APPLY HERE!

What will one not see as an applicant in this country? Me?! A centre manager for a microfinance bank! I am a graduate of Human Kinetics for the love of Moses! I see I am getting ahead of myself here. I’ll begin where it is always best.

In my crazed search for employment, I came across an advertisement for Business Development Executives, and anyone in the job market knows that that is the latest euphemism for Marketers, right? It was posted on one of the numerous online jobsites I subscribe to so I figured there was no harm in trying. The specified qualifications included a good first degree (check!), good communication skills (check again!) and of course, marketing skills. Last but not least, 5 years experience in a similar position. Oh, and you must not be more than 26 years of age. 

Were they serious? Where in Nigeria did they think they’d find 26-year-old graduates with 5 years work experience? Should the applicants have been working while in school? Of course I don’t have 5 years experience but I am definitely below 26. Following the format for applying, I sent in my details- name, age, sex, qualification and as for years of experience I indicated 2. The worst that could happen was that I wouldn’t get called, right? 

Wrong.

                                          

I got called and the worst was yet to come. Actually, I was sent a text message to come for an interview at so-so address by that-that bus stop, beside ding-dong plaza. The company name was “Harvest MFB” and I was required to be there by 12 noon with triplicate copies of my CV and supporting documents, 2 passport photographs and a file.

Monday dawned too quickly. I brushed out my best black jacket, and my favourite black pants. I meticulously applied my make-up, said my prayers with DD and we took off for the other side of town. At 11:50, he let me out across the road from the landmark plaza stated in the address. This is where the bad began.

There were rows of shops just about everywhere you could turn and no office signage in sight. I figured the office was around back or something. I started asking for directions, 

Is this number 18? 

I’m looking for Harvest Microfinance Bank, is it here? 

No one had heard of such a bank. 

Suspecting a scam, I began to boil in my suit. 47 minutes of make-up began to disappear in the blistering Lagos heat. I noticed a sign adjacent to the plaza indicating that the building on that side was also number 18a.

I went across to more row of shops. I was about to ask a couple of rug sellers sitting outside their shop if I was in the right place but before I could utter a word, about 3 of them barked, “Go like this!” while pointing in a uniform direction.

Sorry? I’m looking for Harvest Micro-

“Go this way!”

Oh! I said thanks as one of them mumbled something about the office getting some sort of security to direct people.

Moving on, I saw a flight of dirty, old, rickety steps. I said to myself, no, it can’t be possible. I will get to the top of these stairs and find a beautifully furnished, finished and air-conditioned office or at least be told that I had the wrong entrance. I reached for the railing, then thought better of it when I remembered the one described in The Beautiful Ones Are Not Yet Born. At the top, all my hopes were dashed as I walked into an open door (No air-conditioning, no power whatsoever!). If you think that was bad wait till you hear the rest. The “office” was about the size of my sink!

Crammed into the space were about 20-odd people, 3 females and the rest, males. There were no seats let alone standing room so I wondered whose bright idea it was to build a closed-off wooden partition to the side, further reducing the space in the room. Hopefully, it led to where I was going to. I managed to maneuver my way to what appeared to be a front desk. I saw 3 sweaty people seated across from a man. I pointedly ignored them and addressed him. 

“Good afternoon sir,” I always bring my manners. “I am here for an interview with Harvest MFB”

“That’s ok. You can wait.” 

Say what?! Did I hear right? Was this it? This? Dirty walls, wooden bench squealing under the weight of the 6 jobseekers fighting for balance on it, the overflowing waste bin to the side, the other jobseekers taking up all the space by the stained, open windows, all straining to catch a breath of exhaust-filled air from the streets. Not to mention the shelves which held tile samples? As I took all this in, I instinctively reached for my cellphone. Come and get me! I nearly screamed into the mouthpiece but DD was not answering. 

Midway through my second attempt I cut the call as my mind went back to some urban legend about recruitment agencies operating from dingy offices that placed jobbers in good name companies. I call it an urban legend because I personally do not know anyone (Or anyone who knows anyone for that matter) who got employed in a big name company through such operations. Then again, there’s a first time for everything. I had also heard of the “agencies” that demanded “processing fee” for your application. A part of me prayed this was one of those so I could bail early and put this down to a very bad encounter with scam-artists!

The loudness of my ring tone jarred me alert. I stepped out to the verandah and took my call...

To Be Continued...