There’s nothing more intimidating than an interview. I guess interviews are only put in place to shake you up, make you second-guess your self and just experience 19 minutes of anxiety and panic. Right from the time you dress up to leave for the interview, you wonder whether or not you’re ready. “What if they ask me why I talk the way I do?” Or if my “walking style is befitting of the role I’m applying for! “
Then there you are. Seated and breathing like a STD One child in his first day of school. Wondering why mother dearest had to go to the loo and leave you there. Only this time, mother dearest is not with you. My mother dearest would have to sneak out in the cargo hold of a plane to be here in a day. Do you see?
I’m sitting at the waiting bay, waiting for my interview. My interviewers are 17 minutes late for me so far. (Bam! Being the terrible timekeeper I am, I’ve waited my whole life to say that?). I made a friend. Yet another life achievement. A Hindu chic with an exotic name my Nyerian self has trouble pronouncing. She’d say she’s 17 and everyone would believe her. Damn. I’m her mother dearest today. She’s an example of the people Saitan sends to disturb the yoga you’re practicing to calm down; Her CV could crash mine like a bedbug. She’s got loads of experience, testimonials that could vote her in as MP and that grace God gave to Hindus and forgot Africans. And I’m here admiring her hair. (Why, oh why?)
And all I can do is remember what Papa Gitosh always told us girls, “Smile. Take shallow breaths. Act the role.“