I was always broke. And lonely. For four solid years. Just when I was headed straight for a bright new dawn at the end of the tunnel, I made a wrong move that sent me spiraling past the beginning of my tunnel into nether regions of unfathomable defeat.

The morning of that unforgettable Monday it all happened, my fingers were crossed, with every fiber in my body pulsating one prayer: that my supervisor would be late to work. The success of my mission that day hinged on that. To ask that she be absent was to ask for the impossible, for that iron lady made it to work everyday even if it meant limping through rain.

2015 was the year. I had a girlfriend. Or thought I had one. She was always broke, just like me. Having felt lonely for so long, I was desperate to keep her at all cost. I must find money. Wherever it was. However. But where do I begin?

Then I remembered an offer I hadn’t paid attention to : National service at a language center in East Legon, a suburb of Accra.

All this came to me while I was taking a stroll, contemplating the unbearably hard times I was in. I remembered the exact spot the flash of genius hit me. It was a baobab tree under which I used to sit to stream Nollywood movies, using free Wi-Fi on my college campus.

But there was a problem. I was already posted to the English Department of my college as a service personnel. The lecturers were overburdened with many tasks and schedules and depended heavily on the service personnel assigned to them. This was my department during my college days and leaving my supervisor in the lurch, in the middle of the semester, could jeopardize my chances of getting recommendations later on.

Unemployment was at its peak in the country, and an opportunity to be employed was a risk worth taking. The new offer came with promises of free accommodation during service, and high chances of being hired full-time after national service, a dream come true for any youngster my age.

I placed a call. A guy picked up.

“Hello! My name is Nicholas. I saw your post requesting for service personnel on one of our WhatsApp platforms.” I began.

He hesitated before speaking, clearly unsure if the vacancy was still available.

“Let me call you back.” he said, finally.

After some minutes, he called back and gave me a contact, someone I was to go and see immediately if I really meant business.

But how do I leave work on a Monday? I had tutorials with some newly admitted students. Besides, my supervisor had given me work to do that had to be completed before she arrived that morning.

Dilemma. This was no time to think. Only action. I had stayed back for far too long, too afraid to take decisions that had the potential to transform my life positively. This was my chance to step up my game.

9am. Said the time on my phone. That gave me about three hours to leave and be back without rousing any suspicion. On condition that my supervisor came to work late. An unusual miracle that had to happen that day.

As I hurried down the stairs from the last floor of the department, I cooked up something to feed itchy ears.

“I forgot something on fire at home…” I told everyone I bumped into, amazed at my ingenuity and how convincingly I said it.

My first stop was the car park reserved for lecturers. I stood there for a while, scanning and sniffing for any traces of some overlooked threat. No smoke. I hurried on.

Is this move worth it? The question ticked in my mind like a time bomb. But there was no time to think. Only action.

I didn’t realize when I got to the bus stop in front of the college’s main gate and boarded a bus bound for East Legon. I was lost in thoughts.

Our bus soon ran into heavy traffic, an obstacle I hadn’t foreseen. A bad omen.

My phone became a rosary I kept caressing and mumbling prayers to whatever was in the skies that had time to listen.

A sudden vibration of my phone startled me, my eyes growing wider as I saw the caller. My supervisor!

“Nicholas! Where are you?” was her official hello.

I cleared my dried throat, searching for an answer, rubbing cold fingers against my heated head. No idea lit up. I had nothing to tell her.

“Ma… Miss…” I attempted, but before I could sneeze a reply…

“Come to the office!” she ordered and hanged up.

“I forgot something on fire at home…” I repeated the words slowly to myself, the very words I had been looking for when she called.

I sighed, beads of sweat swelling from feeding on the anxiety mirrored on my forehead. This was not good.

After hours in traffic, I finally reached my destination, exhausted and confused.

The premises of the language center looked much smaller than I saw online, and the tireless crew that kept the place shiny and clean were yet to be woken from their slumber after perhaps a long performance.

A student directed me to an office the lady I phoned indicated, where I was greeted with more disheartening news.

I was to take a letter to the headquarters of the National Service Secretariat for my reposting to be effected.

Ideally, that should have been the point I turned back on the idea of reposting, a good chance to minimize the damage to myself I had began unknowingly.

But I was a determined boy, bent on proving that I was made of tough steel.

I took the letter, daydreaming as I went. Dreams of a bright future devoid of the worries that plagued me now, sweetened by the sugary words of the lady I was to work for. She even gave me money for lunch that day.

Off I went. To the National Service Secretariat, where my reposting was done, successfully.

As I headed back to my workplace, I took in a deep breath. My books and laptop were still in my supervisor’s office.

How do I explain my absence? And what explanation do I offer for my reposting?

I had the option of confiding in my supervisor that I was broke and needed assistance while I waited for my national service allowance to be paid. But pride kept my lips tight. I feared I might become the subject of one of her lectures on ingratitude should I offend her some day.

It suddenly dawned on me that a former coursemate of mine had a problem with her grade in a course and might be unable to graduate. My supervisor attributed my coursemate’s failure to laziness and absenteeism and wasn’t in the mood to trouble herself with searching for the exam paper in the piles of papers gummed to every space in her little office.

I offered to search for the exam paper, an impressive feat that might take weeks to accomplish. Now that I was leaving, what would become of my coursemate?

I could have moved to a new work environment on a good note, an important lesson I positioned myself to learn the hard way. Impatience, my weakness.

Strangely, upon my arrival, my supervisor only asked, “Where have you been?” and even before I could offer a reply, she handed me some documents to type.

That was not normal. I had expected the awakening of a sleeping dragon.

She even shared a joke, dry as it may seem. And gave me some piece of advice occasioned by the visit of a nursing mother, apparently her former student.

We were talking about divorce. I asked her why beautiful beginnings sometimes end sadly.

As I sat listening to her response, and happy about the new side of my supervisor I was suddenly discovering, I felt guilty of the seeds of discord I had gone to sow. Only I knew that “tomorrow by this time”, as the prophets of old testament times used to say, I would be long gone.

Around 5pm, she left for home, adding some new tasks to the ones she gave me earlier, tasks that would never be completed.

When she left, I packed my things and locked the office. On the ground floor where the administration was, I handed the key to the administrator.

“Aunty Mavis, I want to discuss something with you.” I started, not knowing how to finish.

The administrator could sense my uneasiness. She sat, peering at me from her glasses having paused the work on her pile of papers.

“Is it possible to be reposted elsewhere as a service personnel in the department?” I asked, as if I was now deliberating on the option.

“That will be difficult. You know how the lecturers are overwhelmed with tasks in this department.” She explained.

I listened, my guilt growing. And strangely, I felt it was a necessary evil. In my mind, a paradise of green pastures awaited me beyond these tensed moments.

” I opted for reposting.” I finally confessed.

She was quiet. And in walked the Head of Department.

“Tell her.” Aunty Mavis said.

I mustered courage.

“A language center in East Legon is in need of service personnel and they’ve asked me to come and assist them.” I gave the HOD the details.

“We will plead with you to stay. You are very few in number and there’s so much to do.” the HOD implored.

“He has already done the reposting.” Aunty Mavis jumped to the climax of the drama.

The HOD was silent, a discomforting silence.

“Let him go.” She finally said.

Relief!

But my relief was short-lived. I couldn’t see it coming then.

I phoned my girlfriend to break the news to her.

Excitement! For all of us.

That same night, I packed out of my hostel. Coincidentally, there was a gentleman in dire need of a room. Usually, hostel fees are non-refundable but I negotiated with the hostel manager and got my balance, ceding my place to the newcomer.

Upon arrival at the premises of the language center, bad surprises were ripening everywhere, flamboyant like a welcome party for an important guest.

There were no hostel facilities for service personnel. Everyone seemed to be aware of this except my new supervisor.

And many more surprises were on their way. I had said goodbye to my old workplace, assuming this new place would be a new warm home. Here I was, stranded like some lonesome owl.

I would later discover that the promise of a job after national service was fake, that my girlfriend for whom this new move in hopes of a better future was dedicated was cheating on me, and that the seeds of discord I sowed in my former workplace had germinated into acrimony.

My former supervisor demanded that my ugly face appear in her office to answer many questions. I left without officially informing her.

Shame. I couldn’t go back.

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