Chapter 7: Who Hold Power for Office?

8

Odogwu Nnamdi is a very clear-headed man. He knew I was bothered, so he’d never give Aisha Musa another chance to daydream.

From that day, the message was clear—office people sabi read signs. Without the chief’s support, Aisha Musa, as an intern, could only start from the lowest level. She used to have chance to work front desk shifts, but now Ngozi didn’t schedule her at all.

Nobody needed to talk—just small look from Ngozi, and her name disappeared from the rota. I didn’t tell anyone to sideline her. Since Odogwu Nnamdi knew his boundary, I trusted him. But things like this don’t need my order—there are always people who want to please the powerful and step on the weak.

You know how Lagos offices be. Once one person fall out of favour, na so everybody dey jump fence. In less than two weeks, the new secretary couldn’t handle the cold treatment and the mental stress. She lost plenty weight.

Her cheeks sunk, and her clothes started hanging loose. She barely greeted anyone again, always moving quietly from one corner to another.

At the water dispenser, staff would whisper and side-eye Aisha Musa, some even pausing their gist until she left. It was like she carried invisible pepper—nobody wanted to touch her wahala.

The turning point came after an important executive meeting. That day, Aisha Musa was left alone to clean up the small conference room. She was wearing a suit skirt, kneeling on the floor, struggling to scrape gum off the carpet with a blade.

Her knees pressed into the rough carpet—the kind they use for big-man offices in Victoria Island—hands shaking, as she picked at the stubborn gum. Her hair slipped loose, falling into her face, and she pushed it back with the back of her hand.

Odogwu Nnamdi, coming back unexpectedly, saw her like that.

His shoes made no sound on the carpet, but the moment she felt someone watching, she froze. The air turned heavy, the kind that precedes a thunderstorm.

Feeling someone behind her, Aisha Musa panicked and stood up awkwardly.

Her skirt twisted around her knees, face shining with sweat and embarrassment. Odogwu Nnamdi’s gaze was cold and deep. His silent stare made Aisha Musa’s self-esteem scatter.

She tried to meet his eyes, but her gaze slid away. "Chief."

Her tears started falling without her knowing. She wasn’t pretending. Odogwu Nnamdi had always been the sun she admired but could never touch. Now, pushed aside and ready to accept her fate, being seen like this by him made her want to disappear.

The shame was too much. In just two weeks, the once lively, cheerful girl had become so weak.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, shoulders slumping like a plant that hadn’t seen rain. For the first time, Odogwu Nnamdi lost his temper. He went home and smashed the glass of water I gave him on the floor, water splashing everywhere.

The sound rang sharp, the way plates break during quarrel in some homes. "Why you no wan let her go?"

He turned on me, eyes burning. "Amaka, I respect and love you, and I’ve tolerated your repeated insults and harm to her. Wetin you gain for bullying person wey no get power?"

His words stung, and I felt the ground shift beneath my feet. For a moment, it was as if the ghosts of all the women before me—all the silent women before me seemed to fill the room, waiting to see if I go fight or forgive.