My Race.

 I believe this life is a race, everyone has theirs. You only live once is their motto. Live your life as you please is my motto. It has directed my race. 

I’ve been running my race for years. About nine years now. I’m single and kind of jobless; I get paid commission. I work as a marketer for an online clothing store and I get a cut from every customer I get. It’s more like pay as you work. I live everyday scared that I could be laid off any day my employer deems it fit. 

It’s already difficult talking to angry Nigerians, now, I have to feed by convincing them too. It was truly tiring. 

I’m the first of four siblings and my family resides in Calabar. My parents stopped catering for my bills since I graduated from school. I graduated with a second class lower in English language from the University of Calabar. 

In reality, what job awaits someone with a second class lower in English language? I’m basically a hustler. My parents aren’t the type to make ways for you to get a job. They believe their work ends after giving you the basic education. They believe in you helping yourself. 

My race seems longer everyday. I’m turning thirty-one next month and I still haven’t done much with my life. I own a one room apartment in Lagos and it’s been hell trying to maintain it. Everyone in my compound already knows me as someone who owes and the landlady never fails to remind us all.  She even uses it in conversations and raises her voice like that of a loud speaker. 

         “ah, new tenant! Hope say you no go owe like some people wey dey flat 12.” 

          “Happy wedding ceremony oh my tenant, hope say you go get your own house as you don marry, make you no dey owe money like some women wey dey flat 12.” 

 Even when the conversation connected to my owing habits or not, she always found a way to ridicule me. I didn’t care much about her comments because her place was the cheapest I could find and going back home was not an option. 

I rarely visit Calabar because I can’t face my parents. I can’t face the neighbors, relatives and most importantly, my younger siblings; two boys and a girl who look up to me. I haven’t exactly been the best example for them. I manage to send at least ten thousand every month to the house. Some months, even lower. I’m aware it doesn’t solve much but I see it as my little quota. 

You might wonder why I’m almost thirty-one and still single. Nigerians make a stereotype of “every woman must marry before they’re thirty years.” but fail to realize you can’t force marriage. It’s not a four years course. It’s for a lifetime. 

I’ve been in and out of countless relationships even from the university. They haven’t impacted or added value to my life so I took an indefinite break for a year. I was getting tired of being broke and being heart broken. It was too exhausting and “O ti su mi” was becoming my favorite Yoruba line and I didn’t like it. 

I kneel and pray two weeks before my 31st year on this earth to have a major breakthrough. I know it’s a frequent prayer but I hoped as usual, it’ll be answered and things would look up for me. 

I’m unsure of how useful my certificate would be in search of a good job but I take it along anyways. “Today the 26th of October is a new day and things are going to look up for me.” I say to myself. I plan to submit a photocopy at a school on the island. 

I walk to the end of the street and take a keke to the bus-stop. It was another day in search of new customers. My area is quite rural and I could hardly get someone to buy from an online store. They hardly used smartphones and the few that did only knew about Facebook and were too archaic. 

I’m about to enter a bus going to Ikoyi when a familiar voice calls my name.. 

“Gloria! Gloria!” I quickly turn around and see my friend Chimamanda screaming from her car. It’s a black Rav 4 Jeep. I quickly walk towards her car as she’s trying to look for a space to park. 

Fortunately, Chimamanda is heading towards Lekki and decides to drop me off. Chimamanda was my roommate back in school and studied Mass communication. We were good friends but not close friends. We lost contacts after school. 

Our ride seemed longer than normal as we talked a lot. She is  married with two kids and has a great job. I became a bit embarrassed when she asked “what have you been up to since we left school?” I was up to nothing and it was getting worse each passing day. I told her how difficult it was to survive and to make ends meet. She was sympathetic and asked why I was headed to Ikoyi. I was going to apply as an English teacher in a secondary school with high hopes of being employed. I didn’t really care if I had to teach Js1 students, all I needed was a regular decent pay. 

Chimamanda advised against it saying “You deserve better than being an English teacher. You have potentials to do greater things. Didn’t you speak of marketing? That’s a skill you’ve acquired with time and I feel you can put it in good use.” 

All I could murmur in between tears was “thank you.” Those were the most encouraging words I had heard in years and it made me believe in myself. She gave me her number and card directing me to come to her office the next day. 

Life is a race; it is what we make it. Always has been and always will. Without a struggle, there is no progress. The most beautiful people are those who have known defeat, known struggle, known suffering and have found their way out of those depths. My friend Chimamanda opened my eyes to my real purpose. Definiteness of purpose is the starting point of all achievement. 

I’m 33 now, working as a marketer for a publishing firm, living comfortably, happily married and expecting a child. Today, I send a decent amount home every month and visit as much as possible. I can reasonably say I’m almost at the finish line of my race.