My bogus marketing interview experience.

So I promised I would blog about this and here it is. 

About three years ago I fell out of love with my part time job and was looking for something full time and permanent. At that time I lived in Johannesburg and with a college degree I was hopeful that whatever I got wouldn't be too bad. So I applied everywhere I could and as usual got no responses and months went by and I grew increasingly frustrated. One day chilling at home I get a call for an interview. I managed to get off work early and navigate myself through Johannesburg taxis and got there. 

First of all the building was scary and dark. When I eventually located their offices, it was not impressive. There was barely any furniture in the building. The carpet was old and dirty. Marketing? They sure as he'll don't know how to market their own company. The lady behind the desk made me sit down. I waited. More people came, we waited. She disappeared. It was eery and quiet in there, like nobody was actually there. An hour went past. We waited. I don't know about the others but I was desparate. She came back and took our names. We were waiting for interviews. She took our names and asked us individually which days we would be able to come for training. I asked her what we were actually going to market. She said I would see at training. Wednesday was my training interview. This was weird for me. What's the secret? I was just supposed to dress formal and be there at 7 am and be prepared for a competitive, on site training interview. Strange much? I was desparate. I agreed I had to call around and beg somebody to take my shift. 

My sister had to get through nightmarish Johannesburg traffic to get to Sandton each morning we left the house no later than 5.50 am everyday. That day she was driving me to Randburg first for the interview so we must've left at around 5am. Nevertheless after looking for the place, I was there on time. And waited.

This time I saw people in black and purple clothes wander into the building. All very formal. Trying to speak to anyone was such a hassle, people seemed busy, or late. Girls running around in shabby rundown heels. I kept asking people what on earth this company does and nobody wanted to tell me. What had taken me aback at this point is that as I was standing outside the building waiting to be let in, I heard chanting coming from the second floor. People getting hyped up and chanting things I couldn't quite decipher. That's when my real discomfort began. I was thinking wtf? Am I being duped into some kind of cult? Are these normal working conditions? Why won't they tell me what this place is and what we're doing here? Is this body trafficking? That first office looked so makeshift, it's possible they just recently moved in anyway! 

At about 8am, we were called inside. Half the chanting members in purple and black had vanished. The on-site-training interviewees were made to sit again and wait. We were told that now the big boss will give us a group interview and from us, pick the best candidates to go on site. This was the first time I took this company seriously. 

Amongst us were people from various backgrounds, old and young. I think I was the youngest. None of us knew what the job was about. All of us were desparate. 

The so called esteemed big boss walked in with a shiny silver suit on. You know, the type you get downtown at the Indian shops, notorious for selling  fong-kong. I wasn't impressed but I kept my mouth shut. He was young. No older than 25. Who were these people kidding?

They called us into another makeshift office. A bigger one this time with second-hand furniture. Nothing but that dirty old grey carpet again, a huge round table with chairs. Dust on the window sills. They obviously couldn't afford a domestic nor did they bother cleaning themselves. Did they just move in yesterday? If you think I'm a turd for pointing these things out you will soon understand why. 

To cut this section short, he asked us why we deserved the marketing job we knew nothing about and we went on to individually protest for ourselves, stating our skills and experiences and credentials. Amongst us were several graduates and people who had done marketing before. 

Then he left and we waited again. Someone else called out names and the rest had to leave. I was in. Sigh of relief. We were given trainers. Suddenly there was a rush again. We had to get to site before 10am. 

I don't remember my trainers name. She was a very energetic girl that wanted to know everything about me. I was naturally uncomfortable about this, for obvious reasons. I thought she was driving us there. I thought we were all going to the same place. I thought we were a group.  I thought wrong. Where was our site? Johannesburg CBD. Nice building for marketing people? Absolutely not. Where are we going miss trainer? You'll see when we get there. By now I'm getting apprehensive. But I know my way around Joburg. She doesn't give me stranger dander feelings, she seems like a regular girl.  I could lose her in seconds if I wanted to. Let's go. 

There was another team with us. Public transport in JHB CBD is Satans anus. She payed for me In the taxi. I was trying to explain that I can handle it and she told me it's company policy. I didn't argue. I asked, if the company payed for our transport howcome we didn't find a better way to get to Jozi? She says oh no. The company isn't paying for it, it's her money. She insists because I will be required to do the same for my trainees when I'm a trainer. This makes me extremely uncomfortable. You think that's bad? She says she has to buy me lunch too and off we go to Shoprite. Now I might not be the healthiest person around but there's certainly some things that I just don't consider food, nevertheless lunch. I tell her I have sandwiches. She insists and buys cream-buns. That's all she can afford. By now, I've given up arguing with her. The other girl gets a vetkoek and chips. Inside I am disapproving, but it's none of my business. 

30 minute walk through crowded Jozi CBD, ducking vendors and rude men on the street, bumping shoulders with commuters and being hollered at by guys with nothing to do. We are dressed in business attire after all. Formal with heels, trodding through dirty streets in a rush. I started understanding why these girls have such rundown heels. I want to quit NOW. I could take a short-left and get a taxi home. This is ridiculous. But I've played along so far, I need to find out what the job is now. I need to find out where the site is! 

We get to the site. She says, we're here. I ask, here? She says yes? But where? Inside. 

We are at Woolworths on Market road. 

I sigh in relief. At least it's Woolworths. Let's do this! 

Little did I know. 

We get to the office, put our things down, have tea and go downstairs to the clothing section. People are glaring at us. I'm wondering why. She asks me if I'm ready and she says she will demonstrate first and then explain.

Gawd dang it! She's promoting a credit card! Stopping shoppers and trying to dupe them into signing up and earning commission for each person she gets. Why all the frikkin mystery? ! 

I was absolutely and utterly pissed. Kept calm. She explained the process, how to do it, all the benefits. I was desparate. I listened. I was polite. 

She made me do all this paperwork for training and then asked me if I still want the job. I wasn't sure. It was almost lunchtime and I was ready to go home. I hung on. I was desparate. Lunch came and went and so did the cream buns. I had my sandwiches. 

I asked when we would leave. She told me just a little while longer. A little while turned into hours. 

I needed to know if I was getting the job or not. She told me that I had to see the big boss again and he had to approve me before I started. I felt more like she was marketing the job to me than actually interviewing me for a marketing job. I needed to know how much this job payed. At 4 o clock I said I was going home. I had had enough. She, persuasive as she was asked me to hold on a little longer because she knew I would get the job and that it payed well. Looking at her I wasn't too convinced but I decided that I would see it through. My sister was going to leave work late so it worked out. 5 o clock we knocked off and it felt like I was employed already.

An hour long bus ride in traffic led us back to the office. It's past 6 o clock and the boss is apparently too busy to see me. One of the managers will be interviewing me in his place. More waiting. I'm thinking, I have food at home and maybe I should just start kissing my boss' anus at my current part-time job and it won't be so bad. I'm thinking, maybe I'm just ungreatful. Why am I here? 6.30pm my sister calls me and I tell her I still have to see big boss. This girl here and her colleague are busy trying to hype me up so I can stay. They're telling me how rich the boss is with his mansions and Mercedes and I am just not buying it. They're telling me about the managers and how easily it is to get promoted in this company. They're telling me how hopeful they are are of getting promoted and making better money. They're pointing at people saying this one here started working here three months ago and already he's been promoted twice and last week he just bought a car. I'm starting to think maybe I'm materialistic but I just don't see it. How is boss and his shiny suit so rich? How is it that with that much money he doesn't think to get it tailored to fit him properly so that it doesn't look just as second hand as everything in this building? How is this company so lucrative and looking like this? Are they stupid or am I arrogant?

All this time people have started chanting in some room again. I ask what it's about. They said its to motivate themselves and build team spirit. Every morning before they go into the field and when they return they do it. Weeeeird! On well, whatever works for them. 

Training lady goes in to speak to boss man and give him a report about me. She comes out at 7 o'clock saying I didn't get the job but she pleaded with him so he's giving me another chance and I will be interviewed by one of the managers. Now I'm ready to retort. 

In managers office I start flinging questions at him which he cannot respond to. He looks at me and tells me that I don't want this job. I ask him, how much is the job worth! He tells me it's commission based. If I was white I would've been blood red in the face. I'm gonna get payed only if I sell and only for the amount I sell. Here I thought the commission was an incentive. After all this bullshit! 

I didn't call it. I just asked him if this was a pyramid scheme to which he denied utterly. After much faffing about he asked me not to tell anyone about the job. I agreed. He employed me and I smiled and said I was happy to join the company. Shook his hand. I would report at 7am next morning. My turn to play bullshit. 

7.30pm, I get into my sisters car. By the time we got near home she was raging mad! We got ice- cream. 

Love

All encompassing all knowing all forgiving and insatiably pleasant. Creator of all delight and hope and courage and purpose. Peace abounding and infinite. Isiqalo nesiphetho. Mhlane nembeleko. Themba lami, kuphila Kwami. Mphefumulo. Wena oyikho konke. Olungileyo. Ophakemeyo. Mdali. Mbumbi. 

Ungcwele.

While they ask to be lifted I ask to be bound. To be drowned. To be consumed by you. Lift me not to the sky lest it asks for wings or takes my breath or shakes me. Rain rather, on me. Wet me and my appetite with spirit. Run through me and consume me. Let me see through your eyes. Mould me. 

And in that space, love me. Love me Love. Radiate within me and give me light. Let me shine on the world. 

Thou art infinite. 

Dreams

　Circles. Cycles. Circles. I'm falling in and I'm tumbling about until　I  fall back out again. How else do I describe this　infinity of lifelines. These roads these pathways to righteousness. Some calling it consciousness and some the awakening while I think sometimes I'm fit to call it drowsiness. Sleepiness. I sleep a lot.　I dream a lot. And　when　I wake its pain and more growing pangs but its beautiful. I'm starting to wonder if pain really is beautiful. Or if beauty is　pain? Do we really suffer for beauty or did I just fall in love with my pain?　And here I am falling in and out of sleep again because being awake is too painful,sometimes too beautiful, oftentimes too lonely.

　In mind, awake or asleep, is a place too beautiful to let you in.

Growing Up

Sometimes I think about it, that I surrendered kisses and warm embraces and decent conversation for a while just so I can get this independence and adventure and I wonder if its worth it.

And independence I am getting. In doing things for myself that I never knew I would do before  Things I never thought Id have the need to do and just things Id never quite considered just because I was ignorant of it. Especially since there was always someone around that I trusted that I could consult. I know nothing about cars, In not even really interested.
Before I thought, if I get a car I have my dad to take care of it when it needs fixing. If I have problems, he knows what to do and if not him, my brother should figure it out or my cousin or boyfriend. I'd ask SOMEBODY. Out here I have no men in my life or anyone with a clue about these things. I have no clue. I go to the garage and I trust the guy working there. I tell him to check the car and my life is in his hands from there on. I pay whatever he tells me. I ask no questions because I don't know anything.
So I guess its not just kisses I surrendered but emotional comfort and security and to a certain extent, love. I miss the men in my life! 

I cant imagine what single parents do with so many decisions to make on their own, and just having to make things happen!
Because children aren't like cars where you have insurance in case you break it or you can buy another one if this one crashes. Its one shot, one life and you're it.

Touchy tips and toes- A look inside of me.

I have problems with my physical self. Do not misunderstand this. I am not taking about my weight. I think my perception of my weight is pretty ok in that I am not illusioned to thinking mine is ideal but looking in the mirror does not traumatise me. In fact I often get distracted and linger to admire.

I am taking about my body in its completeness. Movement. The ability to manipulate my movement and persuade the air around me. To adorn the space. I am mad that I cannot adorn the space.

I laugh at myself sometimes, I tend to take myself too seriously. But humor me for now.

Until quite recently I have been far too flexible for my size or age. I noticed. I like to stretch and stuff. I think I  could've made a great dancer, if I had started early. I still dream about it. In my head I dance. I get upset about it so I usually opt not to think about it at all. How my body has become dumb. Do you believe in physical intelligence? I do.

When I was about 6 I fell in love with ballet and ice skating and gymnastics. I once saw ice skating during the  Olympics and my eyes were glued to the screen every time I came across it on TV.

When I was in grade two I started going to what was considered a "white " school and became one of the few black children there. In my class , Vuyiswa and I were the only two black girls. I found out that the school offered ballet and gymnastics. All the girls in my class took either ballet or gymnastics or both, even Vuyiswa. I asked my parents if I could join the classes but after finding out that I had to pay extra for it, my dad told me we could not afford it. My heart was broken. Its so silly being a child because despite my broken heart I would go watch them after school, everyday peeking through the glass door admiring their elegant little pink tutus, wishing I was in there too. Dreaming that someday soon my father would say it was ok now and that I could join the class. Hoping. Ducking from their instructor so she wouldn't see me and tell me to go away, I would quietly cheer them on. I would ask them about it afterwards.

I think for a long time I have been mad at my father for not paying for those lessons because, that wasn't the only thing he couldn't afford . After a while as my English improved I found out there was music lessons and swimming lessons too. Dad said he had no money so I couldn't take piano lessons or guitar lessons like my friends did. I took the swimming lessons because those were free and after drowning and chocking for four years, I finally cracked freestyle in grade 6. Practiced twice a week for an hour, no other swimming pool access besides school and I was competing by grade 7, however without winning. 

I made the most of what I had but I never got what I wanted. This sounds dangerously too close to my life right now. I am now aware that my father was the sole breadwinner in a family with four kids while funding his own university fees and balancing that with a job and other duties at the same time. It was a luxury we couldn't afford.

When I was 20, doing second year at University, studying Drama and Music (does this seem natural to you? ) one of my lecturers started a ballet class for adults. I went to the first lesson. When I got back at my dorm that afternoon I cried and cried and cried and then never went back to that class again. It was too painful. Physically not as painful as the girls were complaining about. Just painful in my heart, deep down. How do you start ballet 13 years late? It amazed me as we grew up a lot of the girls dropped ballet, one by one, dropping gymnastics. I was appalled actually. My best friend dropped karate just after she became a blue belt in grade 6, I didn't understand why or how people just quit.

I learned how to quit, however. Im not so proud of it anymore. In high school I joined netball and I quit. I joined tennis and I quit. I joined basketball and I quit. I joined squash and soccer and athletics and cross-country and I quit them all! I joined field hockey and my father made me quit claiming that the sport was too rough for girls. Eventually as it took a toll on my permed hair plus I was getting strange migraines after practise, I quit swimming. In my matric year I quit debating too. My teacher got so mad she didn't speak to me for a month so I wrote an apology letter and went back. I didn't want to be there though. It felt good not to be tied to anything, not to be committed. To have choice, the litte that I had. Besides, neither of it was what I really wanted. The one art class I took after school was cancelled because I was the only student there and the teacher was not staying extra hours for just one student. I joined the Art Club instead and painted a huge portrait of a woman outside the art room. It was a copy of Jeanne Hebuterne I  by Amedeo Modigliani.

In university I picked up keyboard studies as an extra subject and I was thrilled at it! I was the second  best in my class. None of us were previously trained. However by third year I had too much work and already taking English as an extra subject, I had neither the time nor the money to take it so I dropped the class. Once again my funny budget defied ny dreams.

Since then I think I gave up on my physical art. My dancing, my singing, my music, performing my poetry. Yet its not dead within me. I have a friend who dances and choreographs and she started at 20. Every time I see her on stage I want to cry. She is so naturally aware of her physical self and beautiful at expressing it! I'm blessed to have friends like these. I have a friend who recites  and sings and raps and chants like she was sent to wake me. I have friends attached to their instruments like they were limbs. It is through these people that I realise myself now.

And maybe someday soon I will find my presence. 

Music that gets me through rough days

My relationship with music has been a whirlwind of falling in love, suffering for it, being ridiculed to a point of persecution for it, abandoning it, taking it back, nurture, neglect, using it and then now a space that I call rediscovering it. It's a difficult journey and an emotional one for me because this part of my life is very personal and if you haven't noticed, my passion for music is a bit obsessive.

Here in rediscovering the power of music to my being I have found certain songs that get me through rough days when I am depressed or stressed or feel like I'm going to lose my mind.

3.  Can't give up now- Mary Mary (Thankful)

When days are dark, what better way to remind me where my strenth is than this song? I know a lot of people who use  this song to reboot and gain strength. There's something about repeating the same phrase over and over when your senses have been numbed and dulled by exhaustion that seems to draw from your depths within certain memories and bring them to the surface to move you once again. That is what the chorus of this song does to me. It is the highlight and the prominent part of the song and for a good purpose. It's kind of like supplication. Repetitive for a reason, purging pain in the process.

2. Song for Turqois- Lexikon ( Sketches in the Mind)

I am so greatful to know Lexikon in my life. She has the ability to word my thoughts so beautifully because I often fail to express my innermost feelings. I've also learned an awful lot from her. This song is from her first album and is dedicated to her daughter but resonates with my being so much. Being away from home it grounds me and reminds me who I am always. It reminds me of my purpose. Reminds me of the invaluable knowledge that I have aquired back home from my parents and people who's match I am yet to find anywhere else. I don't envy other people. I now understand why so many people want a piece of Africa. I carry all those pieces inside me. Inside my head.

1. Nkwenkwezi- Simphiwe Dana (Kulture Noir)

As if a follow up, completing what Song for Turquis brings to my psyche, this song is like a guide giving me direction. It maps the way forward. It also envokes in me stong memories of my beloved Konke and other people that have passed in my life. It gives me hope. It is commemorative. I hope to sing it one day and I can only think of one cousin of mine right now who could match  it with  the emotion I need for it in a duet. In fact I love the whole Kulture Noir album because I think its such a spiritual one and Simphiwe Dana shares so much of herself in it. One of the other tracks on there that I listen to repeatedly is Mayine because I overstand it too. I can only hope to be such an excellent composer one day.

Things that make it worthwhile

I've just come out of burnout phase of culture shock and I'm feeling lighter and more positive about things. Being the only one of my kind as far as I've reached around me can be tough sometimes. My kind being, a black South African girl and I'll go as far as saying Nguni South African girl as my Sotho counterparts tend to stick to themselves as far as I've experienced and I'm not one to pine for attention. The closest I've come to speaking any Nguni language was speaking  Xhosa with a Tswana lady from Botswana that I met at a JICA seminar. She was a much needed breath of air for me.

Anyways, after unpacking from my Taiwan trip I needed to get out so I called a friend and she chose the location. She took me to a wonderful bar, not too far from where I live but forgot to mention I should dress up. No worries though, I wasn't too shabby and I had makeup on (a rarity for me).  The barman was absolutely fabulous. A few days later I find out that he's actually well known all over the country and that the bar we went to is pretty upmarket and popular. That must've all been lost in translation when my friend just told me we were going to a nice bar...

I'm in love with my barman. The one at the place I usually go to. It's the music you see, all that wonderful music that keeps me coming back! Jazz, swing, funk, soul, neo-soul. He has it! I found out recently that he actually spent a few of his younger years travelling the world as a DJ. Im beggining to introduce him to some South African jazz. He's shown me pictures of himself with some other African artists.

I guess this weekend I was reminded why I came here in the first place. I came here to meet people. I think I had forgotten about that. I have a friend who has moved to the States and he said to me that going back home will never be the same again because I will miss the convenience of being in a first world country. That word bothered me a lot and still does. I have no illusions about that although he's talking like I come from the sticks. I know I will miss some conveniences about here but jeepers that's not why I came here. So I guess I feel a bit offended. I told him my heart belongs to the people I left back home.

And I have met people. Wonderful people! As I will continue to meet more. One of my friends called me on Monday evening and we went for drinks. She says I shouldn't feel pressured to go out with her if I don't want to during the week but I don't think she realized that I just missed her. Most of my Japanese friends are much older than I am. I don't know why but they make good conversation.
She says to me that her mother is fond of me. I met her mom and her aunt once. Despite the language barrier I think we had good gesture and eye-contact conversation. We had dinner once (at my favorite bar, once again). Actually my friend introduced me to that place.

I've never believed that verbal conversation is the be it and end all of communication and I'm learning the truth of that while my Japanese skills are still very poor. I find it weird when she says that usually when she speaks to English speakers, they don't understand her. I find her quite clear, despite the bad grammar. And we talk. A lot. It's wonderful. She says she enjoys speaking with me because I understand her and now she can practice the English she knows. I'm flattered. I enjoy having a friend to decipher the menu. I'm kidding, she teaches me a lot about what it is to be Japanese and Okinawan.

I bumped into some students at the beach on Sunday. The boys are just wonderful  crazy teenagers and I really wish I could communicate with them more. We tried to talk. The conversation was  filled with smiles and awkward shrugs from both ends. Now I know they know more English than what they let on but alas, the nerves! Bless them.
On my way to the carpark I bumped into some girls. Shrieks of excitement and hellos and pictures and questions about who I'm here with and all the English they can think of. I love my girls, always making the day seem brighter! Their energy is amazing and I hope I can express that in Japanese some day. But I was by myself and the trip was a meditational one. I just said "sunset " and everybody seemed to understand.

My supervisor helped me transfer some money home this week. We had a long chat where I told her about where I come from and why this is important to me. We had a heart to heart and I found in her  an attentive, kind woman who has many of the same oppinions as I. Whoever thought people could bond over a trip to the post office?

So its these things that I came here for. There's a lot more but this is an important one. When I begin to see God in the actions and words of people. The love in the care we all understand regardless of race, gender, religion, background, economic status or even language. This aspect of my journey here is clear and reminding myself of it makes it easier to get through the rough days.