It was her fifth job interview after graduating from university, and it was absolutely infuriating. She could feel the sweat collecting itself on her upper lip, underarm, breast, everywhere. She had an overwhelming urge to rub her red satin blouse on her chest, in that little pathway that eventually run down onto her stomach. She could feel the sweat very slowly trickling down to her belly and she wanted to scream.
She had been waiting for nearly two hours for her interview. She wanted to get up and tell everyone in the quiet stuffy room that this job wasn’t her first, third or tenth choice, it was her ‘I guess why not’ choice, and she didn’t need such treatment from such a place.
She looked around for the 10th, 30th time, trying to find anything that was interesting about the badly decorated room. It had an ugly blue colour with walls decorated with pretentious paintings of vintage cars. And once in a while a random painting with women in kente clothes. She could picture him, the manager of this establishment. He was probably late in his 50s, married to a wife who had contemplated divorce for years but never had the courage to leave. They definitely had children, and the children were probably young, always looking for something in their father that he wasn’t capable of giving. Aminata sighed, as fun as it was to create an image of a person based on how long they made another person wait, it didn’t help her current discomfort. Still, she imagined the man was probably too loud, with friends that talked behind his back, and liked to accidentally encroach his female’s friend’s personal space. Oh, and of course, he liked stupid vintage cars for no particular reason, except for that one James Bond movie he had watched.
She sat there in the heat, suffocating in the quiet room, and bubbling with anger of having a four-year degree that didn’t make any of this employment stuff easier.
“Ms. Aminata, Mr. Richard will see you now,” a dry voice announced from opposite her. Aminata was startled by the voice. She had long tuned everything out, drowning in her own roaring thoughts.
She looked at the secretary once again. They had exchanged very few words when she had first entered the room, and in the two hours that followed, no other words had been exchanged between them.
Aminata had glanced at her once or twice in that time, marking that she was older than her; by how much, she could guess maybe five years. There was nothing extraordinarily remarkable about her. She did seem a little too thin though. There was a time in her life, when seeing a slim girl like that would have made her feel insecure, leave her feeling large and undesirable, but being in a large university had scrubbed that filth away.
She gave the secretary whose name she had already forgotten a polite smile, the woman didn’t bother to return it and simply went back to typing whatever it is she was working on for Mr. Richard.
She didn’t blame the secretary’s ‘rudeness’, it felt weird for her to be going for an interview for a position while the person was still around. She briefly wondered if the secretary was quitting or getting fired. The longer she was in the place, the less she liked the entire atmosphere. The only reason she was still around was the fact that her and her mother’s conversation now consisted of two wonderful topics: 1) job, 2) marriage. And she needed to at least close the subject on one of those, or she was going to turn rabid. And she needed the means, the mula, to permanently run from the conversation or put a distance between herself and those conversations.
She grabbed her bag, smoothing down her satin blouse, that she really hated but her mom had convinced her made her look professional.
Finally, she entered the room.
At the sight of the panel, she immediately knew she wasn’t getting the job. The panel consisted of one person. Mr. Richard.
Aminata immediately saw that she had been wrong about a few things, mostly the man’s physical appearance. In her head, she had conjured an unattractive picture of the man, but actually, he wasn’t bad looking. In average standards, he was attractive. He was slightly tall, with dark brown skin. He had a full head of hair, much to her surprise. He also wore a charming smile, and he welcomed her.
In that, she had been wrong. But in everything else, it seemed like it checked out. The images of cars only grew in number in his office. On his table were pictures of two young children, a boy and a girl. She couldn’t see an image of their mother.
She smiled back politely, and sat down on what she supposed was her chair. The room was cool, and she bathe in the coolness, relieved.
“Good afternoon miss Aminata, apologies for the wait, I was in a meeting,” Mr. Richard said with a regretful tone.
Aminata smiled back trying to conjure understanding. There was a voice in her head that screamed, lies, but she ignored it.
The man got up from behind his desk, and came to sit with her on the small conference table. He was also fit, he didn’t seem like he was older than 40.
Aminata gave him another bright smile, used to absorb excuses, “no problem. I understand. I am glad for the opportunity.”
The man crossed his legs, and nodded, then brought out a file. She assumed it was a CV, or maybe googled interview questions.
“Good.” Was all he replied with before getting back to the file in front of him.
The room lapsed into silence, and Aminata thought about breaking the quiet with small talk, but sometimes that backfired. This time, unlike interview number 3, she would remain quiet until prompted to speak out.
Finally, Mr. Richard looked at her, his demeanour suddenly serious.
“You have a great CV and some experience involuntary and intern capacity, and I see you graduated summa cum laude, which is impressive.”
Aminata nodded in response still mute.
The man glanced at her for a minute, and she hesitated before being compelled to add,
“At university, I tried to not just focus on learning but acquiring practical skills, I knew it would be an important aspect when I started applying for jobs after my education.”
The man nodded, not looking at her.
“Right.” He replied. Aminata felt nervous. Was she supposed to add more? Reading through 10 websites on interview etiquette didn’t help. It gave her a sense of preparation but whenever the interview started, it always felt like an Olympic sport.
“Graduating with honours also demonstrates my capacity and motivation, I am a hard worker, and always looking for opportunities to improve in everything I do,” Aminata added with a slight nervous stammer.
The man hummed, still glued on the same page. Was this a strategy? Because there was no reason he should still be reading the page. Her CV wasn’t that long.
Aminata opened her mouth to add more fun facts about herself, to rescue the silence but finally, the man spoke up, his eyes on her.
“Listen. In terms of experience, you don’t have a lot. Your CV doesn’t particularly stand out either.”
Aminata felt her heart drop. The apology she wanted to give got stuck in her throat. A bright feeling of shame and desperation took over. This was the first interview where she had been told so bluntly that she wasn’t good enough. There were times she had wished for this. Brute honesty. But now that it was here, it felt cruel and humiliating.
She felt her lip wobble. Oh god, she was going to cry.
The man gave a little cough, and Aminata fought desperately to keep the tears at bay.
“Nevertheless, I know it’s hard out there. And it’s not easy to find employment. So the years of experience make sense. I like that you tried, shows that you have motivation.”
Aminata glanced up. She suddenly saw herself already getting the job. Waking up in the early morning to catch a matatu to work. It wasn’t a particularly wonderful vision of the future, but it calmed her.
The man smiled back at her, “I think it would be a privilege to have someone like you working with us. I am an advocate for young people. Especially woman. I believe in your future. I am willing to give you a chance.”
It was like looking up at an angel. Lit brightly by promises.
“How old are you Ms. Aminata?”
Aminata hesitated, a part of her wanted to ask what that had to do with anything but she bit her tongue.
“I am twenty-five.” then she added jokingly, “old enough to drive.”
Mr. Richard cracked a small smile and nodded.
“Sorry, it might seem like an inappropriate question, but I had to ask, we’ve had incidences of underage people applying for this job.”
Aminata felt a hundred questions arise from deep within her; mainly, didn’t they screen their candidates before-hand? What was underage?
The voice spoke up again, lies. She ignored it. How could she say anything about such a kind man, a man willing to give her a chance?
Mr. Richard continued, finally putting the file away and turning his full attention to her.
“As you can see we are a small unit, not a lot of staff, and so we are very close, but it also means, that sometimes work can be a lot. Unfortunately, our working hours tend to go beyond what we desire.”
Aminata gauged her desperation before answering; in her first interview, she had been more honest, saying that she was willing to work over-time in some cases, but not as a habit. At interview five, she sighed internally, and answered with as much quip as possible.
“I am used to working long hours. It would not be a problem, I am just eager to learn and grow.”
The man smiled appreciating her answer. Aminata half-heartedly patted herself on her back. Fake it until you make it.
“Great. And do you have a car? In case the work carries into the night?”
Aminata nearly cringed, into the night? How into the night? What was this man going on about? A car? Did he think that all freshly graduated university students had cars or something?
She felt anger bubbling again.
“No, I don’t have a car, unfortunately, but matatus work until late, or uber even, I am sure that won’t be a problem.”
The man raised an eyebrow and shrugged, then added, “Well that’s not a problem, in those rare cases, I can drop you home.”
Aminata smiled genuinely, that was kind.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile.
“No problem. I wouldn’t want to keep your husband worried.” He said with a laugh.
Aminata blinked, wanting to correct him. Should she correct him? Did it really matter? But maybe it affected her likelihood of getting the job.
She let out a quiet laugh, and corrected him, “no, no husband, my roommate maybe.”
The man blinked in surprise and gave her a charming smile, “really? A beautiful woman like yourself? Imagine that.”
A compliment. She didn’t know what to do with it. It didn’t feel very appropriate, but maybe she was reading into it. It was simply a compliment.
“You know how it is,” she responded not sure what that meant. She could tell by the man’s blank expression that he wasn’t sure either. But she felt no need to elaborate, and she didn’t.
“so why do you want this job Aminata?”
Ah, the fucking question. She hated it, because it was here that she usually had to turn up her acting skills from the 30% to a full 80% at most. It was exhausting.
Her response without the poetry would have been simple, “money, experience, mother. My own place.”
But society dictated that she had zeal, passion and other CV adjectives.
She inhaled, and replied, “Love, motivation, zeal, this company, I love what it does with…,” she barely even heard what she said.
“Good. Glad to see you’ve done research into this workplace.”
“Outside of work, what else are you passionate about?”
“Singing, cooking, women empowerment, and other advocacy work.”
“women empowerment, you are a feminist?”
“I would say yes, in a way, just pro the rights of women, especially black women.”
“well that’s good for you, but this office promotes gender equality,”
“Yes, that’s what women empowerment is about.”
“I see.”
“So you would have a problem if I said that for this position, it’s mandatory to wear skirts and some makeup?”
“No. I understand, I am the face of the office, usually the first face people see when they enter, so I understand the need for that.”
“ah good, I thought you were one of those other feminists.”
Aminata wanted to correct him, but he was right. There were those other feminists. And she wasn’t like that. She was the type of feminist that wouldn’t cause any problems for the organization.
“Err…no.” she said reassuringly.
“Out there, total freedom, but here, you must always look a certain way. We need to keep up the image.”
“Yes. Understood.”
A part of her wanted to rebel, but maybe the two hours waiting had been a strategy to drain her of her will. Anyway, everyone wore a costume, and hers would be for the benefit of her livelihood. It was a fair compromise to live.
Despite the cool room, she felt herself starting to sweat again. Subconsciously she lifted her blouse and waved air into it.
The man looked at her, and his eyes drifted down her chest.
“You want a tissue?”
Aminata was grateful. He brought it. Aminata looked at the white napkin in his hand suddenly unsure on how she would wipe the sweat collecting on her chest.
The most appropriate thing was to excuse herself and go to the bathroom, but that didn’t seem right either.
She might have paused too long because Mr. Richard suddenly chuckled.
“No need to be so nervous, this is a free environment.”
Suddenly, Aminata felt the napkin on her chest and realized that Mr. Richard was helping her wipe the sweat. She froze, confused beyond belief.
The man smiled down at her, and sat back down. Aminata didn’t see where he put the napkin, far too distracted by the shock.
“That wasn’t inappropriate was it? I am never sure these days, there are so many rules. That didn’t make you feel uncomfortable?”
“No,” Aminata lied.
“Good. Most beautiful women think everything has to be sexual, while it’s done in good spirit. It’s a terrible environment being a man in the office these days. I am even afraid to have female friends as my colleagues.”
Aminata felt like she was having an out of body experience. She just nodded, “yes.”
“I don’t want us to have that. We should be free with each other. If you are ever uncomfortable, you will let me know.”
Aminata nodded, her head ringing. She saw it, suddenly as clear as day. Her future in the organization.
She saw herself being pushed, and remaining quiet. Waiting for her boss to realize that he was being inappropriate. Weighing her options. Wondering who to tell. Listening to hollow speeches from HR about sexual harassment but still, remaining silent.
She saw how scared she would get.
But despite all that, she thought, maybe she could do it. It wouldn’t be that bad for her.
“I don’t have more questions. Do you have any questions for me?”
Aminata had had a list of questions, mostly about trainings, the office culture on different matters particularly homosexuality, but they all sort of felt stupid now.
So she grinned, and shook her head, and she felt her mouth open, “No, thank you. Everything is clear.”
The man nodded, “this had been great. I like your openness. I don’t like working with closed-minded people.”
Aminata nodded. She could bet her entire bank account, minuscule as it was, that openness for this man extended only to his relationship with females, and no more than that.
He got up, “well thank you, it was a pleasure meeting a lovely woman such as yourself.”
Aminata stood up slowly, and smiled, her arm outstretched, “thank you.”
Mr. Richard looked at the hand and laughed, swatting it away playfully.
“That seems a little informal? We are an open office, hugs.”
Aminata wanted to scream, but she smiled once again. And walked around the chair into the man’s arms.
He squeezed her in her arms, and it was friendly, with the shoulder tap and all. And had it been someone else, a friend, it would have been a great hug. But it was a man she had never met before.
She left the room. She glanced at the secretary. The too thin secretary looked up at her, face tired, and hollowed. For the first time, in the hours she had been in the hot ugly room, she found comfort. She smiled not sure why, but the secretary smiled back. A smile that was a little too sad to count as a smile.
The trek home seemed longer than usual. She ran the interview over in her head. And concluded that it hadn’t been so bad. A little weird but nothing that had hurt her. Weird she could deal with.
At home, her mother was sitting in the living room, book in her hands, her glasses shifted down her nose. She looked up, with a small smile.
“How was it? Did it go well?”
Aminata thought about it, and replied “I think I might get the job, it went well.”
Her mother nodded proudly and shifted back to her book. Aminata hesitated in the living room.
Aminata thought about speaking to her mother, about her fears. How she already felt uncomfortable, but she was afraid. She didn’t want to be disappointed by her mother. There was an answer she expected from her mother, and sometimes, without meaning, her mother said things that broke her heart.
She was afraid of hearing her mother say, “ah it’s a job dear, you have to accept to be a little uncomfortable at first, men can be like that.”
She knew if she heard that, it would chip at her. She would want to know if her mother would be alright if her father was behaving like that with some young girl at work.
She shifted and decided to let it go for the moment.
A shower seemed more important but she never made it there either. She dropped on her bed and thought about her future.
It suddenly occurred to her that she had fundamentally failed. She had always imagined that if she faced something like that, her reaction would be swift and merciless. That it would involve summoning her ancestral spirit in insulting the man. But she had just stood there. She had been meek and kind even.
It was humiliating.
She had a degree, she knew her rights, but it didn’t really matter it seemed. At the moment, desperation was everything. She needed the job, and was willing to excuse certain thig. This was something she never thought she would compromise on.
She lay down, and felt tears build. Because even after all of that, she still didn’t mind getting the job. She felt like all she needed was to strategize, find ways to reduce the risks.
She knew what it meant. Him being that clear from the beginning was a promise of more ‘openness.’
She sniffed, tears soaking the pillow beneath her.
Eventually, she fell asleep and dreamt of falling.
Two weeks later, she got an email, letting her know she had been accepted for the position.
She stared at it. There was no real victory in whatever choice she made. In declining but not alerting anyone about Mr. Richard, she was condemning another girl to her fate, one a little more desperate and willing to give herself away. By replying she was accepting that sometimes, it didn’t matter, that she had a price.
She chose not to answer.
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