The Interview
Fear has a taste.
Fear has a vision.
Fear has a name.
Fear was me.
Heart pounding, pulse racing madly, I rubbed sweaty hands over my short knickers and took a deep breath. My sister eyed me with pity. She knew how I felt at that moment. We were both introverts. Unlike our elder sister who was the bold, ‘in your face’ type, I and my junior sister looked for any corner to hide in a crowd rather than stand up to it as I was about doing.
It wasn’t only the fear of facing a panel in an important interview that was in danger of strangling me. It was the fear of failure. Our family was so poor we needed the job yesterday and couldn’t even afford to wait the two months it would take for the company to compile and release the result of the interview. For four years, my parents and elder sister scraped, skimped, and saved to pay my school fees.
I couldn’t ‘not succeed’ in this interview. I simply couldn’t afford to. The onus, the pressure rested squarely on my shoulders. Like a famous footballer whose club fortunes rested on his performance on the football pitch, I had to perform.
“OK,” my junior sister, Hope gave me a reassuring nod, “what does CBR do?” she asked, reading from the list of prepared questions I had given her.
I took a deep breath, gathered my thoughts and replied, “They are a consortium of companies with operations in the upstream and downstream sectors of the oil industry, committed to ensuring the country’s standards of oil regulation are met by every oil company.”
Hope nodded at my correct answer and I breathe a sigh of relief. “What would you bring to the table?”
“I am excellent in everything I do. I am also a fast learner with an ability to work as and in a team, with a talent for getting along with everyone. My great communication and interpersonal skills will see me being an asset to your esteemed organization.”
I licked my parched lips and gazed at Hope anxiously. She gave me a tentative nod and I breathe a sigh of relief. So far so good.
“But,” Hope began, “that part sounds somehow to my ears. Can you work on it?”
“Is it that bad?” I whispered in a voice gone husky from anxiety.
“No,” she shrugged, “just work on it. Just a suggestion.”
The next day, after praying, I left for the interview. Armed with my official documents, brimming with self-confidence and a slew of nervous ants wrecking havoc in the pit of my stomach, I left home. At the junction at the end of our street, I took a bike to the nearest bus stop. As the bike blazed through the still dark street since I had left very early to avoid the traffic jam on Lagos roads, my mind went in a hundred different directions.
I reenacted the interview again in my mind, asking the same questions Hope asked and some more I was expecting. I was mentally prepared. Whatever happened later was in God’s hands. I took a deep breath and bade myself to stop worrying. I was prepared. I had completed my end of the deal, the rest was up to God.
Not up to ten seconds later, my mind went back to the interview like a glutton for punishment. That was when I realized I was missing an important document.
“Sir, turn around, please, I forgot something,” I practically shouted at the bike man. He shrugged and turned around. My heart raced and the nervous ants in the pit of my stomach scattered, wrecking more havoc. I strained my eyes at my new wristwatch, trying to see how much the turnaround would affect my punctuality.
When we pulled up in front of our gate, my sisters were both waiting with the document. I was so grateful and so happy I could have kissed their feet. It was obvious they were seconds away from bringing the document to me.
Soon, we were on our way. To my relief, there was little traffic and in exactly one hour thirty minutes, I got down from the public bus at the last bus stop. I clutched my handbag with slightly wet fingers and looked around me. I approached a woman selling bread by the side of the road and asked for directions. To my relief and mounting fear, I learnt the company quarters where the interview would be held was not far away, just a ten-minutes leisurely walk from the bus stop. I gave the woman a grateful smile and walked away.
After about five minutes, I noticed young people in my age bracket walking briskly in the same direction with briefcases, files, or handbags clutched in their hands. When I reached the company quarters, my heart began pounding beneath my breast. I stopped at a nearby empty stall to change my flats to the new, sleek heels I had bought just for the interview. I checked my appearance once more and walked back to the company premises.
We were immediately breezed in as our documents were processed. I found out I had returned home for nothing as the document I went back for wasn’t needed. Soon the interview began and we were called in according to the positions we applied for. As I sat in my section, I tried to free my mind, calm my nerves and tamp down my worries. To no avail. By the time it got to my turn, I was visibly shaking.
The attendant motioned me to the doorway and led the way down a long hallway and approached a door. He knocked once and pushed the door open.
I took a deep breath and entered, wobbling slightly in my heels.
“Good day Sirs, Ma,” I called out nervously to the panel. A woman from the Northern part of the country dressed in the full gear complete with the face covering and three suited men sat behind a long table.
“Good day,” one of the men answered and motioned to the seat before them.
I sank into the chair gratefully. I was visibly shaking and quaking in my shoes. The heels didn’t help matters. I placed my fingers on my laps and bore their scrutiny with unease.
“Let’s meet you,” one of the men finally said after a period of long, mentally wracking silence.
“My name is…”
To my relief, despite my trembling voice, I answered that as best as I could. It gave me a little confidence and belief. Perhaps I could do this. Maybe I could get the job and things would change for my family. We lived in an area with marshy ground easily flooded by rain. To make matters worse, Lagos was a city with high rainfall. So when the rains fell, the streets would be flooded. Luckily for us, our land was located on the other side of the street. So we didn’t have to worry about the flood just the roof over our heads as our home was uncompleted.
During the last rain, our roof had literally fallen on our heads. Even recalling the episode was so--
“Miss!”
I jerked myself to the present.
“Tell us about CBR,” the man to my right asked as they watched me warily.
“CBR is…” I trailed off, completely losing my train of thought. Desperately I tried to remember all I had read and prepared with Hope. “CBR is responsible for…” Jesus, I thought, I had blown it.
“Mention the states where CBR is active.”
By this time, I was scrambling. “Delta state, Cross River, Edo--”
“Edo,” the woman prodded sharply. “Are you sure about that?”
I tensed and stared back mutely. To my horror tears gathered in my eyes and I knew that I was seconds away from further humiliating myself by breaking down.
“You can go,” the man to my left spoke up for the first time.
Struggling to keep my tears at bay. I managed to hold on, barely until I reached the gates. I went back to the empty stall, chucked off my heels angrily and dropped my bag to the ground. I leaned my head against the wall and let the tears fall.
I had failed, spectacularly.