In the early hours of Monday, I picked up my bag with a few writing materials and walked down to the nearest bus stop to catch a vehicle heading towards my school.
The vehicle hadn't moved much when I heard a beep from my phone. I struggled to pick up my phone as the vehicle was too jam-packed with passengers. Before I could pick up the phone, it was already a missed call.
The phone rang once more, but it was a strange number. I didn't have the number saved on my phone. At first, I hesitated to pick it up, but after much thought, I picked. A feminine voice on the phone, which sounds like a woman in her late 50s. "will be able to come to Alausa on Wednesday. When you are coming, ensure you bring along your credentials. "Alausa, for...' I had not finished my statement when she said, 'Yes, Lagos state headquarters at Ikeja; ask for Mrs. Sodimu when you arrive at the Tescom Office." Then she hung up.
At that moment, I was destabilized. "What should I do? Who do I call? How do I get to the location? What if it's a scam?" These were the questions I was reflecting on when I heard another beep. It was an SMS with the details of how I would locate the office.
I had to alight from the vehicle heading to school and drop at a friend's house that was closed by.
I knocked on her door. "Who's there?" She answered while trying to open the door. It's me, your friend Sade," I responded. She opened the door and asked where I was coming from and if I wouldn't be going to school, which I answered by explaining what had happened. She actually helped by calling his mom, who stayed in Lagos, though not Ikeja. It was just about 30 minutes' drive to Ikeja, she explained. Her mom was positive that I could go to the venue from their house so that I would get to the venue by 8:00 in the morning.
The next day, I boarded the first bus heading to Lagos from Ibadan. Inside the bus, her mother had called and directed me on how to get to Oshodi, saying that she would come to pick me up at the bus stop. When I alighted from the bus, she was already waiting for me. She was wearing a red top and a blue skirt, as she told me while on the phone with her.
She called a bike man to take us both to their house. The bike man hadn't only moved for about a minute when I realised my bag had been snatched by a man at the back of another bike. I didn't know whether I should cry. The bag contained valuables—my clothes and money. It was only my credentials that weren't there.
I shouted thief, but before I knew it, he had disappeared in a twinkle of an eye. When we got home, my friend's mother felt bad and lamented, "I suppose, I should have told you this: Lagos is not for the weak; you ought to hold your bag tight." I had no choice but to accept what had happened.
I slept early on that day so that I could wake up on time and not miss the interview.
When I got to the venue of the interview, I met about 300 people who came for the same interview. In my mind, I was like, "What is this?" I didn't get discouraged and asked for Mrs. Sodimu. I was directed to her office. I met her arranging flies. "Ma, you called me two days ago. "You are among those I called on Monday." I responded with yes, ma. She told me to submit my credentials and join others.
Not long after that, we were addressed. We were told about the modality for the interview. It was in three sections. The first was essay writing, followed by microteaching, and the last was an oral interview.
The funniest part of it was that we were told we would know our fate that same day. We were all called into a conference room, where we were asked to write an essay for only ten minutes. The next was microteaching, which took just about 10 minutes for each of us. Then, the last stage was the oral interview. We were called one after the other to the last number on the list. When all was done, the director of education addressed us all and congratulated everyone in anticipation of the job.
She further said, "I will call from number one to number ten till I get to the last number. If you hear pass, then you are appointed. If it's failed, that means you have to come back another time." When I heard this, I was so scared to death. The first number from one to ten was called, but only for two of them to pass. Fear gripped me so badly. I was number 15. It was my turn.
She said, "Eleven to fourteen fail; numbers fifteen and sixteen pass. The rest failed." The kind of joy that filled my heart that day knew no bounds. I returned home with joy filling my heart; I forget that I had lost something valuable.