Village People

 The sun hung high in the sky and its heat was already soaking up your sleeves. You glanced at your wristwatch. A few minutes before eight o’clock was an unusually early time for the sun to be aggressively hot. You wanted to curse at it, but no, not today. It could be a sign that God’s blessing was already shining down on you. You looked tired from jumping off one bus to the other, and you wished you had taken something more filling than pap for breakfast. You reached for your phone in your bag and checked your location on Google Maps just to be sure you were going in the right direction. You’ve never been to this part of the city before, and you couldn’t risk getting lost.

You’ve been standing at the busy junction for close to ten minutes, waiting for a tricycle with a vacant seat to hop on, but everybody seemed to be headed somewhere. Finally, a rickety tricycle with a space approached. You eagerly flagged it down. A plumpy lady and a young man had created a space at the back, too small for you to properly fit in. On a normal day, you would choose standing under the sun over being compressed in a Keke, but you were running late, and today wasn’t a day to play pick and choose. 

As the wheels of the Keke plunged in and out of the countless portholes along the road, anxious thoughts ran back and forth in your head.

Vitalyn dey? The Keke rider asked, grabbing your attention after what felt like an endless ride.

“Yes, yes.” You replied, signaling to the chubby lady to let you get down. You considered people like her to be inconsiderate for not paying for two seats.

As you approached the gate leading to the large complex, you ran your hands over your outfit, straightening your collar and smoothening down the creases on your skirt. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, made the sign of the cross over your forehead and your shoulders, and walked in with composure.

You were directed to a waiting room where other candidates like you were already seated. You walked in, anxiety creeping up your sleeves as you took a seat. Apparently you were among the last persons to arrive looking at the filled seats. Thankfully, the air conditioner in the room was doing a good job cooling your sweaty body.

“Hmmm, I could get used to this.” You muttered to yourself with a little giggle.

Your eyes roved around the room, scanning the strange faces. You attempted a head count and counted twenty applicants. Some looked nervous, others looked serious, and a few were glued to their phones. You immediately remembered all the “Dos” and “Don’ts” you had watched on YouTube concerning job interviews. Everything mattered. Before, during, and after you are called in, so you sit still, soaking in the cool air in the room.

 You began to reflect on everything that had brought you to this point. Getting a job has always seemed like something abstract to you, till you got into the scene over a year ago. You never dreamt securing even an interview would be this hard considering your exceptional grade as a first-class graduate. You had applied to several companies, written several assessment tests, with zero callbacks or interviews. The struggle of job hunting was slowly chipping away at your mental health and your resources, so you resorted to setting up a small snacks business to keep your pockets from running dry, and then came this opportunity.

  An opportunity for recent graduates like you to intern in this reputable pharmaceutical company. It felt like the perfect role for you as a fresh graduate with a degree in chemistry. After a rigorous assessment test a month ago, you had been shortlisted among the exceptional few worthy of an interview. Something about that follow-up mail and your mother’s fervent prayers felt like this job was already yours.

After some minutes of waiting, you got bored and were about to bring out your phone to pass the time when a smart-looking lady walked in. Her heels were rhythmically clicking against the floor dragging all the heads in the room in her direction.

“Good morning, and welcome to Vitalyn Pharmaceuticals. I’m Mrs. Blessing Oki, and I will be briefing you on the structure of this interview. So …”

 Her voice gets drowned out by the gurgling noise in your stomach. 

“… feel free to ask questions and call my attention if you need anything. I will be at the desk.” She finally ended what felt like an endless lecture. 

 The next twenty minutes felt like forever, your heart racing twice as fast with each name being called at intervals. You moved uncomfortably on the side chair, clutching your belly, your face twisting in panic along with your insides. You wondered if this sudden rush in your tummy was a product of tension or the pap and akara you bought this morning.

“Christabel Eghosa, you’re next.” The third person coming out of the interview room announced.

You got up and walked into the office. Your feet instantly went cold at the sight of the interview panel. Three experts questioning just you was something to be intimidated by.

“Miss Christabel Eghosa, right?” The male among them asked. 

“Yes, Sir.” You replied, with a nod.

“Please, have your seat.”

You sat nervously on the vacant chair opposite the panelists, trying hard to hide your shaky hands.

“You’re welcome to this interview session.” He continued, “I’m Mr. Goodluck Abeh, the senior HR manager of Vitalyn Pharmaceuticals. I will let the rest of the panel introduce themselves. 

You watched as both ladies by his side said their names, goosebumps already surfacing on our skin. 

“Tell them you want to use the restroom.”

“No, that would look so unprofessional. I can hold it together. I can do this.”

 You sat calmly as your mind tossed both options back and forth to you.

“Please, can I have a copy of your CV?” He requested.

You unzipped your bag and reached for the envelope. Your eyes stared at the envelope for a brief moment, then anxiously at the panelists, and back to the envelope.

“Ahhh!” You didn’t realise when you let out a scream.

“Miss Christabel, what’s the problem?” The youngest lady and the most friendly-looking among the three asked.

“I —-I can’t find my CV. It was right here in this envelope.”

“Weren’t you prepared for this interview?” The second lady picked up the questioning, clearly irritated.

“I’m sorry ma, I’m confused; it was right in this envelope.”

“So where did it go?” She asked, rolling her eyes. 

“I don’t know, but—but I have the softcopy on my phone. I will go print it and be right back,”  you said, your voice already tensed.

You reached for your phone in your bag but couldn’t find it. You emptied the content of your bag to be sure your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

“Oh my God! I think I have been robbed.” You announced, with tears welling in your eyes. The nudge from your bowel instantly paused for a moment.

“Where did this happen? I hope not in this facility.” Mr. Goodluck said.

“No, the last time I checked my phone was just before entering a tricycle down here. I think it was in the tricycle. It was really tight, and—and I was sitting next to this man and a lady, but he looked innocent. How did I not notice?” You managed to speak, your voice shaky with each word.

You’ve heard countless stories of robberies carried out in Keke napeps. How the thieves skillfully distract people and snatch their phones right under their noses. How they disguise themselves as passengers and their accomplices as Keke riders. You’ve even heard of how some use “Juju” to block the senses of people and make them not feel anything while they rob them of their valuables. You slowly realised that for the most part of that Keke ride, you were absent-minded, mentally rehearsing this interview, and now you have just been victimised.

“We are sorry about this. Please excuse yourself and call the next candidate in while you take some time to calm down.” The friendly-looking lady said.

 You walked out into the waiting room sobbing, your thoughts strewn all over the place like a scattered jigsaw puzzle waiting to be pieced together. You looked around to see if you could see any of them—the people your mother always told you to be wary of, the people she always prayed against; your village people. You had always felt indifferent about these people, but now you were sure that at least one had followed you here and was lurking around somewhere, playing all the odds against you right when your feet were stepping into success. 

 You spontaneously walked up to the desk, your whole body fidgeting as you approached Mrs. Blessing.

“Ma, please, I need to use the restroom.” 

She pointed in its direction, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. You walked past the curious face staring at you, your legs swiftly heading to the white house. Anxiety gripped you as you got closer, and you wondered if your village people were coming behind, ready to cause another havoc. You clasped your hands, begging God to intervene and take control of whatever would happen next.