COME TOMORROW

At one point, we have seen billboards disappointments, we have seen doors shut when we could have enter, we have heard the hinge of the doors when they’re being slump behind our backs because so and so has lost interests in us: even when we’re qualified to do certain things and our dignity keeps deteriorating, misused and abused in the name of job seeking – sometime, when we’re are mistaken from begging the suit class to hire us and do the job advertised; rather, the documents are hide in the heap of files in the drawers, misplaced by careless receptionists or secretaries and no one ever get notified for the interviews scheduled. It’s paradox. Life.

I have spend one year and two months here in South Sudan since I last attend classes and listen to lecturers whom I vaguely know their second and third names. I am not proud of why I wake up any hour of the day and instead hawk my career on the dusty streets of Juba instead of sitting in comfy offices and under sterilize ACs. I am happy that I’m reducing a burden to the years my family sacrificed their happiness for me. How some of them decided to go hungry or put on one shirt for eight months to make sure my college fees were paid. It’s a privilege that anyone can ever offer to me and some of those colleagues whose their families have sacrificed more than mine too. If you have a father, a mother, a brother, an aunt or an uncle or a cousin who did this to you, round of applause please. You have rare angels on earth.

Anyway, that isn’t important right now because if we’re to write job eulogies, it will take us thy kingdom come before we finish. And maybe, some of us would just be heading the menopause. Imagine the world ending without a kid or a husband and wife. So let’s forget for once, shall we? Let’s just focuses on this thing worm called COME TOMORROW.

I was watching a comedy on Nyuonvile TV yesterday, a South Sudanese, YouTube channel. By the way, you should subscribe to their YouTube channel. They have short films and comedies. I clicked on this comedy “COME TOMORROW” and I related almost everything to what I have been hearing and also what I have experienced about job seeking in this city of Juba. By the way, I made a joke about it the other day on Facebook that Juba is too big when you’re looking for a job and a one man’s street with lights and surveillance cameras to capture your action when you’re cheating on your partner. I think I’m damn right up to this moment.

So I applied for a job at a radio station as a sport analyst, a thing I was 30% knowledgeable about it. But this is Africa, anyway – moreover, the Democratic Republic of South Sudan where anything can happen: study law and switch to accounting, study medicine and becomes a journalist with no ethics, study theology and becomes a doctor with no borders. So I tried my luck with the hope that I will be called for the vacancy of “YOUTH HOUR” whilst on the other hand, writing stories according to the Church based topics they would be presenting to me – as long as my stories never features unwanted contents like squeezing boobs and kissing in the presence of the kids. As the title suggests above, the station manager told me to come tomorrow. That was on a Friday when we met. She never mentioned time but she said, “Come in the morning”. By the way, one day, when we have the voice to say what we want, when we shall be free to sing the national anthem near J-1 freely without informing the president, when the traffic police shall start laughing at the motorists who don’t tints their cars because they will be looking ugly, we shall go to the mausoleum and demands the higher education to introduce a two years course on time management. So that when we tell our girlfriends that we’re taking them out and the destination is Airport Road Hotel to watch Salsa dance at 5:00pm, on a Sunday, they should never come at 7:20pm, else, insurance companies should start introducing a policy on time wastage as well to make sure men that have been suffering from this kind of ignorance are finally rewarded.

Talking of wish, if you’re reading this article, in all the popular platforms where it will be publish, and you happens to be a foreigner, be cautious with how you trust my country mates on time management. When you’re making an appointment, to meet a Junubi, to be specific, set your conditions and implement them ASAP. Note, only if you’re the boss of that meeting.

And to fellow Jububin, if I’m lying, then tell me how long did that 250m gully around Konyokonyo – Gumbo highway takes to get done? The Juba electricity, how long is it taking now since it was said it would light Juba by May? How long is the bridge taking before we starts riding on it? The list is long, very long.

Anyway, I showed up the following morning at the station around half past eight – very long, of course. She was just getting down from a boda; and from the look from her face, she was not happy when she saw me. She was gloomy for no apparent reason.

“Hello.”

Silent.

“Good morning, madam?” I insisted.

She was busy searching for something she never found. Somehow, my heart told me maybe she is searching for a pen to sign my contract since I was among the first people seemed to have kept time that day. But when the search and no reply continues, I began to have butterflies because I was probably going to be the first employee who got employed and fired at the gate. Who else do you know if I was not the one to make history?

“Why are you here at this time?” she finally managed to talk.

“It’s punctuality, madam. You told me to come today, in the morning.” I said.

She knew she made a promise to a random guy, whom she thought wasn’t hungry for what he can lay his hands on. By this time, we were talking as she made her way to the office.

She became gloomy even more than I could have thought. When I was trying to explain myself more, I saw the doors being shut on my face. Do you know how much silence kills? When you think you’re making sense to someone and then nothing seems good? Not even a nod as a sign of pretense.

That was how I ended up on the street as a freelance, doing odd and strange things that make some companies laugh at me: influencer marketing, custom publishing, social media management and social media marketing among many things I still do.

However, not every boss that I had knocked on his or her door could have been the same. I still believe that not every manager is like the one I met at that radio station. I know the scenarios would have not been the same. You and I know how hard it’s to get a job in this country, especially in this Juba. I don’t know how you will help but I’m asking you, the readers, in case there is a way you can help someone this year, then let me grab that chance and I will thanks you for eternities, as long as I live. I’m not asking for a job for myself; but someone I wish should get some help and my briefcase office cannot afford to hire her: a neighbor, a mother of one, who was widowed only a few months before her delivery. I don’t really interact with her that often, especially even when I’m not in the hood, but sometime when I manages to send her a text message, checking on her one year old baby and find out how she is doing, I could easily feel the rage of agony in every word.

I know someone of you have been coned before with almost the same way, this is going to be different. She is not my relative nor do we even come from the same village, we didn’t grow up in the same neighborhood when we were kids. I just knew her because we’re neighbors and as the bible asks who a neighbor is. So she this is the neighbor that the bible has been asking me since my Sunday school. Do not worry about the scamming because this is the reason why I am publishing both my email and my personal telephone number in public, in case anything happens, I will be accountable.

If you’re reading this from any corner of the world and you have anyway you can help, kindly, email me via zackmayul54@gmail.com or call me on my personal number: +211 924491748. No matter what time you call or emails me, I will pick your call or reply your emails within three hours. If you want to interview her instantly, I can come to your office with her, as long as the interview is going to be in Juba because she cannot leave her baby for those few days.

She can do any office work or humanitarian work as long as it does not hurt her physically or psychologically. She is also a computer literate.

Dear readers, I know she is not the only one. There are thousand others outside there that wants the same help, but let’s just handle this matter at hand. I would also want to hear how you feel about her. I’m waiting for you. I’m waiting for your responses. When you get this, kindly share it with your colleagues at a work. I am obligating myself to let her find what will keep her busy so that she doesn’t go through the same pain each day and night.