An Open Letter to Employers (Agony of an Unemployed Graduate).





Dear Employers,
For those of us born with a wooden spoon, life in Nigeria  and the steep level of unemployment is mind-numbing.

I reveled in the thought of .. you know.. “I came, I saw, I conquered hardship” -  until I started looking for a job.

Hollywood movies did a good job convincing me that getting a job is like stealing candy from a baby. So much for the good life.

What can I say about my country? For want of a better word, I’d say “Different!!!”

You spend 30 years acquiring  qualifications and at the end you only get a job where your earnings per annum will be less than the money you spent on your primary education.. Unless you have what we like to call “connections”. Sigh.

The age-old advice from my parents - “Emem, just go to school, graduate with excellent grades and everything would be fine.”

I did just that with a degree from the faculty of Business Administration, and I have my certificate stashed up on my shelf.

Whatever happened to cool jobs like selling Gala and La casera in Airlines or killing mosquitoes in Aso Rock?

All I needed was a job for a couple of months.
But what did a sister get? Terrible offers!

My keypads are soaked with tears as I remind myself of the job offers I got;
First it was an offer to work in a poultry farm where I’ll take care of chickens, turkeys, fowls, ducks…you name it. With that sort of job I’ll go home everyday smelling like fowl s#!+.

The chickens will peck my hands and I’ll end up with holes in my palms.

When I’m hungry, I get to eat chicken feed (bonus), when there is a bird flu outbreak, yours truly would become the guinea pig of the poultry farm as I  plod away with an instant price of full-blown bird flu.

I may as well start developing feathers. I’ll wake up one fine morning and realise I can crow just like a cock.

I’ll definitely do a good job stealing sleep from my neighbours at my convenience.   ”ku ku ru cooo!”

BUT  I  SAID  NO!!!



My next job offer required me working as a labourer on a building site. I’d have to say goodbye to fashion, slip into  boxer shorts and singlet while I work.
In six months I’ll have my muscles built and all my weight gone.

My palms will always be sore due to the cement and sand combination.

The only ‘gadget’ I’ll know how to use perfectly will be a shovel.

You’ll probably mistake me for a leprosy infected patient since I’ll have a skin colour like a wannabe “oyinbo”.

My male labouring colleagues may introduce me to weed smoking 101 and dry gin 111. Give me a few weeks in my new habit and I might become a pro. My voice will crack too, making me a certified “Agbero“ and much less of a woman suitable for marriage.

I  SAID  NO!!!



Then a married couple wanted a housemaid.

I’ll have the job and move  into their house with my long natural hair.

Dear Madam Wife will get jealous, and pluck out all the strands of my hair, strip me off my flashy clothes then give me aprons and sack clothes to wear.
I’ll get breakfast in bed everyday because the kitchen will be my room.
Musa the gate man might be my new boo since I’ll be aging over washing Madam’s clothes and not have time to make friends.
I’ll learn new stunts like how to watch TV from the keyhole of the door and how to open a  hot pot with my bare hands to steal meat without making a sound (professional Chefs can’t do that, I beat them at their own game!)

And let’s not forget Mr Sir Husband, The man of the house. He will flatter me, calling me names I never came across in novels; sometimes I’ll get the feeling he’s a best-selling author and does public speaking too. He’d call me beautiful, and tell me he wished he had met me before he got married. He’d tell me tales of his loneliness with depressing lines like “my wife is a career woman and we are like strangers in the same bed.” I’ll feel sorry for him and assure him I have a listening ear.

He’ll ask me one morning to go nude, convincing me that he only wants to check for pimples on my chest, birthmarks on my thighs and cute scars from mosquito bites below my waist.

I’ll fall for all his tricks,  and have to thank him for all his compliments later that night when he crawls into my bed – under the kitchen table. The first of many “Thank You’s” that’ll ensue.

Soon enough, I’ll get pregnant. In my naivety, I’ll confide in Madam about the thanksgiving ceremony her husband and I have made happen. And you guess right, I’ll get kicked into the streets with my unborn baby.

Need I say more?
SO  I  SAID  NO!!!



Finally, a corporate offer happened. A financial organisation needed me as a marketing agent.

I’ll get to wear a suit and walk on the road looking for clients in the sun hot enough to fry “dodo”; everyday will be a carnival for me because the streets will be my office.
What does that make me? A CORPORATE MAD WOMAN! The real mad people on the streets will watch me roaming with my corporate attire and think I’m taking this madness business too personal.
There is no salary for the job. They said I’ll earn commissions. So if I’m unable to convince someone, I go home with nothing. No money, no energy, no life. Period.

I didn’t sign up for this kind of life.

SO  I  SAID  NO!!!



And then my light bulb came on. As weeks rolled into months and I got no more offers, I remembered I’ve always wanted to be an entrepreneur.

I thought of a business I can start with little or no capital and no real assets since I have none.
The only business that came to mind was prostitution.

My earnings will know no limits since I am hard-working and I wont have to pay tax.

I need no capital and the asset I need is me.  My body! God’s temple!

“Money for hand, back for ground” will be my philosophy.

But will bathing with an iron sponge wash me thoroughly?

How about all the various take away items like STDs, plus the zero self-esteem I’ll be left with?  My ‘wife material’ reducing to one thread? Oh! let’s not forget the grand master HIV/AIDS as a bonus.

If I’m unlucky, a very ‘grateful’ customer may decide to drug and use me for rituals. My stubborn spirit might vomit coins and counterfeits notes in five Naira denominations and in his anger; he may go to my grave, dig up my dead body and KILL  ME AGAIN.
SO  I  SAID  NO!!!

The list is really endless, there were many other offers, things that could while away my time and life; walk an old man’s dog, become a porn star… to mention a few more.



I bet you must be laughing  at me  now. But this is not funny. I write this in tears.

This is a genuine cry for help. If you’ve got that offer  that would  make me smile and say a thankful YES.
Kindly send an email.
ememedekhe@gmail.com
Thank you.






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