The closing hour has finally come. Right from 2 p.m., I had been tired and forcing myself to push on. Working from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. with a few hours of rest is no joke.
"Don't mix more cement and sand," the foreman, looking at his watch, instructed those in charge of preparing mortar.
I checked my watch and saw that it was a few minutes before 4 p.m.
"You guys should pack the remaining mortar for the bricklayers and join me at my office to get your wages for the day," the foreman concluded.
I felt a sigh of relief. I joined two others to fill our head pans with the remaining mortar. Being the final trip up the two-story building, I felt energized. The joy of finishing the work for that day suddenly strengthened my muscles. I quickly emptied my pan and went down to wash my hands and legs before going to the makeshift office for my money.
After washing off the sand from my legs and hands, I shifted a few meters to sit on a stone and rest for a few minutes before going to the foreman's office. Other workers were moving past me to the foreman to get their money. My body wanted a rest, and the more I was willing to stand up and go to the foreman, the more my system was sending me signals to rest for a few more minutes.
When the foreman announced that he was closing for the day, I quickly stood up and went to him for my money.
In front of him was a record book in which the name of every worker for the day was written earlier in the morning, before the start of the day's work.
"Oga, what's your name?" He asked me.
"I am Samson Harry," I responded.
He began to trace the names with his finger to locate my name. I went ahead of him with my sight, and I told him the number when I sighted my name.
"Please sign in this space," he directed me as he pointed to a column of signatures in front of the names.
"Are we expecting you tomorrow?" He asked me while simultaneously stretching his hand toward me with my wage.
I couldn't immediately respond to his question. "I needed to take a rest," I thought. Just when I wanted to tell him that I wouldn't be coming to work the following day, the dire situation with my mother struck my mind. "Samson, you have to push further to save your mother's life." A part of me encouraged me to go to work the following day.
My mother was lying in her sick bed. She was being treated for malaria and typhoid. As the only son and her only hope, I had to sacrifice in whatever way necessary to see my lovely mother on her feat.
"Yes, Sir. I will come to work tomorrow," I finally responded to him.
He opened the next page in the book and added my name to the list of names there. The people whose names were there are the ones who would come to work the following day.
I got paid and left the office.
Before leaving the construction site, I changed into a corporate dress and sprayed perfume. I purchased fruits of different kinds on my way home for my mother. I got home and met my mother's situation with a lot of improvements. The body temperature that was so hot in the morning had come back to normal. I was also happy that her appetite for food had returned.
"How was the office today?" She inquired from me with contagious smiles.
"The office is fine, Ma."
Letting my mother know that I was coming from a construction site where I carried loads on my head for hours would aggravate her condition more. The last time she cried out of my failure to secure a befitting job six years after graduating from the university, her blood pressure rose. The doctor managing her health had called me aside and advised me to encourage my mother not to brood about any problems around her. Since then, I knew that I had to assure my mother that I was progressing in life to keep her mind at rest. I told her that I was helping a friend as an office assistant, where I was being paid daily. With a pen fixed to my chest pocket, one could barely predict that I wasn't truly coming from office work.
I made dinner, and we both ate happily before going to bed.
The following morning, I dressed in my corporate dress with a tie and left home. I got to the construction site, changed into my working uniform, and picked up my head pan for the day's job. Work started in earnest.
About three hours into the day's work, the owner of the three-story supermarket being constructed, Dr. Rauf, came to the site to inspect the progress of the work.
The man came around to greet other workers and me. We were waiting for the mixer to get the next batch of mortar done before filling our pans and moving up the stairs to deliver them to the bricklayers who were laying blocks. He greeted us and went ahead to inspect the project.
Dr. Rauf and the foreman came around again, this time doing some mathematics about the project.
"Since the cement is being sold to us at the rate of 5,000 Naira per bag and we need 35 more bags, and we need to buy two trucks of sand at 50,000 Naira each, how much will that cost?" I overheard the man asking the foreman.
The foreman quickly searched his pocket for something but couldn't find it.
"Let me get my phone quickly and do the calculations," he told Dr. Rauf.
I interrupted their talks with my response to the calculation.
"The cost of the cement and sand will be 275,000 Naira, sir."
The foreman had already left to fetch his phone.
Dr. Rauf didn't acknowledge my response. I almost felt embarrassed.
The foreman came back with his phone and punched it a few times before giving his client the answer.
"For 35 bags of cement, we need 175,000 naira. And for the sand..." He punched his phone again. "We need 100,000 naira. The total is 275,000 naira."
"Who gave me an answer among you a few month agi? Dr. Rauf turned in my direction and asked.
I signified.
"How were you able to get the figure so quickly and accurately?" He asked me with surprise written on his face.
I smiled before responding. "I studied mathematics, sir."
"What's your highest qualification?" He asked.
"I hold a bachelor's degree in mathematics."
The man called me aside to have further discussion.
"What are you doing here?" He asked with a dropped jaw.
"I have been looking for a job since I graduated, but I couldn't find one. I have to survive, and my sick mother has to survive. I picked up any available legitimate job to pay the bills."
"That's so kind of you. Can I get your curriculum vitae tomorrow?"
"Of course, yes," I responded to him.
I wasn't surprised that the man was surprised. One can hardly find a college graduate doing such a hard job to earn a living.
The following day, I went to work with a copy of my CV.
The man came earlier than the previous day. He said that he had come to see me. After going through my CV, he was awed.
"I want you to clean yourself up and return home to meet your mother. Tell her that you are resuming a new job tomorrow at the PZ Group of Companies. Take my card and come to our head office by 10 a.m. tomorrow."
He dipped his hand into his pocket and fetched some wards of currency notes in the company of the card for me. The money was more than a week's wage working on the site.
"Take this and prepare a beautiful dinner for your mother while you use the balance to transport yourself to my office tomorrow," he concluded and left with the copy of my CV.
The foreman was dumbfounded. He never knew that I had such a qualification; by the way, I was humble and ready to take corrections on the job.
I went to the head office the following morning and met my appointment letter waiting for me. The job came with an official car and residence.
That moment that I provided an answer to the calculation question was the moment that changed everything for my mother and me. I finally announced everything, with the accompanying details, to my mother. This development was the magic drug that cured her of the remnants of the typhoid.
Within a week, my apartment was finished by the company, and I packed in with my mother. She hugged me tightly in our new house and shed tears.
"I thank God for today," she declared.
Within a few months on the job, I was made to forget the long years of suffering. My mother and I are living the best of lives.
