Two girls inside a two-room apartment tucked away in a busy part of Lagos were hunched over a dresser in the bedroom, applying their makeup with swift, practiced strokes. Music played softly from an iPhone speaker, blending with the faint hum of traffic outside. Earlier, laughter drifted from the corridor, but now the room focused on the anticipation of a night out.
The front door creaked open suddenly, and Chidimma walked in. Her face was radiant, not just from the heat outside but from an unmistakable joy bubbling within her. She had barely stepped inside when she blurted out,
"Guys, guess what?" Her voice laced with excitement, and her wide smile lit up her face. Precious and Omotola paused, with their mascara wands frozen mid-air. They turned slightly toward her, their eyes meeting hers through the 24-inch length mirror, waiting.
"I got a job!" Chidimma exclaimed, her voice brimming with pride. She stood just inside the doorway, her eyes scanning their faces eagerly, looking for a spark of happiness, a congratulatory cheer, or just anything.
Precious arched a perfectly shaped brow and asked with a touch of disinterest, "What's the job description?"
"A personal secretary," Chidimma replied quickly, still smiling. But the reaction she hoped for didn't come. Instead, the girls exchanged a glance and hissed almost in unison. Omotola rolled her eyes, letting out a sarcastic laugh.
"So after wasting three entire months looking for a job, you finally landed a secretary role?"
"And am sure that's with a pay not more than a hundred thousand naira?" Precious added, smirking as she leaned closer to the mirror to fix her eyeliner.
Omotala laughed hard and paused her makeup again.
"In this economy?, Please, which company is that? Dangote company? Maybe a bank, or the Samsung company?"
"I don't know", Chidimma answered slowly, feeling very bad as her mood changed.
Chidimma's smile began to falter. The sting of their words settled in her chest like a cold weight. She opened her mouth to speak, but Omotola cut in again, this time with a sharper tone.
"And tell me," she said, meeting Chidimma's eyes through the mirror,
"is it from this petty job that you plan to contribute to the rent? When it's your turn to pay the 900,000 naira, will your 'personal secretary's salary cover it?"
Chidimma stood motionless, the door still half-open behind her. The excitement that had danced in her eyes just moments ago was now gone, replaced with silent disbelief and growing disappointment. Her fingers clutched the strap of her handbag as if grounding herself at the moment.
Without sparing her another glance, the two girls returned to their reflection, chatting idly about their plans for the night. A few minutes later, dressed in body-con dresses and high heels, they strutted out of the apartment, their laughter very loud.
Chidimma was left alone. She slowly closed the door, the soft click sounding louder than it should have. Her eyes swept across the room. Clothes were strewn carelessly across the bed and floor, makeup palettes lay open, brushes scattered across the dresser, and half-unzipped bags revealed tangled jewelry and crumpled receipts.
She didn't say a word. Setting her bag down quietly, she moved around the room, picking up the mess. As she folded their discarded clothes and packed away their makeup kits, the joy she had walked in with felt like a distant memory. Her hands moved mechanically, but her mind reeled, doubt, shame, and a quiet anger weaving their way into her thoughts. Still, she continued cleaning, as if tidying the surrounding chaos might somehow bring a sense of order back into her heart.
Chidimma had arrived in Lagos three months ago, leaving behind only her younger sister and their aging grandmother in the village. Life in Lagos, she quickly realized, was not a walk in the park. Everything came at a price, even the most necessary things like water had to be paid for. The city was fast, expensive, and unforgiving. Yet she had no choice. She had come in search of greener pastures, driven by hope and the weight of responsibility.
She moved in with two other girls who had agreed to share a one-bedroom and parlour apartment with her. They all agreed to pay the rent per person each year. The next rent payment will be due from her, as she didn't go through the process of paying for the agent's fee, the lawyer's fee, and the landlord's consultation fee, which is in addition to the actual house rent. Also, she has not been contributing anything to the house, especially foodstuffs, electricity, water, and other bills. The plan seemed fair at first. But reality, as always, had its own course.
A month passed. Then another. And another. Three months had nearly gone by, but yet, Chidimma hadn't been able to find a stable job. Her roommates began to grow restless, irritated that she wasn't contributing financially. Tension filled the tiny apartment like thick smoke.
Today, however, was different. For the first time in months, a spark of light found its way into her bleak routine. She had finally landed a job. The pay wasn't impressive, but it was honest work, and most importantly, a place to start. She was genuinely relieved and hopeful. But when she came home with the news, her roommates barely acknowledged it. Their expressions were even annoyed. They had long resented her. Not just because she hadn't been contributing financially, but because she had stubbornly refused to "join the street," as they often put it, their coded phrase for sex work and "transactional relationships". They saw it as survival, but she saw it as a compromise she was unwilling to make. Chidimma held tightly to her values, despite the hunger, despite the pressure, despite the judgment.
It wasn't as though she hadn't had opportunities. Just a few weeks ago, she received an offer for what many would consider a dream job - a personal secretary role at a large company with a salary of five hundred thousand naira a month. Her heart had nearly leaped out of her chest when she heard the figure. It was more money than she had ever seen. But her excitement quickly dissolved when the company director, a man in his sixties, told her the actual terms of the offer.
He leaned forward in his leather black chair, smiled, and said,
"Of course, there are... benefits."
"Can I please know about it in detail, sir"?, Chidimma had asked, ready to hear whatever condition the offer was coming with.
"You will accompany me on weekends, both for travel and personal companionship. You're a beautiful girl, Chidimma. That alone is more than enough qualification." The director said, still smiling as he waved the blue-coloured pen in his right hand.
Chidimma was quiet; she had heard about male employers who convert their female employees to concubines, but had prayed she would not experience that. Look at what this monster before him just vomited out.
She had stared at him in disbelief, feeling a chill rush over her skin. She had asked him what he meant by "benefits," even though deep down, she already knew. He didn't mince words. The offer came with a requirement: she would need to warm his bed every weekend. The happiness that had bloomed on her face moments earlier died instantly. She stood up without another word, turned around, and walked out of the office. She could feel his eyes trailing her, watching her leave like she was a missed opportunity. She knew he wouldn't change his mind, and she also knew that many other girls would have jumped at the chance without thinking twice. But she wasn't one of them. She couldn't be.
That evening, she returned to the apartment without saying a word. Her roommates laughed and gossiped as always, oblivious to what had nearly happened. She sealed her lips, not because she was ashamed, but because she knew if they found out she had walked away from half a million naira a month, they would have torn her down with mockery and insults. To them, she was just the poor, naïve village girl, still clinging to "virtues" that couldn't pay rent.
Of the three, she was the poorest, the only one not contributing to the household. Life hadn't been fair to her, and Lagos had not been kind. But she still believed. She believed that with perseverance, dignity, and prayer, she would find a way. And today, in the face of all odds, she did. The job she got wasn't flashy or highly paid, but it was hers, earned without compromise.
And so, as she lay on the thin mattress that night after her roommates had left for their daily night street work. Staring at the cracked ceiling, she allowed herself a small, weary smile. She knew deep down that it wasn't the end of the struggle.