It didn't just happen at once. First, it was his job. One morning, Chuka walked into the office like every other day, only to be called to the meeting room and was told the company was "downsizing". Downsizing. They used such a clean word for something that tore his life after then. He left the company with a brown envelope in his hand and an empty feeling in his chest.
His savings carried him for some time, just enough to keep the lights on and to tell his wife "Don't worry, I'll find another one soon". But days turned into weeks, weeks into months and every rejection email cut a little deeper. Then, even the fridge became empty, reminders to pay up his rent piled up and eventually, the landlord got impatient. When the landlord threw his things out of the house, Chuka's wife just stood there with her arms folded. Then she packed a small bag and left. "I can't do this anymore" was all she said and just like that she was gone from Chuka's life.
With nowhere else to go, Chuka had to go back to his mother's house. He told himself that it was just temporary, just a few weeks until something works out. And just like before, weeks became month and still no job, no money and no dignity even.
Every morning Chuka woke up before dawn, put on his only one good shirt and went out. He went from office to office, and from company to company, handing in his CV and asking for a chance. Some places were polite and others dismissive. Most never called back. And when he gets back home in the evening, his feet would ached but his pocket remained empty.
What pained him most wasn't the hunger or rejection, though. It was watching his mother, old and weary, yet still working long hours just so the two of them could eat. At his age, men were building houses for their mothers, buying them cars and making sure they rested. And here he was, eating her food, sleeping under roof and adding to her worry. He hated himself for it.
His mother would wake up very early to roast corn by the roadside, carrying trays that were heavier than she should be carrying. She stretched every naira to buy beans and yam, and each night she would set food in front of him looking very tired. His mother hands were still calloused and blackened by firewood smoke because of him, and that was what pained him most.
Chuka walked into their small sitting room one evening, with his shoulders slumped from another hopeless day. His mother met him at the door, wiping her hands with a rag. "You haven't eaten since morning" she said "come, let me warm something"
Chuka nodded, dropped his folder and sat heavily. His mother looked at him, then asked the question that always came "How was the search today? Did you see anything?"
Chuka just snapped. "Why do you keep asking?" His voice came out louder than he wanted it to be "You think I enjoy coming back every day with nothing? Do you think I don't know I'm a failure? You're working yourself to the bone for food and your son is here like a useless man. You should be resting mama! Other mothers are resting and their children are taking care of them. But you, look at you, still suffering because of me"
His mother face fell. Chuka wanted to take back the words he just used but pride made him hold strong. He sat on his bed just staring at nothing that night. His chest was heavy, as if stones had been dropped inside. It's been so long, years even, since Chuka last prayed . He didn't even know if he believed in God. But because of the shame, the helplessness and the weight of it all, he decided to say something to God.
"If you're there... I don't know. I just... I need help. I cannot keep living like this anymore. I don't want my mother to keep struggling because of me. Please. Just... anything at all"
Chuka dressed up the next morning again, even though his shirt was wrinkled and his shoes were worn. He left the house with his folder, and was prepared for another day of rejection. But halfway through, he saw a small sign outside a construction company: Office Assistant Needed. Apply Within.
His hands shook as he walked in. The interview was short. The manager, a weary-looking man, scanned his CV and asked a few questions. Then to Chuka's disbelief, the man said "Can you start tomorrow?" Chuka nodded without hesitating. He wanted to cry. When he got home, he could hardly breathe from over excitement.
"Mama!" He shouted, running into the house "I got a job!" His mother looked up from the firewood she was setting. When he told her, she covered her mouth with both hands, tears running down her face.
Chuka stayed awake that night again but it wasn't out of shame this time around. He thought of the prayer he had prayed. He didn't know if it was God who had answered or if it was simply his time. He didn't care. What he cared about was the fact that tomorrow he would start work and be a man with chance.
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