Because I Belong

It was a cold afternoon.

The restless harmattan wind blew fitfully through the day, howling down alleys and avenues, scattering leaves and waste paper down the streets. The sky was clear and azure, blue with an appealing brightness. It was a sharp contrast that lay between the exceedingly cold harmattan and the stark naked Heavens.

I sauntered casually through the gates, with a casual nod at the security men, and an indifferent glance at the attendants. There were about ten people supposed to interview me that day. I knew, because I had been informed. Knowledge is power. Information is power.

Ten people — six men and four women. I knew long before-hand. Why should I not know? The owner of the company was my god-father.

Thus, I could saunter into the interview grounds six long hours after the interview was slated to begin. Eight o’clock in the morning. And here I was, just arriving at two in the afternoon.

I had just rounded up the supposed youth service that I had supposedly endured for my fatherland, and this would be the third time I would be rounding it up. I had served once in Katsina State — the first time, and twice in Lagos. Not because I loved my fatherland any more than you do yours. But simply because I needed the money, and the caucus I belonged to had not then deemed it fit to see to my getting a suitable employment.

I strode into the interview room with a cigarette in my hand. Lit. I was not drunk — I had used twelve good hours to sleep off my last hangover. But I needed Uncle Tobacco.

I dragged out of it, and casually looked around.

I had been ushered into the air-conditioned room by the women attending to the applicants. There had been about forty young men and women in the large waiting room that led to the interview room, but not one of them grumbled over the fact that I was ushered in before them — though I obviously got to the venue long after they did. Probably, they thought I was one of those to interview them.

Some of them had gotten to the venue two hours before the interview was slated to begin at eight in the morning. Most of them knew the rules.

They did not belong.

I took a long drag out of my cigarette, and blew insolently into the conditioned air; then I sauntered over to the chair placed before those to interview. I sat down — not because I was told to be seated, but as though I owned the entire building.

“Good afternoon,” I said to one of the interviewers; and I took another drag out of my cigarette.

“John Benson, I presume?” he asked of me.

I nodded casually and replied,

“Yeah. BSc Accounting. Unilag.”

“Could you please put out your cigarette?” asked one of the female interviewers.

“No, I can’t,” I replied, and took another drag out of the cigarette.

“You’re employed,” said the man that had spoken first.

I smiled at him, and dropped the butt of my cigarette on his table. I did not want to ruin the rug.

“I’ll see you tonight,” I told him. “Take care of yourself.”

As I walked out of the room wherein the other applicants sat waiting for their Gods to decide their fate, I took a look at their apprehensive faces and laughed to myself.

A six-figured salary per month was waiting for me, and all I had had to do was be present at the interview. Because I belong.

— Ikoro Iyineleda

10th of September, 2020.