By Thursday evening, the high of Zahrah’s victory in the boardroom is settling into the reality of the work ahead. It turns out that transitioning from a regular copywriter to the person running a fully automated workflow pipeline and a team is less about wearing power outfits and more about tracking and scheduling at 7:00 PM.
She is sitting at her desk, the office around her quiet and dark except for the overhead light of her cubicle and the fluorescent glow of her laptop screen. Her new late-stay dinner allowance has just bought her a plate of spicy jollof rice and grilled chicken, which sits largely ignored next to her laptop as she clicks and clacks away, refining the content plan for the new quarter so that tasks can be smoothly allocated to team members.
“Zahrah, you are still here?” Kunle asks, tossing his laptop bag over his shoulder as he walks past her cubicle. “Don’t let this place turn you into a machine, oo. Mark has been gone since 6:00 PM.”
“Just cleaning up the Q3 content plan before assigning tasks. I’ll be out soon.”
“Just remember that you need to be security conscious in these times. Go home, abeg,” Kunle says, pausing at the door to give her a concerned smile before heading out into the night.
As Kunle’s footsteps fade down the corridor, Zahrah’s phone begins to vibrate on the desk. It is a group video call from the girls. She slides the answer icon and props the phone against her water bottle.
“Look at our corporate strategist!” Tola’s face fills the top left square of the screen. She is sitting in the back of a ride-hail car, the slow-moving headlights of the Lekki traffic crawling behind her. “Zee, please tell me you aren’t still at your desk.”
“I am officially eating my dinner allowance,” Zahrah sighs, turning the camera briefly to show her takeaway pack. “How is everyone else?”
Eunice sighs, responding next, her face illuminated by the harsh white light of a laptop screen in a barely lit room. “I am currently trying to restructure a new client’s go-to-market strategy. They want a massive product launch but have a near-zero budget. It is a nightmare. But let’s talk about the real emergency. Chinwe, report! Is the artisan delivering?”
Chinwe’s face breaks into a massive smile. She is standing inside her fashion studio, surrounded by clothing racks hanging colourful clothing. For the first time in a week, she looks like she has actually slept.
“Yes oo! But before I show you… Tola and Eunice! You girls didn’t tell us you got a second client! I would send cane to your houses if I weren’t so happy for you. Well done!” The girls laugh, and Chinwe continues talking, “The first batch of the Adire arrived this afternoon!”
She beams, turning her camera to show neat stacks of beautifully patterned Adire fabrics on her cutting table. “My tailors started cutting the patterns for the maxi dresses and the wide-leg trousers this afternoon. They’ll continue once they resume tomorrow. It is like a well-oiled machine in here.”
“That split-production timeline was an absolute lifesaver,” Tola says, tapping her fingers against her chin.
“And that, my dear friends, is how it’s done,” Eunice chimes in excitedly. “Changing the sequence and not waiting for the batik was a simple but awesome move. Chinwe didn’t lose time waiting for the sun to shine. She is now able to utilise her tailors, who were a fixed cost sitting idle in her studio. She also now has actual inventory to start teasing online to build anticipation. If she had cancelled the order, it really would have affected her entire launch momentum.”
“Exactly,” Zahrah says, taking a quick bite of her chicken. “Operational efficiency saves businesses. I am literally living it right now. If this automation framework bumps our inbound leads by twenty percent, like I promised Mark, it proves that good structure directly drives revenue for the business.”
“Oshey! Madam Team Lead!” Tola teases. “Speaking of structure,” Tola continues, her tone turning serious again, “Chinwe, did you send the intellectual property paperwork I prepared? We solved the artisan bottleneck, but we haven’t solved the fact that another fashion brand copied your custom design last week.”
“I sent the Cease and Desist letter to the brand’s official email address yesterday,” Chinwe says, her jaw tightening slightly. “And I filled out the trademark forms for the new Adire patterns. I am not letting anyone steal Chinwe The Brand’s identity again.”
“Good,” Tola says. “Because protecting your intellectual property is just as important as protecting your cash flow. If you don’t own your designs legally, you are just building value for a copycat to harvest.”
The girls chat for another five minutes, trading lighthearted banter about Eunice’s non-existent love life (even though her mother has started hounding her about the need to “settle down early”) and Tola’s obsession with billable hours as a way to increase her income, before wrapping up the call with promises of a celebratory weekend brunch.
Zahrah hangs up, feeling a warm surge of gratitude. No matter how brutal her career transition gets, her girls are always solid ground. She turns back to her laptop to finish up the content plan.
Barring any hitches, this journey should be smooth sailing. God, please help me.
Tola smiles as she drops off the call. She lets her mind wander to several things she is going to gist the girls about this weekend. She also thinks about the case she is supporting her boss on. The extra hours mean more money for her, which is good because she needs the extra money as capital. She and Eunice have agreed to print some brochures for their services and run an ad on social media for awareness.
She is snapped out of her thoughts by a sharp, violent jerk as the car stops abruptly.
“Oga, what’s going on?”
“My sister, don’t be angry. The car dey sound one kain. I still say make I stop somewhere, check am, now e don off. Thank God say na for one side e stop.”
“Oga, thank God say na one side e stop? On the Third Mainland Bridge? Oh my goodness.”
The driver ignores her panic, stepping out of the vehicle to place the C-Caution sign to alert oncoming traffic before popping the bonnet to peer into the engine.
As Tola sits completely alone in the dark interior of the car, the ambient noise of speeding vehicles roaring past echoes around her. Her mind immediately races to every single horror story about highway insecurity she has ever read or watched. Her heart begins to hammer violently against her ribs, and a sudden wave of nausea and dizziness washes over her.
Oh goodness… Am I about to become a statistic?
