LADY IN WHITE 2 (THE DIARY)

Having being catholic all my life, the concept of the Virgin Mary, paradoxically, always seemed like rocket science to me, likewise the comprehension of her immaculate conception. Granted, she must have been extremely fortunate (most people would call it favoured) to have birthed the world’s greatest celebrity.However, attributing graces and praises  to a particular creature, clad in the same human form as anyone else, prompted me in asking a million unanswered questions. On the contrary, the more I got distracted, the more fascinated I became.

At every routine rosary prayer, my mind would always wander far away to Planet Unknown, jolting back to reality at the nick of time to recite the rosary beads when it was my turn. Luckily, my lack of concentration in prayers was never noticed. On one of such days, I had only wandered halfway when my eyes met the eyes of the Virgin Mary statue, on our mini altar. Like the lady in my dreams, her eyes were hollow, and seemed fixated on my face, so much so that as I swerved, they followed my every move, in a scary manner. Similarly, her lips were as grim as I had seen in my dreams . Thereafter,  I would wake up before prayer time , to catch a glimpse of her, before morning prayers. At first my mother was surprised. I mean, this was the same Ola that she had to baptise literally, to get off bed. What she did not know, was that I was trying by all means, to decipher the message the lady in my dreams was trying to communicate. I would remember my growing years understudying that image in the altar, awaiting her sudden move, even when I knew my first instinct would be to flee as fast I could, if it ever happened. That was 10 years ago. 

In the later years, I assumed an unplanned role as mother and father to Lotachi, as mother passed away a year after I wrote my SSCE and Lotachi had barely finished her common entrance examinations. Months after her death, we were taken away by our favourite aunt, my mother’s younger and only sister, Aunty Ozinna. It was a welcomed development, because we loved our aunt, more than we loved our mother. Aunty always provided succor in the form of goodies, when we had received heavy strokes of the cane by our mother. While we were saddened that we had lost our mother, we were happy to go away  with Aunty. However, I wasn’t so comfortable with her husband, who always gave me a funny eye, whenever he visited. Either his hugs were too tight, or his hands “accidently” touched me in all the wrong places.  Sometimes when I came home from catering classes,(a  pass time before proceeding to the university), Uncle Leye would touch me inappropriately. At first I refused his advances, but one day I decided to take laws into my hands. I don’t know what came over me, but I found myself yearning for Uncle Leye’s touch, and when he touched me, I reciprocated. Sometimes Uncle Leye was taken aback by my dauntless behavior, but he couldn’t care less; he was a dog on heat. So I decided to give him a dose of his medicine.

 On that fateful day, I knew he would be home early. I got home, changed into a very short skirt , and waited for his first errand call, which didn’t take long. As expected, he ogled for a while, before reaching out for my thigh. This time, I did not push his hand away. He drew me closer to him, and I encouraged him likewise, kissing him fully and passionately. Strangely, no thoughts of my sweet aunt and the damage I was doing to her home came to mind, as I had sex with her husband. I was supposed to feel bad. My aunt had shown nothing but love to my sister and I, and treated us as the children she never had. As much as I tried to be remorseful, I was numb. In fact, I couldn’t feel any emotions at all; I was unable to identify and describe emotions in the self, and was unapologetic for any actions I made, regardless of who my actions affected. That was a huge problem. In my dwindling moments, I sought for my lady in white, I couldn’t find her. My aunt and her husband were Protestants so there were no altars, no form of imagery or reminder of my childhood encounter.

I got pregnant. At first I tried to hide it from my aunt and her husband, but I couldn’t for long, because my tummy was fast protruding. So I took an easy route to avoid confrontation; I decided to run away without Lotachi, who saw me leaving, and chose to follow me, even when I lied to her that I had no destination (nosy sister from hell). One day, I left for my catering classes and disappeared from my aunt’s place with Lotachi, never to return. Whatever became of Aunty and her husband, I never knew. It had been well planned. Bella, a friend I had met in the catering class, had arranged with an aunt in Okokomaiko, to house my sister and I, and take me to a nearby quack hospital, for a D and C operation. I was to stay with her while I recuperated from the operation, start another life, possibly learn a trade and save up for school. I knew I was safe, because I knew my aunt would not be caught dead outside the environs of the Island, so I knew she could not find me there. In my induced coma during the abortion operation, I saw her again, still as beautiful and dazzling as I had imagined. The only difference was that her welled tears flowed freely, matter of fact, she was crying in buckets. I couldn’t stand her pain, so I reached out to clean her tears. Only the smack on my hands from one of the nurses in the theatre, reminded me that I was still on earth.  Later, I was told by Lotachi that I screamed “come back my lady, come back. Don’t leave me”. I opened my eyes to Lotachi’s tears. She was only twelve at the time, but I had exposed her to a world she could not comprehend. Don’t get me wrong, she was, and would always be my annoying sister, but I had to protect her. She will always be my baby sister.

 What Bella did not tell me, was that her aunt Mary was a woman of easy virtue and ran a cartel in the neighbourhood, that was under her payroll. To my rudest shock, Lotachi and I were given the  ultimatum of joining her business. She actually preferred Lotachi, who would strike a better business bargain, unlike the “damaged goods” I had to offer (in her words). I objected immediately, and offered myself readily. At 19, I was a full time prostitute, and the proceeds I gathered, were used for the upkeep of Lotachi and I. Repeatedly, Lotachi would beg that we returned to our aunt’s and beg for forgiveness, but I wouldn’t have it. Call it pride or stupidity, but the truth was that I couldn’t put a name to my feelings, but I knew something was not right with me.

I made a lot of money, enough to move out of Aunt Mary’s house and rent my apartment. I had it all, and was very comfortable. I lived for Lotachi’s success and aspiration for greatness, but I wasn’t concerned about my personal development well enough. I wasn’t concerned about school, or getting a better life outside Okokomaiko,but I encouraged Lotachi to be the best in all she did, preaching the gospel of greatness to her, but refusing to acknowledge that I needed the same message myself. Nobody but Lotachi, could relate to my dysfunction in emotional awareness and social detachment. My neighbours thought I was either a snob, or I had a mental problem. In all, Lotachi never questioned my behavior. She loved accepted me ,in good and in bad, the way a sister should. Even the lady in white kept away from me too, but not for so long. She was yet to deliver her message.

One day I was all alone at home. Halfway into napping, I was gasping for air. Someone was trying to prevent me from breathing so bad, I found myself choking and gasping for breath. The more I attempted breathing, the more I was held back. I was in a trance, but I saw a dark hand on a pair of dark gloves strangling me.  I choked and choked, striving with all my might, to call JESUS, but the word didn’t come out. Just when I thought I was going to pass out, the lady in white appeared. She wrestled with the hand over my neck, until I heard a loud noise. Thankfully, I was released from the grip. It was at that moment that I passed out.

I woke up to Lotachi by my bedside in an unknown hospital. I was told that I had full blown AIDS, which had resulted in severe rashes on my groin area and thighs ,and  needed to be placed on antibiotics, although there was no way my life could be saved. I was also told that I had Alexithymia, a mental disorder characterized  by the inability to have any form of emotion, which explained my frequent feelings of dissociation. The end was in sight; I was dying. Sadly, I couldn’t feel a thing. Probably because I hadn’t fully understood the concept of life and death.  But I saw my sister’s love. My baby sister, who had always been a pain in the butt, would become my pillar of strength in my dying days. I reminisced about our growing days, when I vowed to protect her, when father and mother died. I failed her. In tears, she held my hands and promised to stay close to me, threatening to commit suicide, if anything happened to me. As much as I tried, I neither felt her pain, or attempt to soothe her with comforting messages. Didn’t she hear the doctor say I had a few more years to live? 

In the midst of the sadness in the atmosphere, I saw her. My lady, she came through for me one last time, at my least expectation. Her dazzling apparel almost blinded my eyes, but I looked still. As our eyes locked, we let out our tears. This time she held my face, smiled and me and signaled to open my left palm, and dropped a very shiny object in it. Suddenly she vanished, as swiftly as she had appeared, but her messages were crystal clear. I heard her whisper 
“Olanna, you have one more chance to right. You started off wrongly, but you can end it beautifully and tell our story. Tell my story to the world, and tell her she has one more chance to do right. It’s the last chance, before the end. You can do right, my child, you can do right. My apparition to you in the beginning was to averse your death by asthma, when you were little. I came again when you almost died from the abortion you had, and now, when death came knocking. I choose you,to deliver my message. Go forth,my child, I will be with you to the end".

I opened my eyes to a golden rosary, with the words “pray”, inscribed on the crucifix, her message, precise and clear. Indeed, she became my wake up call. She was who I thought she was; THE MARIE. Only then, was I awash with the pain of the mistakes I had made. I looked at my sister, convinced by her unsurprising look that she hadn’t partaken of my glorious experience. I hugged her fiercely, and promised not to leave her. I had just a little time, to make it all right, beginning with going to Aunty’s house to ask for forgiveness and confessed all that  had happened. On the table next to me, side by side my toiletries, I could sight a pen and paper,which was absent earlier. Then I started writing.

MY LADY PAR EXCELLENCE

I have always been asked who my role model is, especially in job interviews,and my answer has always been: none. I honestly thought I was weird for not having someone to look up to. I mean, I have heard of wonderful people that have made good impressions , either in their handiwork or their personal life but it has never occurred to me to emulate any of them.  For me, I have to be able to relate with whoever I was to look up to. It couldn't just be an abstract person I heard or read about;even a heavenly being didn't cut it ( I am a good christian o!....lol). It took me almost a quarter of my lifetime, but I finally found that person,although she doesn't know it (yet,hopefully). She's no other than the amiable Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Esegee). I am yet to meet someone that exudes confidence at its fullest. Chimamanda grew up in Enugu, but her mastery of the cultures she writes about,is out of this world. In Chinua Achebe's words (another literature doyen I respect), :"Adichie came, almost fully made", which implies that she was born a star, she only needed little, almost insignificant touch ups. So confident is she of her personae and her roots, that I was shocked to discover she did not marry an "onye igbo" (who would have thought). She endeared all to the Igbo language and culture, which was feared to be almost extinct. I for one, an Igbo lady born and bred in Lagos, sometimes struggled my identity of self in my current environment, but she made me proud of who I am: an Igbo, smart and confident lady that can conquer the world, once she sets her mind to it. It is an open secret that some of the characters in her books (especially Ifemelu in Americanah) describes her person:a strong woman, who can be tossed, rolled and battered, but not easily broken( a piece of me, story for another day).
I love to write too, so I find her worthy of emulation in that regard. Her write-ups come across to me as chats from one babe making sense to another. That's the way I like to write. Most times, I avoid technical write-ups that can't be comprehended without an OXFORD dictionary,(not just any dictionary o). I like to take a pen and paper, and just run with my ideas, without any word restrictions.That's my Adichie for you. Growing up in the remote of area of Nsukka did not stop her shine. Her life story taught me this valuable lesson: That I can be whoever I want to be, regardless of any circumstance. She lived where I have lived, and identifies with  my challenges as a fellow Nigerian citizen, and has fought to the end, to be one of the finest writers in Africa.I love her.....my Woman Crush Everyday.
Ji Si Ike Ada Be Anyi

MY INTERVIEW EXPERIENCE IN COSON- THE ESSAY THAT SAVED MY LIFE

I got into the COSON building at about 8.30 a.m. As I sat at the reception, I observed the happenings in my environment; the smiling receptionist that offered me tea and coffee, the nervousness of a fellow candidate next to me and the demeanour of the artistes that trouped in to make inquiries (of which none, I knew). Typically, when I attend interviews, I am always attended to almost immediately, but as my allotted interview time passed by, I had to ask the receptionist if the interview panel was informed of my presence. I was told to call my office to inform them that I might take longer to arrive. That prompted my first lesson of the day: Every organisation has its interview ethics, and henceforth ,I had to shift from my mindset of an ideal interview situation, to adapting to the interview situation of any organisation I found myself in. Subsequently, I was given the prospectus and literature of COSON to digest, which I did, alongside familiarising myself with my resume.

On being called upon for my interview, I went straight to the interview room and greeted the three-man panel, before taking my seat. To my rudest shock, I blanked out for about two minutes when I was asked the simplest question of all: the full name of the organisation I was in. The funniest was, I was holding a manual in hand that contained the name of the organisation, and I was staring directly at a placard inscribed with the name. This threw me off balance and questioned my eligibility for the interview amongst  my interviewers. I am usually composed and organised in interviews, but I had to learn the hard way, that there is no such word as over-confidence;every interview requires thorough research and preparatory work. More saddening was the thought that my interviewers would never  know what stuff I was made of. Luckily, I was given another shot, which I took, to the best of my ability. I was told to talk through my personality, to my work experiences and my understanding of the role I was applying for.

I knew that I would be functioning in the capacity of a sales/business development executive, but I needed clarification on the nature of my client base, which I got from the panel. I was also asked to describe a challenging process I faced in the course of handing my job roles in previous organisations, and how such challenges were handled. I told them about a challenging situation in Wapic Insurance Plc, where after two years of aggressively prospecting a potential client for insurance sales business worth I million naira, did not yield results. However, this did not deter me from keeping in touch every now and then. In the end, I was able to get him to patronise my current organisation in providing outsourced HR services to his organisation, worth  10 million naira. I was also told  to describe how I would function in my prospective role in COSON, knowing well that I would meet opposition from organisations that would not heed to my message of seeking permissions from authors of musical works before usage. To this end, I stressed on the importance of a resilient attitude, which is a major characteristic of successful business development executives;the ability to push and pester, until an attitude changes. From previous experiences in selling, I have long realised that it is not enough to stop at one or two approaches. Consistency in stressing a need and value would change the mindset of whoever I was to meet.

I was also told to talk about my direct approaches to achieving my sales objectives. In the course of the interview, I was informed that there have been challenges in clamping down organisations that misuse authors' works because the law hasn't been fully enforced in that regard, so I suggested emotionally appealing to the organisations to consider the damages done to the owners of such musical works, as against forcefully threatening them to seek permission, because a rational approach might not be the most suitable. As there are different people, so are there different characters, hence all must not be dealt in the same vein. By studying  my different target markets, I would be able to know the manner of approaching them to doing the ethical thing, as well as emphasizing this tool as an advantage to their  line of business.

 .........One would wonder why I took time to write on an interview experience that might not concern anyone. I was told to write this two-paged essay,and that landed me an opportunity for the second phase of the interview. this was how I laid it down verbatim. In fact, the chairman of COSON told me he was interested in working with me. To be honest,I cared less whether I got the job or not.  He told me I was a good writer,if I was able to scribble sense within the fifteen-minute time frame I was given. I always wondered why people shed tears of joy in happy moments. In my opinion, it was faux pas. But tears welled up in my eyes. Not because I knew I would be considered for the job, but because I was told to sleep peacefully knowing that I had a gift, although I needed some  tweaking.  As I left the building, I thought I was walking in the clouds. It felt good that I was appreciated. Henceforth, I vowed to write more. Sometimes ago  I applied for a creative workshop organised by Chimamanda Adichie (my all-rounded role model, story for another day). I felt distraught that I wasn't chosen. However,I was gingered to write more, learn more and put in more effort. Dreams never die,.Peace.