to help me settle in.”
Munachi gave her a long look. “Just promise you won’t lose yourself.”
Sochima smiled, softening. “I just want you to be happy for me.”
“Of course, I am,” Munachi said, pulling her in for a hug. “So, when do you leave?”
“3rd of next month.”
“Perfect. We’re going shopping. You need to enter Abuja in style.”
Tomi, one of her friends who lived in Abuja had sent her driver to pick up Sochima from the airport. Sochima looked out of the window, taking in the scenery. Abuja looked beautiful just like the pictures she had seen on TV but Abuja pretended not to be Nigeria—like it wanted to be a country of it's own. Abuja glistened too perfectly under the sun. The roads were wide, sweeping and too clean. There was no traffic, no blast of horns, no child hawking cold pure water, no dust, no chaos. Everything was too quiet and Sochima felt the uneasy quietness settle on her like a thick veil.
Tomi’s brown gate swung open, revealing a white mansion that stole Sochima’s breath. Even three years at her job wouldn’t buy a corner of it. Palm trees danced lazily in the breeze; bougainvilleas and ixoras bloomed in grand vases. The compound gleamed with interlocked tiles. She stepped out of the car, breathing in the sweet fresh air. As she tried tipping the driver—who politely refused—Tomi emerged.
Her oud scent preceded her. Then came the silk boubou, her caramel skin shimmering like crushed diamonds. She moved like someone used to being watched. Sochima straightened subconsciously, suddenly aware of her own plainness. Tomi’s brilliant smile found her which she returned stiffly, before they embraced.
“Sochimaaaa. Welcome to Abuja,” Tomi said, her voice cool and smooth.
Tomi was a good host to Sochima. She answered Sochima’s questions patiently, took her sightseeing around Abuja. Abuja was a grand city. Mountains grazed the skyline softly like forgotten lovers trying to remember their bodies. Skyscrapers rose like silent gods. Sochima often felt her breath catch at its radiance. Tomi would take her out to restaurants where a bottle of wine cost three months of Sochima’s salary. Tomi always paid and Sochima never asked her questions about how she was able to afford it. Tomi would dress her up in bone straight wigs and expensive dresses and makeup and in a way, Sochima felt like she was gradually starting to belong.
It had been three months since Sochima had started living in Abuja. She had been trying to find her footing at her new office but she was soon to realize that the system wasn't merit-based. It was connection based. Whenever she tried to suggest ways they could increase investors numbers for the company, she was warned to ‘relax’ and not get too ambitious.
One fateful day, the head of her department, Miss Cynthia asked to see her.
“Good morning, ma’am.” Sochima greeted.
“Good morning.” Miss Cynthia replied. Miss Cynthia was around Sochima’s age bracket and Sochima always wondered how she had risen to the top so fast. She always looked elegant and well dressed, just like Tomi.
“Sochima, right? I have heard a lot about your hard work and ambition, though it seems you are not recognized for it.” Cynthia looked at her with piercing eyes. Sochima was quiet as she didn't know how to respond to that.
“Well, I see you and I think you deserve to be promoted.” Sochima’s heart raced and a smile was leaking into her face. “But, before I can recommend you to HR for a promotion, there's a task I will like you to accomplish. A casual company dinner will be hosted tomorrow night. The big goons of the country will be in attendance. We are going to use that opportunity to snag one of them to be an investor in our company. I'm going to need you to pitch our best ideas to them. I know you are good, that's why I chose you.”
“Wow, thank you so much for this opportunity, Miss Cynthia. I'm grateful and I promise to do my absolute best.” Sochima said, trying hard to keep her happiness hidden.
“Don't thank me yet. Deliver your promise and let's see about that promotion. More information about the dinner night and prospective investor will be sent to your mail. Don't disappoint me. Have a good day.” Cynthia dismissed her.
Sochima told Tomi about Cynthia's proposal.
“If she says the big goons of the country are coming, then you have to dress spectacularly. We need to go shopping.” Tomi said.
“Tomi, you know that I don't have money to shop for all these expensive dresses. I'm saving up my salary so I can get my own apartment. Let me just manage the dinner gown I brought.”
“Not on my watch. Am I complaining about you being here? And I never said you will be paying for whatever we buy. Get dressed. Let's go to the mall. You need to look gorgeous.”
“But…”
“No but or I'll be angry.” Tomi frowned at her. Sochima sighed in resignation.
Tomi had dressed Sochima in a wine gown with a halter neck, open back and a slit running up the right thigh. Sochima worried she might be showing too much skin. But Tomi had dismissed her concerns, saying that her dress was modest compared to what other people would wear. And she was right.
At the dinner, she realized that most of the company staff in attendance were females and they were cozying up to higher-ups and the big people in attendance. But she refused to accept that this dinner was not strictly for business. She scanned the crowd and finally saw Alhaji Gulma, the prospective investor. He was a bald headed man whose belly strained against his shirt. He was lounging on one of the chair with a champagne glass in his hand. Cynthia walked towards him.
“Good day, sir.” Sochima said.
The man turned to her, then ran his eyes lazily over her. Her skin crawled and she found her self adjusting the halter neck.
“You are the girl Cynthia sent. She has done absolutely well.” He said in a voice thick with wine.
What did he mean by the girl Cynthia sent?
“Yes sir. I am here to pitch our ideas and strategies. We would really love if you could be one of our investors.” Sochima said in a monotone voice.
“Don't worry about that, my dear. Cynthia already knows I'm going to invest. I'm sure she told you the real reason why you are here.” His tongue flicked out to lick his lips and Sochima felt disgust at that act.
“The real reason I am here is to do my job, sir.”
“Stop forming holy girl. Come and sit beside me, so I can feel your warmth.” He placed his hand on her arm and dragged her gently to his side. Her body stiffened and she felt like a pawn being moved across a chessboard against her will. She forcefully removed her arm from his and stalked out of the hall. It had taken all her willpower not to dump the champagne on the table on his head. As she left the venue, hot tears gathered at the back of her eyes. So, this was what she had to do for her to get promoted.
When she told Tomi about the incident, Tomi’s response shocked her.
“See, Sochima, In Abuja, dog eats dog. You have to play the game, or you’ll be left at the bottom of the food chain, groveling for scraps. You think I'm living this big life because of my fashion design business? Wise up, my dear.”
Sochima had suspected Tomi of being rich men’s escort but she hadn't expected that Tomi would be so blatant about it, like it was something to be proud of. She called Munachi later that night.
“When you get to the office tomorrow, report this issue to the HR. Why would Cynthia try to pimp you out without your consent even? Can you imagine?” Munachi said angrily.
Sochima was comforted by Munachi’s advice and she decided to report it. But on getting to the office the next day, a huge surprise awaited her. She had been fired from her job for being disrespectful to the higher-ups. Sochima loved her job and when she got the letter, something went quiet in her. Her eyes dulled and depression seeped in like ink on tissue.
“I don't think I can do this anymore, Munachi. I don't think I can.” Sochima said quietly over the phone, tears slowly dripping down her cheeks. Tomi had asked her when she was going to move out and her attempt to find an apartment had been to no avail. The apartment prices choked and not within her budget. She scouted for new jobs but she had to have connections in the upper echelons before she was even granted an interview. Depression hung like a dark cloud over her head. She missed her small but solid life in Enugu. She missed the lazy Saturday afternoons, the smell of harmattan dust and the laughter of her neighbor’s kids. She missed her tiny apartment.
“Then come home, Sochy. Abuja is clearly not the place for you. That place is like a quiet warzone.” Munachi pleaded with her.
And she was right. Abuja was a city of mirrors, where everything was a reflection, but not reality. Wealth and elegance were reflected, but behind each mirror was fear, debt, expensive loneliness. It was a theatre of wealth where the actors forgot to take off their costume and people performed lives they hated. Abuja didn't welcome people. It performed. It seduced and it took. It was like a false alarm; loud, urgent, promising something real, but empty.
Sochima took a walk that night. Abuja looked beautiful as always, glowing lights that never really went off, clean roads, quiet. Sochima took in the view. She passed by a car and looked at her reflection in its tinted window. Her eyes looked lightless. The city had stolen her spark from her and she couldn't understand why she had to give up her morals to the city for things to work for her. She realized then that Abuja was a place you survive. Nobody really lived there. They just posed.
She made up her mind. She wasn't going back home. She was going to pose and perform. She would put on a mask like it was second skin and she would regain what she had lost and more.
All images were created using Chatgpt
