LIZZIE'S WORLD: A dismissive conversation

Liz’s attempts to break through Chris’ icy exterior come to nought. ILLUSTRATION| JOE NGARI

What you need to know:

  • “Hm,” he says tersely, un-knitting his fingers and turning to look at his computer. When he starts tapping at the keyboard I am not sure what to do.
  • “I’m sorry, I don’t know what your ‘hm’,” – I wiggle my fingers around that word, “- means. Would you care to elaborate?”
  • “I’ll look into it. Ask Ciku to remind me. Good day.”

“I’m leaving!” I tell Chris the minute I am finally face to face with him. He looks momentarily confused.

“Leaving…. what?” his brow furrows as he leans forward and knits his fingers together, elbows on his desk.

“Oh!” I blush, keenly aware that I am messing my exit speech and recommendation request even before I start. I take a deep breath, and as I do so, the slick speech I had prepared goes flying out the window and in its place is a sense of urgent vulnerability, urging me to open my soul and be honest with him, the only other person who, besides Louise, I have honestly called a friend and ally in my years here. “Chris,” I look up and look him right in the eye, hoping he can telepathically read my earnestness, “I am not having much fun here lately.”

“What do you mean?” his head cocks to one side askance.

“I mean, you know. Everything that’s happened. You, Bertha, Louise, Ciku. All of it. I want to be done with it all.” My chest heaves as I let out a deep breath; I feel like I can finally exhale, like I have finally laid down the heap of troubles I have been carrying on my chest and now, finally, I feel free.

Chris nods slowly, ruminating over my words. I imagine he’s running through all the dramas he has either rescued me from or heard about me being in the centre of. “I see,” he says finally. “Do you have any plans?”

“Yes, actually that’s why I am here, actually.” I tell him about the job opportunity to move to the head office of our company in Ghana, and that I would like it very much if he wrote me a reference to go along with my application.

“Hm,” he says tersely, un-knitting his fingers and turning to look at his computer. When he starts tapping at the keyboard I am not sure what to do.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what your ‘hm’,” – I wiggle my fingers around that word, “- means. Would you care to elaborate?”

“I’ll look into it. Ask Ciku to remind me. Good day.”

What?! Am I being dismissed?!

“Um… you could just tell me now whether you will do it or not, otherwise I’ll just ask someone else I have worked under to write one for me.”

“Like who? Bertha?” I can almost hear him snort as he says her name. Suddenly I am totally infuriated. How dare he? How dare he?!

“Look, I come here and bust my ass every day, and you know I have reached the ceiling here,” I stand up from seat, edging forward with every word. “I have reached the end of my career here.” Now I am gripping the edge of his table, stabbing it with my finger with every word. “I deserve this! I deserve to get away from this madness. And you have to support me.”

Chris looks frightened enough to stop tapping and face me, and for a moment, when I look in his face, where I expected to see arrogance and dismissal, I see pain. And then he goes blank again.

“Have you handed your resignation letter?” he asks as he turns back to computer. Gah! Why is he being such a stone?!

I take a deep breath; antagonising him isn’t going to get me far, so I might as well play ball. “I haven’t. I was waiting to talk to you first.”

“Ok, do that. I’ll let Ciku know when I do the reference note. Although you should be a shoo-in. Have a good day.”

I dilly dally for a few seconds, not sure whether I am being dismissed or whether I should stay and ask him when I offended him so badly. But he ignores me and continues to focus on his computer; I suppose I shall have to find some other way and time to get through to him. And on that sad note, I leave his office and return to mine.