The Interview

The Interview

The only sound permeating the room was the soft hum of the ceiling fan spinning overhead. A collective hush had fallen over the candidates seated on uncomfortable wooden benches, their faces fixed on the nondescript floor, each lost in their own thoughts. In this expansive room, measuring fifteen feet by ten, a table occupied a corner, accompanied by a dispenser on one side and a door on the other. A row of chairs lined up, holding five individuals patiently waiting to be summoned by the secretary stationed at the reception table.

Flinder Agency, a renowned marketing firm, had cast its net wide, summoning those with marketing prowess to join their ranks. Numerous hopefuls had applied through the online portal, but only five had emerged to face the final interview, vying for a coveted spot in the workforce.

Kadenge, positioned on the third seat from the entrance, clutched a weathered brown envelope, his gaze scanning the reception area with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. It had been a considerable stretch since he last faced an interview panel, and the anxiety coursed through him, unsure of whose fate hung in the balance when the interviews concluded.

Seated next to him was a man in his mid-thirties, attired in a dark grey suit, a white shirt, and a maroon tie. Like Kadenge, the man held an envelope in his hands, exuding an air of patience and composure.

Feeling the silence pressing on him, Kadenge felt the need to break the ice with the man in the grey suit. The person on his right, adorned in a checked shirt and brown khakis, seemed impervious to conversation, his bearded countenance foreboding.

“I suppose we're in the final stretch now,” Kadenge whispered, turning slightly towards the man in the grey suit.

A nod of acknowledgment came from the man, but words remained elusive.

“Do you think any ladies applied for this job?” Kadenge continued, hoping for a more substantial response this time. The clock had ticked for three hours, transforming the room into a stagnant sea of waiting.

“I doubt it,” the man replied in a subdued tone, seemingly disinterested in engaging with Kadenge.

“That's gender-based violence!” Kadenge quipped, attempting to infuse some levity into the stifling atmosphere.

The room fell silent again.

At the reception, the secretary meticulously sifted through papers and typed on her keyboard, her turquoise blouse complementing her sizable braid locks. Her interactions were limited to directing applicants to their seats, prolonging the ominous wait.

“Do you think there's any hope?” Kadenge queried, extending his sea of uncertainty to include the man in the grey suit. “We've been here for what? Four hours?”

Silence prevailed as the man met Kadenge's gaze with an impassive expression.

“There's no hope,” Kadenge resigned, convinced the man preferred a stoic silence. He shifted his attention to the portraits adorning the walls—an urban skyline, a Nairobi silhouette, and a lion reclining next to a tree.

Sighing, Kadenge retrieved his phone and checked the time: eleven-thirty. A wave of discontent washed over him. In his plans for the day, he anticipated the interviews concluding within an hour, allowing him to rush back to the market and resume his day job—selling groceries. The peak hours for customers were typically from ten in the morning to two in the afternoon, with another surge from four to six in the evening. Any delay jeopardized his perishable stock.

“What are they even doing?” Kadenge mused aloud, prompting the man with brown khakis to express his discontent, “I have no idea!”

Surprised by the unexpected agreement, Kadenge turned to him, assessing the beard that seemed to solidify the man's unapproachable demeanor.

“This is unprofessional,” Kadenge declared, and the man nodded in accord, adjusting himself on the designated wooden bench for visitors.

“I've applied to this company twice before,” the man confided in a hushed tone, “and they might just ask us to return tomorrow for the interview, like last time!”

Furrowing his brows, Kadenge envisioned wasting an entire day on a bench while his market stock gradually decayed. That wasn't how things operated, he mused, and before he could voice his thoughts, the man with brown khakis continued, “Employers act like they own the workforce in this country, and that's a problem!”

“Most of us just want to survive out here,” Kadenge interjected, “with everything going on, some decency is paramount!”

“Don't expect any decency in Africa,” the man in the grey suit chimed in. “You're treated the way they want, and there's nothing you can do about it.”

Their conversation met an abrupt halt as a metallic clatter echoed through the room—the secretary had accidentally dropped a stapler. All eyes pivoted towards her table, Kadenge maintaining a direct gaze while she navigated through a sea of shyness.

“Excuse me,” the secretary apologized, attempting to rise from her seat. The fallen stapler lay on the opposite side, in front of her desk.

Quick on his feet, Kadenge made a spontaneous decision to assist. Before the secretary could stand, he approached the fallen stapler, retrieved it, and handed it back to her. Their eyes locked, and a simple exchange ensued.

“Thank you,” she uttered.

“You're welcome,” Kadenge replied before leaving her presence. However, he couldn't resist a parting jest, “Is there hope for us?”

The secretary pursed her lips, her uncertainty palpable. After a brief moment, her eyes met Kadenge's, and she offered, “Don't worry, you'll be attended to shortly.”

Nodding appreciatively, Kadenge couldn't resist injecting a touch of humor, “Will there be free office tea or lunch? In case we stay too long.”

The secretary scoffed in response, returning to her duties with a comical shake of her head.

Returning to his seat, Kadenge released an exhaustive sigh. The man with brown khakis scrutinized him with unspoken questions, while the man in the grey suit stared at the floor. The remaining interviewees, worn-out and dejected, mirrored the collective exhaustion.

“It seems we're in for an extended wait,” Kadenge remarked, sensing the implications on his market business. If the interviews didn't commence soon, a day's loss loomed, particularly for a batch of overripe tomatoes that demanded swift selling before midday struck. The ebb and flow of customers dictated Kadenge's day: a surge in the morning, a lull in the afternoon, and a final rush in the evening before he closed shop.

Lying back on the unforgiving wooden bench, the man with brown khakis ventured a prediction, “I bet they'll tell us to come back tomorrow!” Kadenge, however, wasn't receptive to that idea. A return the next day wasn't feasible; the consequences for his business would be dire.

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” he replied, silently contemplating whether the new job was worth the potential upheaval.

The door adjacent to the secretary swung open, revealing a tall man adorned in a black suit, a vibrant red tie, and impeccably polished leather shoes. Kadenge couldn't help but notice the peculiarly prominent features on the man's face, an oddity that left him slightly unsettled. As the tall man strolled past the anxious interviewees, he offered a courteous greeting before gracefully exiting the reception area.

Confusion lingered among the hopeful candidates as they wished for their names to be called next. A voice resonated from within the office, calling out the secretary’s name, “Mary!” In that very moment, Mary promptly attended to the summons.

Observing his fellow interviewees, their faces now filled with heightened anticipation, including the man with the grey suit, Kadenge snapped his fingers, a release of tension that had been simmering within him. Glancing at his phone, he noted a few minutes remained before midday, prompting him to reflect on the potential deterioration of his stock in the market. A fleeting thought crossed his mind – perhaps he should have entrusted James with the grocery store, but this notion was swiftly intercepted by memories of James's untrustworthy dealings. Despite their friendship, James had a penchant for seeking additional profits through dubious means. The recollection of a previous incident where James had sold goods at inflated prices, resulting in a disgruntled customer complaint, further fueled Kadenge's reservations.

Lost in his contemplation, Kadenge's introspection was interrupted by Mary emerging from the office. With a weary expression, she conveyed, “We apologize for the delay. The scheduled interviews will commence in the afternoon. Something unexpected has occurred, and we regret any inconvenience caused.”

Responding with a blend of bitterness and exhaustion, the man with the grey suit remarked, “It looks like we have all the time in the world.”