MAYEN BARUWA GOES INTERNING.
Dear diary, this is so weird. What am I supposed to be writing about? I went to class, then went to the library, then back at my hostel.
Okay, this was a birthday gift, from one of my friends. It is two days after my birthday and I just feel like I should put you to use.
I should give you a name. How does Ekaete sound? Bad. Janice? I can’t stand that. Jane? Well, I give up. Later.
Dear diary, Left for class at 9.15am, took notes, went to the library to report several cases, back at the hostel at 9.45pm. Am tired.
P.S As for the name, how does Davy Jones sound? I think males are better at keeping secrets, no?
Dear diary, two tests next week. I can’t deal…
Dear diary, this was clearly a bad idea…
Dear diary, exams will start in two weeks. I am not prepared – what is the point of living in the library if I still can’t finish the course outline. I have an interview with Brier & Brier Barristers and Solicitors. First interview for me. I hope I don’t blow it.
Dear Davy Jones, I think I blew it.
Yesterday, I covered all possible areas – academic questions, current affairs, all online information about it self. This morning I paid close attention to the news on the radio. It still didn’t prevent my breakfast from sinking whole to the bottom of my stomach. My hands kept on shaking. If I was hoping for smoky eyes, I failed. I stared back at the raccoon in the mirror. What happened to my eyebrows? Jesus!!! Were those my eyebrows in the rear view mirror? They looked like zebra crossings. It was too late to get out of the cab I chartered at Moremi Park. I prayed silently to God that I would have no female interviewers.
I was nearly late. I steadied my breath as I walked up to the receptionist/ secretary. She looked at my hair. I nearly wept – Fake natural hair extensions that had been used several times. Why didn’t I loosen the hair already, it has been four weeks. She showed me to a waiting room. I croaked out my salutations. Of the five I met there, two were my classmates; the other three were faculty peeps. I listened as they exchanged interview stories and internship experience. I was scared – these guys were pros. The firm was big –six partners- by Nigerian standard. Plus, they had a small building to themselves. How could I ever make an impression with this bland C.V, no work experience, and no extra-curricular activity – apart from one committee that I joined because I had a crush on the Head. Well, that turned out badly. I just kept on forgetting I had meetings.
It was my turn to go in. I was relieved to find two male interviewers. When Cocky said ‘nice eyebrows’, I think I nearly collapsed. He must have noticed my discomfort so ha asked me to sit down and relax. Taciturn kept on looking at some papers – my C.v – I guessed.
‘Your G.P is quite high – 4.82. Impressive’ I smiled. ‘Thank you’
He looked at me. ‘You never interned?’
I shook my head. I didn’t trust my voice. Cocky leaned into his chair. His eyed were on me. I was uncomfortable. ‘So, why do you want to intern?’
I gesticulate a lot when I am nervous, so I rambled for quite a while, and my hands were everywhere, ‘I want to intern because I need to experience the corporate life, and err… I want to maximize my potentials. Okay. Firstly, I want to be a part of something big. Secondly, I would really like to learn more…’ Honestly, now that I think of it I don’t think I said anything smart.
The question that stunned me into silence was, ‘what are your core skills?’ It took me too long to blurt out, ‘research?’
‘And?…” Cocky prodded, while Taciturn looked on. I nodded my head as if to say that’s all
The next set of questions was yes or no questions like Can you work late into the night? Things get really intense here. Where my tongue was stuck I nodded or shook my head – and more vigorously for emphasis.
I was trying to get up after being dismissed, when I heard this sound of fabric being rendered. I knew that was the slit of my skirt expanding. They heard it too. Time stopped that moment. I actually began to cry, and I just heard my voice over and over,’ Oh my God! Why me?’
I am such an idiot. Let’s just say I got out of there with my dignity intact. What more could I ask for?
Dear Davy Jones, let’s just say I am not ever going to get over this. I am so embarrassed I feel like hitting my head on the wall.