Akwele was in so many WhatsApp groups. Nothing sensible ever came out of any of them. Only stupid messages.

The goal for creating some of the groups was to remain in touch as coursemates after school, and perhaps help one another whenever possible with notifications of job openings, chances to further one’s education and financial assistance during major illnesses that required huge sums of money for operation.

But ever since the groups were created, no one has ever posted a reliable job offer. Only scams circulating from WhatsApp group to WhatsApp group, promising free data bundles and airtime with just a single click. Promises that never materialized.

If ever there were any job advertisements, they were usually fake ones propagated by shady businesses that took registration fees in exchange for jobs that never came. If the applicant were persistent, the recruiters came up with overnight job offers in weired neighborhoods as cleaners and nannies, with odd working hours.

There was always a Mary, or a Joseph in one of the groups who posted scriptures and devotional messages on the WhatsApp pages, if the sermons on Sundays were not enough.

Unemployment, the hot tropical sun, and an empty pocket were the right blend of ingredients that woke fresh graduates to the harsh realities of after-school life.

Akwele sat at home day after day, with no hope of any job in sight.

Perhaps it was that she wasn’t spiritual enough. If only she prayed fervently, and repented of her evil ways, maybe a door will open.

And so, Akwele embarked on fasting and prayers, and made her face one of the regular faces on the front role of her local church. Soon, she was made secretary of the youth service. Little by little she rose to financial treasurer.

It wasn’t long before she came to terms with the hypocrisy within her church. Jealous deaconess and housewives who feared their husbands were smiling more at her than they did with them at home.

Soon, certain elders in the church began passing suspicious comments.

“I wish I had met you before I married my wife.” One elder told her one evening after church service while they were returning home.

She shook her head. How can an adult talk like a foolish child? She wondered.

That elder wasn’t alone. Some didn’t have the courage to say it in her face, but she saw it in their looks and sensed it in the vibes of lust they gave off whenever they were around her.

She had so much faith and respect in the people around her that she looked up to. Now, having seen their true colours, that respect has dissipated.

Slowing, she was losing interest in the daily fellowship at church. Same motions. No major improvements in her life. She was aging, and it seems if she sat in that church, she was going to grow old and die single and miserable.

The brothers in the church were weired. A matter as simple as approaching a lady and telling her how nice she was seemed so worldly and ungodly that they would rather sit and watch outsiders marry the sisters in the church one by one and take them away. No wonder the church membership kept dwindling.

Quietly she withdrew from active service in the church, and started seeing one guy in the neighborhood who looked serious.

All this while, she hadn’t had any proper employment. Her church wasn’t particularly bothered that she had no job. They never cared how she got money to pay for  sanitary pads, food and rent. All they cared for was that she show her face for service from Monday to Sunday.

One day, she heard of a big job opening. An old friend from college sent her the link to apply. She prayed all the prayers left within her, got the best attire she could afford handy in case of an interview, put together an impressive CV and applied.

When news of the interview came, she had almost forgotten about the whole thing. It took so long. Nine solid months.

She set off for the interview, going over all she had learnt about how to present oneself professionally.

The selection process was intense and highly competitive. But upon a closer look, it was obvious that looks were the criteria for selection and not academic qualifications or professional experiences.

The manager looked like a savage dog. He sat there staring at her breasts throughout the interview.

When she got back home, she received a phone call from the manager, asking her to meet him at The Plaza Hotel around Independence Avenue.

“I will let you know if you have the job or not.” he added, sounding funny.

She thought about it for a while. Why couldn’t her employment be announced over the phone? Why was the meeting with the manager not at the workplace were the interview had taken place? Why was the manager calling him when there was a secretary, the same secretary who called to inform her about the interview, why couldn’t she do it?

Anyway, she needed the job, so she went.

The idiot wouldn’t go straight to the point and explain why she was to meet him at a hotel for a job offer. Neither would he let her know if she had the job or not. He kept saying she should go ahead and make herself comfortable.

“Drink whatever you like,” the manager encouraged, showing his savage teeth in his insincere smile.

“I do not drink alcohol.” Akwele told him. “May I know why I am here? “

The manager couldn’t reply. He thought she was like the other girls who got the message when they were asked to meet the manager at the hotel. It implied they got the job, but they had to take off their panties for the boss to inspect their acceptance letter.

But Akwele was different. She refused. And turned him down, not forgetting to tell him her piece of mind before leaving.

She could hear him cursing as she left, but she couldn’t ‘t be bothered.

Six months after that incident, she was traveling to her hometown to vote during the presidential elections when she bumped into a familiar face at the bus station.

“Your face looks familiar.” She addressed the stranger.

“Yes, I remember you very well. I was one of the girls who went for the interview at Adama Constructions Ltd.” the lady confirmed.

“Yes! Yes! You were the lady in the green scarf that day that I spoke to, right? “Akwele quizzed.

” Yes it was me. ” the stranger confirmed.
” Were you hired? ” Akwele asked.
” Yes, I was. But I quit. ” the stranger confessed.
” Oh why? “Akwele asked, surprised.

” My sister, I couldn’t. It was too much. Everyday the manager demanded sex, at the office, in hotels, sometimes in his car. You know I had a boyfriend. At night my boyfriend wouldn’t let me sleep. He made sure he sexed me well. I was living with him. And it was his compensation for the rent he paid, the food on the table and gifts he bought me. At work, my boss wouldn’t let me be. It seemed I wasn’t hired for office work, but sex work. My sister, it was terrible. I couldn’t combine the two lovers, so I quit. At some point, my boyfriend was becoming suspicious. “

” Oh, so sorry for you. As for me, when they asked me to come to the Plaza Hotel, I knew there was something fishy about the whole thing. I told him my piece of mind and left. ” Akwele narrated.

” You too were asked to meet him at the Plaza Hotel”? The stranger asked in shock.

“Yes.” Akwele answered.
“Hmmm…” The stranger sighed. “But what do you do to support yourself?” the stranger asked.
“I have stared a fashion business. People order online and I deliver.” Akwele explained.
“As for me, I now help my aunt with her provision store. It’s sad we go to school only to end up home jobless.” The stranger complained.

After the incident, Akwele went on her journey. Throughout the trip, she thought about the stranger and the conversation they had.

What a nation they lived in.