The Steel Bankeress

By M.M Fahm

A young nave woman desiring the elusive 6 digit salary would grab at the good fortune of starting a career in banking.

However that corporate glitter and professional glamour comes with a hefty price as three bankeresses find themselves in a maze of mental bondage, limitless deceit, and extreme personal sacrifices.

Pamela is a hardened ambitious bankeress haunted by nightmares of a secret and shameful past. Her devious scheming puts her far ahead of her other colleagues and gets her the promotion that might ultimately push her over the edge of normalcy.

Rachael is the weak minded ambitious bankeress. Like the proverbial sheep that devours the faeces of the dog it follows around. She is desperate to succeed Pamela. On the verge of a nervous breakdown, an additional burden of guilt could finally cause her mind to collapse.

After losing out to Pamela, Enitan is the bankeress that desires to replace her fevered ambition with a change in her personal life. She however has to face a different kind of crisis, being trailed by the diabolical rituals of her mother after the adoption of a baby boy from an unscrupulous doctor.

Beneath a faade of Nigerian corporate sophistication is a disturbing and desperate story of The Steel Bankeress.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jun 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468582567

M.M Fahm

M.M Fahm (PSEUDONYM) currently resides in Lagos Nigeria. She spent close to 17 years as an aggressive bankeress before she resigned and began a new career with the public service. Her debut novel THE STEEL BANKERESS is loosely based on experiences of career women in the 21ST century Nigerian banking sector.

Book preview

Chapter One

The scenery was still the same, her intense looking eyes were staring everywhere, on her way to work. That early Friday morning, the air conditioner in her car as usual was at its coldest. Pamela Kajola was one of those people who could only see the opulence of upscale V.I. The traffic, the numerous potholes or the massive floods during the raining season could never dim her awe.

Taking in the view she could never tire of the huge skyscrapers, mansions, breathtaking view of beautiful and luxurious architectural structures. Observing the ostentatious wonders on wheels gave her great pleasure. The people in V.I. could only be sharp, sophisticated and rich and she was proud believing she was fully one of them.

Two years ago, Pamela Kajola had derived so much satisfactory superiority from her status. She was currently one of the most aggressive female staff in a thirty-three-year-old merchant bank.

Foundation Bank where she worked was a relic of the old generation banking era.

The tide had changed however for the bank; a tickle of acidity constantly laced her thoughts the initial gratitude she felt receiving her offer letter as an employee had been completely eroded. A branch-marketing manager with Foundation Bank was not enough for her anymore.

She had been a staff when the bank, threatened with extinction four years ago, applied for the licence to convert to universal banking. This decision triggered a two-year corporate battle and the long-standing power friction between the old and new management of the bank became more visible.

The group of staff who had joined the system prior to 1988 loyal to the M.D. would rather they remained small and compact in their illusion of having their niche market.

As far as Pamela was concerned, the group were oblivious to the frightening industry threats they faced and wished she could run them all through her shredder machine. There was no room for lame ducks. She and a few others absorbed into the system after 1988. They were loyal to the E.D. and sneered at the laid-back mentality of the other faction.

She had been committed whole-heartedly to the new direction of universal banking. In the hope that soon after the bank would go for the ultimate, a commercial banking license and then later an international banking licence.

The E.D.’s camp eventually won that first of the three battles. At a cost, it took the support of the eighty-year-old chairman of the board of directors of the bank who also happened to be the father to the E.D. The implementation process was however slow as things always were with the bank in Pamela’s eyes. Now in 2003 the bank was finally processing the commercial banking licence.

Nevertheless, Pamela was in a hurry to enjoy the benefits of the approval for the commercial banking license from the Central Bank of Nigeria¹.

A meagre unassuming existence had been the first twenty-five years of her life. Pamela was from Obalende area of Lagos, a slum, and the poor relation to V.I. Just five miles apart, there was also a wide distance between the two areas in economical and social growth.

Then there were also the two years to consider, from the time she obtained her degree in history, dedicated towards a career of printing copies upon copies of her resume. She sent them in surges to every single corporate institution she knew that existed in Lagos. She also forwarded them consistently to the job placements ads she came across in the newspapers.

All over the streets of Lagos, she had worn out her shoes, boldly accosting any wealthy or important-looking individual with a copy of her resume. To the extent of throwing it like handills into luxurious cars at churches on Sundays. That desperation stopped when Foundation Bank had offered her employment in 1988. She had remained there, unlike her other peers hopping from one bank to the other. Now there were only a few of them left in the system of the original group recruited fifteen years ago.

That initial good fortune fuelled her drive to succeed with such alarming seriousness; ambition was firmly entrenched in her psyche to the point of absurdness. The stress and the pressure that came with her fifteen-year career drained Pamela completely of humane feelings. The only way any banker could remain at the very top.

With the near empty roads, V.I. at the end of dawn was still devoid of the usual heavy Lagos traffic. The journey, she felt was the way a drive to the office should always be, motivating. It made her feel significantly relevant as a human being. This was worlds apart from the days when she had to trek every day to and from her destinations.Sometimes covering as much distance as five miles searching for employment. Alternatively, the rickety dirty and offensive smelling molue bus when she could afford to ride in it.

She recalled with mortification as she did every morning her first ride in a privately owned car. It was during her stay at a Lagos university. She had sat in the front seat, beside the driver; two other passengers were at the back. Apparently, it was as easy as chewing a minty gum to them. She on the other hand could not even relax and the other passengers knew by the way she found it difficult to open and even shut the door by her side. The door handle and the other gadgets intimidated her. She had sat stiffly, deliberately not touching anything in the car. The experience of being driven at night through deserted streets of Lagos, to a late night disco party was the first time also for her. That was a long and poverty-stricken time ago she reminded herself. Now these early morning ride were in comfort and that made up for everything else.

Her poor driver, Isiaka, his hair dyed jet black to hide the effects of his old age a threat to his job as a driver, on the other hand, banned by her from using any mentholated ointment, shivered from the artificial cold. He drove the massive black Camry right down Pius Obaseki Street, swallowing back sneezes struggling to escape.

Pamela with her eyes and lips disdainfully scrutinised the threats. The branches of other banks, the competition never got tired of setting up within her domain. Whenever she passed by them, whatever the time of the day, she paid great attention to the ambience. She also noted, for tracking down prospects at the licensing office, the plate numbers of flamboyant vehicles parked in the premises. At times, she would go straight into these banks, just to have a feel of their processes. Posing as a client, she would make requests for services or products for comparison and prepare reports for her E.D.

As they approached the end of the major street, swung open was a huge gate of a building. In the last three months due to the construction work going on inside it, she had always noticed it locked up. From her nosing around, she had learnt it was a supermarket. She had then tried without success to locate the developer, at least to pitch for the account.

Slow down, she commanded Isiaka, her driver, aggressively, as if a combat was about to happen. With the gate open, what she saw challenged the survival of her domain.

These people think they can run me out of town, she thought as her worst suspicions were confirmed; the building she could see was taking the structure of a new branch of a bank. There was no doubt about the bank’s identity as her lips pressed together tightly, feeling the pressure of competition. There, parked in it a car branded with the Treasure Bank logo, all red in colour.

She leant back and closed her eyes angrily, contemplating its effect on her branch performance. Everyone knew Treasure Bank in the industry was number one; setting up another branch on a street besides hers was too close for comfort. How had they acquired that building, she wondered as she contemplated the tough job ahead of her, in retaining her clients.

Property was actually very hard to get in this pricey neighbourhood. This would be the second branch Treasure Bank would have on the same street as her branch.

There had to be something the regulatory authority could do about this expansion of madness without restrictions, she thought angrily.

The image of the new site simmered in her memory. She began to think of strategies to adopt to ensure she did not lose any of her business.

Her lean and long body, scorched with the tension of work and the first trimester of pregnancy refused to relax.

The normally smooth dark shiny skin on her face, disappeared beneath lines of anxiety as she recollected the events of the previous evening, a shouting match with her gynaecologist who refused to get it. It to Pamela was all about the sacrifices and strategies to please clients and remain on top of the game. She replayed the warning voice of her gynaecologist and it irked that, he had stubbornly refused to acknowledge her own superior standpoint. Business was incomplete, to Pamela, without exploiting business deals and taking jaw-breaking risks, to satisfy a client. It was what she lived for and it was what she gave priority over everything else. She expected nothing less in return from a professional. The man had firmly refused her request for an abortion. Giving excuses, it was illegal and he could no longer put his license to practice medicine on the line.

Suddenly without warning, her mind slipped into temporary darkness. She was no longer aware of anything.

Isiaka, oblivious, his hands stiff and cold gingerly held on to the steering wheel as he drove. He carefully avoided the potholes that littered the streets. In addition, as instructed also by his finicky boss he also gave the numerous Okada riders, also known as the commercial cyclists, a very wide berth.

He already had two close misses with the cyclists and that was with just about two yards away from his destination.

He made a slow right turn onto the road, when a cyclist from nowhere deliberately or accidentally, he could not tell, brushed against the side mirror of the car.

The windows of the car were not tinted; the rider stared scatchingly at him without acknowledging his offence. Isiaka watched in frustration as the rider escaped. He resisted the temptation to wind down the glass and shout out obscenities.

It was a practice common to most of the cyclists. They deliberately rode off; safe in their knowledge that no driver of a car as expensive as what he drove, would disembark.

Checking for a small scratch or dent was not worth a possible robbery attack.

He guiltily peeked at Pamela through the rear mirror. Glad when he saw she had fallen asleep and had not witnessed anything.

Before they left the house, as a rule every morning, they reconciled together the number of scratches on the surface of the car. Any additional one sighted she ensured she deducted, while he remained mute, what she presumed to be the cost, from his salary each month.

He let out a sigh of relief and in error two loud sneezes escaped from him. He looked at her again, there was no response to the noise he had made.

He reached the office. He parked the car right in front of the entrance to the staff exit.

He was a bit surprised he did not hear the familiar sound of the car door open. His boss was always in a rush. He peeked again and saw she was still asleep. Pamela had even begun snoring like his great grandmother in the village. Bodi no be firewood, he thought. Pamela worked as if Paraga ² was her daily tonic. To him she was a person with sparks and bursts of current.

Then it came. A different kind of noise it shattered the calmness and coldness of the car.

He had been about to sneeze again, fear stopped it midway. They were animalistic, the grunts and laboured breathing from Pamela. Reminding him of when his first wife was in labour with their first child in the home of the herbalist. He recalled how that herbalist had sternly warned his wife not to cry out or she would attract the spirits of stillborn babies.

Isiaka remained seated, He alternated his cone shaped head, turning to the left then to the right in confusion. What action was he to take? This was the first time this would happen in the morning.Usually it was either the evenings, or the journey home. His spine tingled in fear. The noise filled up the entire car.

Isiaka had not told anyone about it, except for his second wife, a very superstitious woman. She told him it was a bad sign and warned him to be careful. They both suspected, to be successful Pamela must have engaged herself into something diabolical, and any moment her mind and spirit could just depart from her and could even grab at his soul.

As a form of protection, his wife advised he ensured he never collected any tips from her. That was a laugh as if she could even ever give him.

Isiaka reluctantly stayed with the boss he feared was a sorceress. His uniform with the buttons stripes and the cap, made him look like he was a pilot for an international airline. The costume made both his wives proud and that was good enough for him. That was a major incentive to stay on and besides that where were the jobs for a man as old as he was?

He had to get used to it, so, each time she started the horror in the back seat, which had been going on for a month or two. What he did was decrease the temperature of the air conditioner. This allowed the car to get comfortably warm at least for him. He then used his prayer beads, calling repeatedly on his benefactor as protection, until he reached the destination of his boss.

Meanwhile as Isiaka prayed fervently for protection, Pamela was lost in a dark red world. She had no idea that she was already in front of her office. As the nightmare consumed her, she subconsciously rubbed hard at her stomach as if it had suddenly grown a tumour.

Disturbing visions of bright red babies giggled cruelly at her as they danced around. She felt unbearable heat radiate throughout her body. The red babies jabbed at her, and began pushing her while she ordered them repeatedly to stop. She struggled against their hot bodies as they pressed against the flesh of her abdomen. Then she watched alarmed as the hot red creatures all disappeared right inside her abdomen. She could feel them struggling for space as she watched her abdomen gradually expand in size till she saw it burst open expelling bright red flesh into the air.

The way her hands were flailing all around the car, he did not want them to touch him. Isiaka in alarm rushed down from the car, stood outside and watched her.

Staffers resumed for work, walked by hurriedly as they tried not to gawk. They ignored him also. He also did not beckon to any of them as he was not really sure how Pamela would take it. The standing rule was he wasn’t supposed to speak to them. Notwithstanding if Pamela were dying, probably nobody would rush to her aid. If she died, no one would willingly attend her funeral. She was that kind of boss.

Isiaka went back to the driver’s seat and gently pressed on the horn, and crouched as if he could make himself invisible.

Pamela had warned him, about how she detested its excessive use. He pressed it for the second and then the third, before the sounded finally broke through her mind, igniting her back to reality. With a start, Pamela opened her eyes. They were wide, surprised and frightened. Only for a minute though.

Normalcy returned into them as she quickly became aware of her surroundings and what had just happened to her. The eyes sparkled like black beads, hard on him. Are you mad? she yelled furiously, sweating and panting from the heat and her nightmare.

Ma, sorry, he said, coming towards her side of the door.

Her eyes took in the files fallen from the car seat to the floor, her bag also on the ground, and her rumpled skirt, it had ridden up to her crotch.

Sorry madam, Isiaka said again as sorrowfully as he could, his eyes averted it was as if the mess was his entire fault.

Taking in the scene in totality, she was a woman supposed to be in control of her emotions; she struggled, but not too hard, not to feel embarrassed.

Relieved, she had stopped screaming, Isiaka bent down and tried to make sense of the documents scattered all over the seats.

Leave it… what do you know? Just get Gideon… to pack them and arrange them, she said a bit frustrated she had allowed her mind to go out of her control.

Pamela controlled the emptiness welling up inside, and replaced it with anger, as she stepped out carefully from the car clutching tightly to her white designer handbag. She used her white handkerchief to dry her sweaty bald scalp. She had settled for the black tight mini skirt, after going through a mountain heap of clothes. The button of her skirt fell off. She wavered, unsteadily in her black heels watching it, unable to do anything as it disappeared somewhere under her car.

The reason behind the insignificant loss of her button stabbed at her, pregnancy meant she was not in control and it was affecting her mind. She forced her abdominal muscle to relax to keep her slightly loose skirt in place. She would have to return home later to change for a head office meeting later on in the day.

She moved on deliberately, the memories of the nightmare suspended. Her staff would be watching from inside the office praying for her to fall flat on her face. How much had they witnessed? walking lightly on the stone pavement towards the staff side entrance gate; her spirits lifted a bit having absorbed with both reluctant pleasure and pride the feeling of power her branch office building offered her each time she saw it. The edifice she managed was a white magnificent and decorative two-storey building with some navy blue highlights here and there, a reflection of the colour of the logo. The structure fortified with steel and huge curtains of tinted blue glass.

Most of the banks in V.I. had imposing and very interesting structures; the one she managed was one of the best of what the shareholders money had to offer. Every single day she never failed to appreciate the blend of the flamboyance, class and style of the building. No matter how bad she felt each morning anticipating her promotions, gazing at it made all the sacrifices she had made in her career worth it. It reminded her she was in charge of the building and the human beings in it too. It reminded her also that there was more to come once the bank obtained the commercial banking licence.

Through the white sliding steel gate, she moved, unlike yesterday she had come across it shut. That she had rectified the four security men on duty sacked by her on the spot out of the six assigned to her branch.

Her narrowed eyes acknowledged the nervous greetings of the two security men left behind from that display of power. Pleased that they were intimidated by her presence, she paused for a second, deliberately squinting as if they were tiny mosquitoes. Pamela understood fear; she lived with it haunting her life and used it always to control people.

Her eyes caught her full-length reflection from the tinted glass of the branch. It was a dress down Friday. She could have been pleased with the tall, very dark complexioned, slim, and very stylish woman with the skin cut hairdo. She looked as if she was in her mid-thirties instead of her early forties. The white glass beads on her neck glistened against her polished dark skin. Her face square in shape was strong and striking, some would however say on the brink of masculinity. Others said it was a deeply attractive face. Some said she looked exactly like her late father. Others said she resembled her mother more. They all agreed on one thing, her eyes. They sparkled like black blue rubies, when she was pleased and also when she was angry which was the most frequent of her emotions. Now they flashed angrily at the reflection of the slight bump protruding from under her abdomen. She was beginning to show.

Her angry eyes, switched away back to the security men. She had made them even more nervous staring at herself after the exhibition in the car.They wondered what they had done as she now accusingly looked at them. The back of her throat itched. She coughed and asked, her voice croaked, Why are you… just two here?

Even if she had offered them a free lunch, they would remain rooted in fear. It was not easy to face a woman like Pamela who acted as if driven by demons.

Chapter Two

Every Nigerian graduate besieged the banks in droves with their résumé’s, desperately soliciting for employment. The benefits were difficult to ignore in comparism to other employable sectors of the economy. The jumbo pay packets, or the armed robber salary they called it, could transform the financial status of the employee overnight. The difficult to resist hamper of staff loans available were so tempting, most bankers became addicted to them. Piling up debt as if they were valuable treasures.

There was the flip side; every marketer had reoccurring nightmares over the month, quarterly and year-end targets.

Taken extremely seriously by management, the success or otherwise of this exercise, determined a marketer’s confirmation, promotion and retrenchment.

That the job was very tedious was an understatement as there was extreme and unrealistic pressure on the marketer to mobilise deposits in an overall dying economy characterised with a non-existent savings culture, unemployment, and inconsistent government policies. There was never any respite for the marketer. The tap of deposits had to keep running like water.

To explode her balance sheet Pamela always worked at a dizzying pace. She carried on as if she lived on an Okada bike. She was everywhere. In the last three months, not limiting herself to Lagos she had gone as far as Abuja, the capital city of the country. This was where the head offices of the government parastatals were located. This was also, where there were public sector deposit funds at cheap rates.

Being the only branch manager left from the fifteen-year-old tenure of her E.D. her goal was not all about exceeding the target. She was determined to ensure no other branch manager; especially the old staffers in the bank did not outshine her.

Pamela had thus been successful, year-end over, had ushered her recent nomination by the management to fill the newly created post of the business development manager B.D.M. of Victoria Island region of the whole bank.

A milestone for her and everything had to be in place because she knew she was not the favoured one to clinch it. The M.D. wanted someone else, from his old brigade. Just two security men manning the bank could cost her that promotion.

Pamela left behind the security men. She went straight for the banking hall. She could see checking through the attendance register placed by the entrance most staff had resumed for work. Yet it was as quiet as a mortuary as she made her entranc.

She could still smell them. They were all quietly seated.

The V.I. branch had an open office type of structure. There were no partitions except for the cubicles of the cash and clearing for the outsourced officers, the temporary staff.

The operation and administration staffers, who were the permanent staff, had their seats and desks positioned for monitoring purposes at the back of the cash and clearing cubicles.

This arrangement was a deliberate policy by management to curtail any form of conspiracy to perpetuate fraud. Outsourced staff were not allowed to take in their phones or bags into the cubicles. Pamela ensured strict compliance with this directive.

A huge customer service desk was placed right inside the banking hall by the main entrance and beside a staircase that led to the branch manager’s office. It faced the cubicles.

On the walls of the branch were electronic rate guide boards and bright posters depicting the products and services of the bank. They also had different notices from the regulatory authorities, i.e. the CBN ³ and the NDIC ⁴ meant for the clients of the bank, which never was read.

In most financial institutions a branch-marketing manager, like Pamela had some form of autonomy. The control extended to the termination of the services of the subordinates. By just referring them with a covering letter to the human resources department, a staff in her bad books could lose his or her job.

Pamela had, in the last financial year got rid of no less than six of her staff because they fell below her standards of strategy and sacrifice. Then she had just taken over the reins and had to send her strong signal of being solely in control. Her decision had the desired effect, since then the branch performance had been above expectation, the set target surpassed. Currently, she had done no name submission, however, that, did not stop her from threatening her staff with it every time she opened her mouth.

Her two-inch heels clicked hard and angry on the recently polished hardwood floor as she made her way to Rachael Benson the HBO. The HBO in the branch was usually second in hierarchy to the branch manager. Pamela treated this office as she did all operations staff—disdainfully. The outsourced staff, like the security and the cleaners, also received the same treatment.

An HBO was responsible for the operational/ administrative end of the branch, i.e. concerning cash vault and cheque transactions, opening and closing of the branch for business each day, the security personnel, and the utilities of the branch like the generator and water. It was a lot of hard work, which Pamela did not acknowledge.

She acknowledged only deposit and income generating staff, the marketers. They were her drones. They were all seated upstairs.

Pamela deliberately did not respond to good mornings of the operations staff as they rose to their feet. Very much aware, there was no love lost. It did not matter to her what they felt as long as she was their boss and they accorded her fear. She had no use for respect. At one time, she had sensed rebellion; a staff had taken a call when she had walked in. She had made them all wait in the office until 9:00 p.m. that night. There was no staff that could challenge her authority and get away with it, because Pamela was a performing boss.

She mentally counted the heads, reconciling the number to the signatures on the attendance register.

The staffs remained standing stiffly, as if on military parade. A few were actually afraid to breathe. The atmosphere was tense as she approached her target.

Rachael Benson already knew she was the target. She noted the expression on Pamela’s face; it looked as if she had chewed something unpleasant. It was a standard expression for certain days. Every staff knew Pamela hated Fridays, weekends or public holidays. She also always had the expression when it was 5pm. She was a boss who never looked forward to going home from work.

Rachael’s outward glittering facade was in sharp contrast to the way she felt emotionally. She was a large boned, deeply unhappy woman. Like Pamela, she was also in her early forties. Rachael was always well and expensively dressed, she used a lot of gold jewellery to the office.

Flamboyance was actually a way of living to most of the female bankers. It was not a place for conservatively dressed or thinking people.

Rachael was a gold purchasing addict, without a nest egg. Her depression was another common feature to most bankers. She for example took solace in her gold collection of jewellery. Each time the stress in the office from Pamela peaked at a certain unbearable level, it activated her to pick up her chequebook and visit her favourite jeweller. Parting with a number of cheque leaflets to cover the cost of the new piece of jewellry. This practice, was not limited to jewellery. For some bankers, it was designer apparels, flashy vehicles, and a holiday in the Bahamas or Disney land, expensive electronics, parties and many other assets that depreciated.

In the long run, unable to develop a good savings culture, an irony, but most bankers in Lagos lived from salary to salary.

In contrast, Pamela was a bit on the frugal side when it came to spending on her wardrobe. She however also had no savings. The staff however understood the reason behind that because they knew where her money went.

Engulfed in Pamela’s overpowering fumes of perfume, she stood timidly. She also managed to give Pamela a watery smile.

Pamela did not return it.

Rachael’s gaze lowered, as she stood like a six-year-old facing the black board as punishment for urinating on herself.

Her bag used to shield her pregnancy bump. Pamela sat on the visitor’s seat and thumped her fist repeatedly and loudly as possible on the desk. The staff shuddered at the noise and her early morning anger.

Where are they? The tone was angry, sending fearful vibes through the tense staff, confirming the start of a very bad day for everyone.

Rachael felt her own phone vibrate repeatedly. Her eyes watered slightly, while her tongue dried. Many things from her home front disturbed her already fragile mind.

They, ma? Even though they were both age mates, Rachael’s hoarse response was revered as if for an idol.

The security men? Pamela asked, mimicking her voice. She got up from the seat, the bag still shielding her abdomen, close to six foot in her heels she was just about the same height as Rachael.

Your security men… Rachael… I am not asking you about the Eyo masquerade dancers.

No, ma.

She spelt out each word as if Rachael appeared too retarded to comprehend. No ma… Is that all you can say… as an HBO… if there is a robbery attack on the branch… No ma… Rachael? No ma… you do not have… Rachael… the full security complement for your branch.

There was a short silence; it was now her branch, Rachael from the experience of dealing with Pamela weighed her words very carefully. She replied again very softly, careful she did not sound accusatory.

Ma… but… you know you said…

Rachael! You mean I said you should not have a full security complement? Pamela interrupted warningly. There were staff listening she had to be above reproach always, the ball must never be in her court unless she wanted it there.

No… no ma… I will work on it ma, as quickly as I can… I am very sorry about it ma.

I hope for your sake you are… I expect more from you Rachael… you see why you can’t run this place on your own… you see why I can’t take my vacations.

Rachael knew she was not the reason. Pamela just hated being away from work.

I accept full responsibility ma. Rachael was ready to accept anything just to succeed Pamela as the BM of the branch, once Pamela was promoted to BDM.

Pamela was not satisfied. She still needed to play with her mind in order to soothe her raging own.

The other staff remained still, mutually willing Pamela to go upstairs to her office. Except for the heavily pregnant female, Enitan Jalingo, the branch’s head customer service also referred to as CSO. She rocked her full weight from each foot to the other. She wished Pamela would disappear from the face of the earth at least until after she had her baby. Enitan still could not believe what she had just witnessed and wondered for how long such would continue in the bank. There had to be someone who would literally crush Pamela to mince meat. Rachael was a pathetic fool, a chartered accountant allowing Pamela, a graduate of history, to treat her like a moron.

Done, Pamela finally made her way to the staircase. She stopped then glared around the hall and at the other staff; they knew she was looking for another reason to lash out. The branch was however picture perfect. The staff all appeared even though deceptive, eager to work. She could find nothing wrong, this morning.

Pamela’s gaze then rested briefly on Enitan, probably feeling the animosity. Her disgust was apparent to Enitan. Pamela did not like seeing pregnant women working in a bank; she strongly believed they slowed things down with their heavy bulk. A blemish on the perfect professional environment.

Today of all days Pamela wanted no reminders of her own condition. Her eyes quickly left the swollen abdomen as if contagious, to the clock on the wall.

Pamela turned to Rachael. Rule off the attendance register… then I want the queries for the late comers.

Yes Ma, she replied as she hurriedly went to do Pamela’s bidding.

With that, as Pamela turned to the first step upstairs an image threatening her raw nerves from the corner of her eyes caught her attention.

Enitan had already taken her seat. Her ankles were swollen and painful; she had thought Pamela would not see her. Pamela had.

How dare you? Pamela directed at her.

Left to her own devices Enitan would have just ignored her. However, she knew the whole branch could be punished; Pamela could make them wait until 10:00 p.m. Her colleagues collectively could not face Pamela.

As quickly as her huge and uncomfortable bulk could allow, Enitan awkwardly rose from her seat, her pregnant abdomen accidentally hitting the edge of her large desk. She controlled reacting to the strong short wave of pain and the feeling of light-headedness that followed.

Pamela returned to the foot of the stairs. She called out to Rachael, pointing at Enitan, Include her name in the list for queries… She is not ready for work. Then she continued on her way to her office.

Another quick ‘yes ma’ came from Rachael.

By sending someone up the staircase to ensure the coast was clear; the staff all finally took their seats as they organised themselves for the start of the business of the day for 8:00 a.m.

Enitan’s huge eyes narrowed into slits, as she sat muttering curses on Pamela. Through her dress, she gently stroked the protective beads on her abdomen. Her mother had given them to her, practically wore them on her. Told her it would keep animosity away from the baby. She wished it would erase the feeling of bitterness and shame at allowing herself to again, yield to the harassment from Pamela. The period of her eight-month-old pregnancy had experienced a whole lot of misery with Pamela. It was as if the woman was determined she would not carry it to full term. She knew many female bosses were cruel in their actions towards pregnant women, or those who had children. It was usually the frustrated ones. She did not understand the reason behind Pamela’s own attitude; her career was on the rise, while hers was practically dormant.

Sighing in defeat, she had tried so hard, but she finally had to acknowledge Pamela’s attitude was becoming unbearable. It did not matter how or what she did, even with her superwoman acts.

From now on, Enitan decided with what happened this morning before she killed herself; she was going to take things easy. She was not going to allow Pamela or her timid colleagues to drive her into losing her very first pregnancy.

Are you okay, Enitan? asked one of the male staff, Afolabi Jinadu. He was an inheritance from the old management of the bank. Very strange in behaviour, murmured to himself a lot, but he was a seemingly nice, mild mannered middle-aged man.

She and most people did not know Afolabi was anti-female, a very traditional man. Women in a work place irritated him, especially pregnant ones. His wife was also pregnant. The difference was she was at home snoring while people like Enitan denied him of promotion. He wondered why she just didn’t resign. She looked to him as if she had spent a night in her car queuing for fuel.

What can I say to that? I think I must be, she acknowledged sceptically the sympathetic looks of the other staff. They could never try that with Pamela looking on.

At least you will rest tomorrow… but don’t you think you should take your maternity leave? Do you want to have your baby in the branch? With Enitan out of the branch, he was very sure Pamela’s constant anger, which was worsening as Enitan’s bulge was growing would reduce a little. Life in the branch would become a bit more bearable. He recalled the scene outside the branch maybe he would have to take her picture.

I will take my vacation when I am ready to, Afolabi, Enitan replied curtly.

Afolabi… Rachael called walking towards the vault.

Yes Madam Rachael? He turned around and left to join Rachael in the vault.

Rachael was the only one who had refused to look in her direction, walking directly past her table, with the cashier and outsourced staff in tow.

Taking deep breaths, Enitan’s mind tried to relax, to face the long day ahead and the remaining days to come before she would start her maternity leave while she arranged her registers on the table.

Her mind wandered away from the office, into a life with her newborn baby finally in her arms.

It had been a challenge for Enitan, resuming work before 7:30 a.m. every single day of her pregnancy. That morning had been no exception. She had to thank her mother for the roots and herbs she had purchased for her from the traditional pharmacist.

Even to open her heavy-laden eyelids by the time the alarm had gone off at 5:00 a.m., she had been unable to summon up the energy required. She had instead closed them, for what she thought was an extra minute or two; instead, they had remained that way for an extra hour. When they finally flew open, she knew with a sinking heart, it would be inconceivable for her to drive to work, because of the horrendous traffic build up and the backache it could give. The journey would take close to a stressful three-hour drive from Ikeja, a mainland suburb where she lived, all the way to V.I.

For help she had turned to her easy going husband Kunle lying beside her, totally lost to the world and her troubles as he slept deeply like the baby in her womb.

Adekunle! she shrieked, dramatising his name with exaggerated anxiety. She shook him hard, loosening her waist beads. She retied them.

What? What? What is it? Startled, he sat up; the room was dark, his tall dark muscular physique, completely naked, tensed up in fear. His thoughts had rushed to the worst thing possible, thinking the baby must have caused her some grievous harm.

Kunle jumped right off their bed, in anxiety standing behind her as she scrambled around the room in darkness, looking for something to wear.

Kay, he said, as he also called her at times, what is the matter? He trembled, rubbing his bald head in bewilderment.

I am late… She had pointed to the bedroom clock, with its hands glinting in the darkness.

Why not just call? Kunle relaxed a bit, there was no cause for alarm, and started to give advice; His wife did not seem interested in what he had to say. She never did.

She had waddled to the light switch on the wall and flicked it on, her eyes were wide, bloodshot and glazed.

Kay… I have to get to work on time… today is query day… Her harsh tone pleaded, Please darling, Kay, you will have to drive your wife and unborn child to work… please.

What… to V.I? he growled; he hated driving to V.I.

Please Kay, you know the stress… will be too much for me and our unborn child, she repeated again, knowing where to hit him. Her eyes pleaded with him. She had then sat on the bed, picked out a pair of shoes, wore them and she was ready for work, without a bath or shower. She had thrown him his boxers and a black T-Shirt. It was 6:10 a.m.

With her pathetic determination melting his resistance, he had been unable to continue to voice his objections. He however worriedly wished she would rather stay at home to rest at least until the end of the weekend.

Dressed, she had rushed her heavy body out of the room, as if driven by a legion of demons, the car keys noisily clicking along with her. Struggling with the front door, she had left the bedroom without giving him the usual pat on his hard muscular butt.

Without much of a choice, he had rushed right behind her before she out of desperation decided to drive herself.

Everywhere outside was still dark and cold. Lagos was currently experiencing longer nights, and shorter days, this was besides the heavy traffic and long distance he would have to face.

He had pushed all that to the back of his mind and had driven the car with the poor visibility. They moved rather roughly through the back streets and all the short cut routes, jerking her up and down in the car through huge potholes.

He could not help the feeling of perverse pleasure at the discomfort he knew she felt. This was crazy.

While on their route, they had encountered what he called the pressure points, those inevitable hurdles of traffic. At those points, he felt Enitan’s anxiety mount at the slow pace of movement.

Restlessly twirling her wedding ring on her chubby finger Enitan sighed and hissed in growing dismay and desperation at nearly every blocked point they encountered on their journey. She also glanced furtively at the clock on the dashboard wishing she had some form of mental control of its hands.

The day had finally broken at one point half way through the journey, and the sunrays began to spread out throughout the sky. He could see clearly and safely now. His eyes temporary off the road choked with the other vehicles, he turned to his wife, to give her a reassuring pat on the hand. Pregnancy, he thought, was a tragedy, his formerly beautiful wife looked a total bloated mess in her brown shapeless tent gown. Without any makeup, her huge soft eyes were so bleary as if she had gone through seven cartons of lager beer. The tiny triple incisions on each side of her cheekbone were very prominent. Usually, she used foundation to hide them. Enitan did not look to him as if she was going to an office. Instead, it was more like a trip to the biggest meat market in Lagos, at Oko Oba. On the other hand, her husband thought as he smiled to himself, it was much more as if she was back from buying huge baskets of onions from the pepper market. Her eyes were still swollen and puffy.

Enitan could feel her husband’s eyes assessing her.

She just did not glow like the other pregnant women she envied at her antenatal classes or the traditional birth attendants known as the Agbebi. With all the herbs she had taken they had told her it would keep the weight of the baby down. It seemed like the reverse was happening she was just growing bigger and bigger as if expecting triplets. She had seen those, who were in the sixth month of pregnancy, before they even began showing the bulge. Thank God she had the strength to carry the weight. It was just that the mornings were the most difficult part.

Kunle noticed nature had made sure every physical organ on her body was thick and plump, even her normally light-bronzed skin had dark patches all over it, especially her face and neck area.

What? she asked him sullenly; her dried lips also thickened like Kpomo, the raw hide of a cow, because she had not brushed her teeth; she did not look in his direction.

Nothing, Kay, just admiring your beauty. It was a subtle hint.

She did not take it. There was no way, she thought, he could ever understand what she was going through. He did not work in a bank but ran his own events planning outfit. A new business venture, it made finances tight for them both.

It was why she had to ensure she had no issues with Pamela, and ensure there were no slips from her own end. Even her antenatal classes, she attended them over the weekend. She had never reported to work late or missed a day because of her pregnancy. The bank was always downsizing at any giving opportunity, people in her condition were not spared.

To distract her from the growing frustration he knew she was feeling, he said to her nicely, At least Kay… do something about your outer beauty… look at your hair… I suppose there is really nothing much we can do about the breath, is there darling?

Oh sorry! Her laugh was a bit brittle; she imagined how she looked, for now that was not a priority.

Like a mobile supermarket, there were street hawkers who appeared with the daylight, running dangerously up and down the expressway in between the slow moving vehicles. The hawkers sold things like sweets and chewing gum. There were also newspaper vendors. Some of the vendors had the popular meat roll called gala. Some had plastic bottles of soda. One positioned his wares—sweets—right beside Kunle who in turn pointed to the minty chewing gum and the strawberry flavoured one. Money exchanged hands with the hawker. He wound down his window just a little for safety. Some hawkers could be petty criminals or robbers with guns.

He offered Enitan, she gratefully selected the strawberry flavoured one. She unwrapped it and chewed gratefully, getting rid of the stale sour metallic taste in her mouth.

Sorry! She laughed, she rarely said that, he looked worriedly at her.

Just make sure you eat he said a bit confused.

She looked at him as if he had said something stupid.

They