The Lagos Dream.

It was one of those days. Those days when the sun shone with a vengeance in Lagos. Sometimes Kelechi wondered if it was angry with this particular city, small as it was, swarming with people and filth and plastic, or if it just chose to assert its dominance and frustrate the lives of all who were unfortunate to walk under it. Either way, it burned with such fury, and she was beyond exhausted.

This particular Thursday, her boss had chosen to send her to the ATM stand across the road. Her problem was that there was always a long queue at this particular stand because most of the ATMs were almost always out of service. It would have been much easier to go to the one at the next junction, but this was her boss's bank and the 35 naira withdrawal charge that the other bank would take was more than the miserly woman could spare. On another day, she'd not have minded much, but she'd worn a black dress today because of her period. A bad idea, she thought as the heat and cramps that now racketed her body made it almost unbearable.

Lagos was a siren. It called out to all. Appealed to the hopes and dreams of many for a better life. The centre of excellence, they called it. The place where dreams came true, where nonentities could make names for themselves, the land of opportunities. Maybe it was, for many like her who came from villages where electricity was scarce, and pipe-borne water was a distant rumour. But she'd been here for three years and all she'd managed to do was to land herself a job as a junior seamstress. If she could even call herself that. She ran more errands than she sewed anyway. Somehow, she knew she could be more and that there was more in store for her in this city. Or maybe it was a childish dream or the hope that never seemed to dim in the hearts of most who trudged the streets of Lagos day after day in spite of its harsh realities. How to be more was the one thing she did not know save running around with rich men like the rest of her mates who arrived in Lagos with her. At least, with her boss, witch that she was, there was a chance to perfect her sewing and start off on her own.

A sharp nudge from the impatient person behind her signified that it was her turn to use the machine. She pulled out the card and put it into the ATM. Two minutes later and the machine went off. Card and all. Aunty Ifeoma from the village must have been on her case this afternoon. That was the only explanation for this. And just when she thought the day couldn't get any worse. She had seen it happen before. The unlucky person whose turn the ATM would suddenly stop working and the angry comments from the other people on the queue. But she'd never imagined she'd be the one. Leaving irritated murmurs behind, she proceeded into the bank where the customer service agent kindly told her to fetch the card owner.

Her boss would give her an earful. She was sure of it. She'd blame it on her forgetfulness and her failure to put in the right pin or insert the card properly. Getting into the shop, the woman berated curses on her just as she had predicted and went on and on about how she'd deduct the cost of a new card from her commission if she had to get one.

Kelechi stayed mute and prayed silently that it'd end soon. What she didn't see coming was the hot slap that landed on her face. Apparently, her silence had only further incensed the woman who had expected her to beg. Her cheek stung, but she'd have died before letting this woman see her shed a single tear. She had had enough. She walked out of the shop proud.

Perhaps the ringing in her ears was the wake-up call she urgently needed. While she walked home that day and contemplated the joblessness and possible hunger that awaited her, she was sure of one thing. She'd never step foot into that shop again.