THE CALL (1)

Meet Promise

As she made the bend into her street, she knew she was only six buildings away from home. Home, the one place she didn't want to return to, at least not this way.

It was a four-room bungalow, her father's most tangible legacy, apart from his investment in her and her four younger ones. The building was fenced with barbed wire and the only entry into the compound was a heavy, black gate. The gate came six years ago, replacing the grey, rusty gate that she was born to meet. It was the first step in the renovation work on the building which stopped three years ago when her father died. 

He was sixty-two and they lost him to a heart attack, the fifth one he suffered, and the second serious attack. She was twenty-three when he died and her youngest sibling, was fourteen. 

Her father was a staff of the defunct Nigerian Telecommunications, who lost his job when it closed down. He only had his secondary school certification which was enough to get him a job as a clerk back then. He was fortunate, however, to be the recipient of a huge commission as a middle man in a contract that was awarded in his village and it was from this commission that he was able to build the house and get married about twenty-seven years ago despite his modest salary. 

Losing his job placed him in completely unfamiliar territory, as the labour space had changed and his qualifications couldn't get him a decent job anymore. He couldn't return to school, not with a wife and five children to take care of. 

She could well remember the treats he used to get her before he lost the job and how they stopped coming less than a year after he was laid off. His retirement compensation was inconsistent and insufficient and he had to resort to odd jobs and middleman deals to fend for his family. 

She missed him a lot, their lives centred around him while he was alive and it was difficult to imagine carrying on without him. He left them with almost nothing, he put almost all he had into renovating the house that was falling out of shape, while he trained his children.

She was a month away from her second-semester exams in her third year when he died, and this affected her grades. She managed to still graduate with a second-class upper degree though and was confident of getting a good job after school. Unfortunately, she was now inducted into the family bread-winning committee and she was ill-prepared. Her father wanted her to focus on getting her degree and then getting a good job, so she didn't have the time or permission to learn a skill. 

Sadly, the closest she had come to actualising her father's dream was spending her service year at a federal government parastatal in the North East, and though she got allowances and other stipends for her work there, it went towards supporting her mother's palm oil trade and taking care of the family. She hated to admit it, but the financial pressure had also significantly influenced her relationship choices, every form of relief was welcome, and why refuse willing men? 

She was just returning from another job hunt exercise, cold calls and applications, and out of the eight places she tried her luck, she only got to drop her CV at two of them, which even looked bleak. She didn't want to return home without some form of hope, but unfortunately, she had none.

Jobs were increasingly hard to come by and the fact that she had nothing more than her school degree and her service discharge certificate didn't really make her appealing to employers. She always stumbled whenever they asked her what she could do whenever she went for an interview, and it was clear there was little more she was capable of. The thought of learning a skill crossed her mind more than once, but just like her father before her, she judged that it was too late to learn new things. She would find her way into the industry, no matter what. She was an accountant after all, and somebody somewhere was bound to need her service soon, she told herself. She'd been saying this for over a year and there was still no call yet. 

"Pro, pro," she turned as she heard her name. It was Mama Nkechi, a petty trader who sold foodstuffs in retail quantity. Mama Kay, as she was popularly called, always had a story on her lips, and you often wondered about her sources. She had no smartphone, and people knew all her husband possessed was a transistor radio, yet she had the latest info and opinion on everything going on around. From the federal government house to the smallest room on the street, it always looked like Mama Kay knew something. 

Her reports couldn't always be trusted, less than half were true, but you had to give the woman some credit. It was no surprise she knew that Promise was looking for a job. 

"Good evening, ma'am," answered Promise as she sauntered home, the dread of going home hopeless was now defeated by her desire to escape Mama Kay. 

"How today now? You don get work?"

"Fine, thank you. Work never come yet."

"Eeyah, sorry ehn. You go still see, no worry. I know say you go get work one day. No mind this country and the leaders. Their children never finish school, work go dey dey wait for them, even if them no need work. Poor man child go finish school, for 12 years, him fit no get wetin go pay am better money, and them say na una be leaders of tomorrow. E go better o."

Her typical closing signature, Promise thanked her as she increased her speed home, she was close. The black gate was now in view and to avoid any other calls, she brought out her phone and pretended to be on a call as she approached the gate. 

As she entered the compound, she noticed that it was unusually quiet for a Tuesday evening. There was light, sure enough, but why wasn't the TV blaring out as it often was when they were at home? No one had come out to greet her, and this was also strange. Then she had a thought which made her heart beat with fear, the last time she remembered this mood in the house was three years ago when her father died. Her mother, she hoped nothing had happened to her. 

She picked up her pace and dashed into the house, praying her fears were unfounded, yet somehow making space for the shock that was awaiting her.