You know that feeling of make it or break it that is usually heighten after campus? That feeling of needing to get validation from friends and family. For women it’s either you get married to a good husband or jet off your career while for the men there is no way out, you need to start making money fast or you will start losing the respect of your neighborhood children. So, it was either you start a business, get work or involve yourself in ‘madeals’ (ventures that only yourself understand their true nature) as long as you make money. For those who are lucky, their parents will sponsor their post graduate studies just to get them busy on studies before they get anything productive in most cases it’s usually work.
After a year or so you will see the wheat start to separate from the chaff. The top tier consisted of those who own assets, here cars were the ‘it’ thing. The other popular asset was a good husband. And, when I talk of a good husband it had nothing to do with morals but husbands who were financially stable. The second tier consisted of those who found work. And it wasn’t being a supermarket attendant, but work with prominent organizations, could be NGOs or companies. The last tier consisted of others, basically those who had nothing to show for themselves.
Personally, I aimed for the moon, I never for a second did I believe that my prospects were limited. One of my dream jobs was to work with the United Nations. First thing first was to have the perfect attire for interviews. A friend referred me to a tailor, who made me a nice grey skirt suit with a Chinese collar. Second was to send out as many applications as I thought fit my skill sets and passion and pray that I am called at least for an interview.
Would you believe it but one of the first few organizations to call me for an interview was the UN. Being my dream organization, you can imagine the excitement. I had applied as a United Nations Volunteer and the position was a Strategic Management Assistant. On this particular interview, I took my first flight from Kisumu to Nairobi, wore my suit with flats though I had an extra pair of heels just for the interview. When we landed in Nairobi at 8.30, the weather was welcoming, the sun promising a good day, traffic seemed to give us way, everything seemed to fall into place hinting that today is gonna be a good, good day! My boyfriend accompanied me just to provide moral support.
Once we got at the gate there was a fairly short queue of people going through security. The security guy asked for my invitation to the interview which we were asked to print and carry with us. I presented mine and mentioned that my boyfriend was accompanying me, however he was barred from entering. Security explained that only those with businesses in the premises were allowed entry.
At that point, I decided to put on my heals and leave the flat shoes with him because I didn’t want to appear bulky. Besides I assumed their offices are a stone throw to the security check. Shock on me!
“Once you get to the offices, you will be directed on where to go next,” said the guard pointing to a host of flags a country mile away. My heart skipped. You see my boyfriend had already left; I am not used to walking in heals. I only do so for a short distance, and looking at what I was supposed to cover I knew that getting to the interview room was going to be an uphill task.
I had come a long way and this hiccup was not going to come between me and my dream job. So I walked, and walked, and walked, it seemed like I would never get there. Besides I was beginning to cook in my suit. I had not worn any spaghetti top on the inside and my coat was buttoned all the way up. I started to fell a string of sweat running on my back.
No retreat no surrender, I snailed my way and eventually I got there. I had my invitation for interview document with me, and I asked the first person I met to direct me. He said he was a visitor just like I was and had no idea where the building was. The second person that I met pointed to a hallway and said there was a door that would usher me right outside the building. I followed that but I could not get passed the door for lack of a key card.
Did I mention that my shoes were a size up? By that time my feet had started to get sore, as if someone was rubbing sandpaper on my soles. Time was also running fast and I was beginning to get frustrated and panicky. From that time on, everyone I met would give different directions and every time I would end up at some coffee shop. I was going round in circles and I could not believe that in a few minutes I would miss my dream job. I was literally running out of air, I bent held my knees and for the first time began to pray.
Immediately I finished there was guy standing in front of me, he either saw me loitering round or frustrated and was kind enough a spare a minute of his time to help. Funny enough to me he was a bother, no different from all the others who gave me wrong directions. I briefly share my predicaments and to my surprise he offered to take me to the interview room himself. The said, that that was a new building and not many people are conversant with it.
Truly when we got there, there was very little activity inside the building aside from the interview. I wish I could tip the guy handsomely, I figured he doesn’t need it, I mean he works for the UN and the pay is not peanuts. I was very grateful to him and we parted ways. Immediately I got to the meeting area the first thing that struck me was my competitor. She was so neat and composed, I remember the red lipstick and her beautiful makeup was so neat complimenting her natural beauty.
One of the interviewers was at the door calling my name. She looked at me and seemed to understand all my frustrating encounters. Immediately she asked me to have a seat and brought me a glass of water. I was told to compose myself and allow my competitor to go in first. I agreed without protest and asked for the washrooms.
The washroom revealed a horror I will never forget. First was my hair, I had done those short synthetic weaves with an attempted to nail the Rihanna look. But in the course of running around my hair got the worst of my frustrations. Every time I realized I was lost, I would scratch my hair, and in the process the weave would flip up on the crown lines. I looked like a cartoon who had just been electrocuted. And my back? All the sweating had formed a beautiful map of Europe accompanied by those of Madagascar and Australia on the armpits. My feet had red patches where they were soar. I could not imagine looking this miserable at a sophisticated place like the UN. I got into the washroom, removed my coat and began fanning myself in an attempt to dry up the sweat ‘maps’ as well as reduce my body temperature. I combed my hair and went back to the waiting area.
We I got into the interview, everything went so well until I was asked, ”Do you know how to use SPSS?” I went silent for a moment. You see my university prides itself for providing IT (Information Technology) as an supplement to all degrees taught. We were actually taught SPSS, but stupid me who thought that the subject had no relevance in my communications career never took the class seriously.
To avoid further embarrassment, I gave an honest answer. I don’t know how to use the software. The interview ended there. On that day my career miscarried without warning. Two weeks later I received communication that I was unsuccessful for the job and to continue checking the UN career portal for future job openings. Anyway I learnt something.