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This time last year Jide went to work for the first time, enthusiastic and naive. Now every morning is spent doing the necessary preparation on autopilot while his brain prepares for every possible scenario it can, finding solutions to problems that don't yet exist - just in case. He couldn't think of a time any of it had paid off, it's more a function of his anxiety than anything else. At least he knows that much.

By the time he's on the molue bus on his way to work, he knows how he's dealing with his superiors at the office; by the time he's off it, he knows how he's dealing with the lech who likes his ass. As he walks through the door he knows none of it . . .not a damn thing and the day moves on without any single part of him being ready. He loved this job when he got it - the Marketing Analyst for the revered Bourdilon Enterprise - the talk of the Country. The founder and C.E.O who goes by the same name the company flaunts is a ghost by himself, he has not been seen with naked eyes for the past 7 or 8 years but is still respected by the President of the country himself. Rumor has it that Chief Albert H. K. Bourdilon lends billions of naira to the Federal Government. I mean . . . who wouldn't want to work in a firm that boasts such substantiality?

Yet Jide dreaded going to work every day.

A woman calling her child off the road returns Jide's wandering mind. The cobblestones are wet with the night's rain and made slippery by the rainy season's cold temperature, casting the water film into the slightly visible fog. Jide's worn shoe slip and bend, were there any sharp edges, he'd feel them through his thinning red socks but these oversized pebbles were pounded smooth by the Atlantic ocean long ago. The road is three cars wide with slim pavements at the edge but the double parking on both sides makes it difficult for cars with pronounced width to pass through the middle. The crooked houses are built without gaps, save the odd alley where the Fulanis gather to either sell mishai or peddle shoes. The homes are either old bricks with bare cement reaching the rooftops or the colonial style of the early 1920s. He no longer notices the stench of the sea air that mingles with it. He has no thoughts for yesterday or tomorrow. He only knows that he must reach the office on or before 7:45 am or Solomon Adebiyi would drink every last drop of his blood.

As always he takes his chances with the early morning Lagos traffic, walking in the middle of the street; a better choice he feels than receiving a bucket of sewage or bath-water from an upstairs window. You'd think the road would be empty at 6 in the morning. Everyone should be asleep, right? Maybe except for a few doctors and nurses, those wonderful folks the world can't turn without. It isn't though.

If a city has anything to teach, it is that people need people to love and care for one another. We are all connected. That we rely upon one another is the truth. If money disappeared tomorrow, that would be the only reality, and that is what we evolved with and for. Society is complex by necessity. There are many jobs that need accomplishing for the health of all. That is how God made us, and, for better or worse, in sickness and health, humanity is wedded to one another.

The wait at the bus stop is intense and immense.

A rowdy crowd of people with just not enough buses. Eventually, he finds a bus after a few shoves, shoe stumps with cusses, and luckily no pocket-picking. If his luck stretches, he gets to sit down, if he isn't lucky he stands near people like Mama Yetunde who has a pungent odor and wears nothing but sleeveless. The bus joins a train of others, mostly other office workers with "vital" paper to push for twelve or more hours. In rainy seasons like this, there is little or no sunlight, not so much for the rest of the year. They follow the red tail lights by morning and night, never seeing the sun, not caring what the weather is. They form a river of tin and flesh, the best any one of them can hope for is a boring day; "interesting" means stress, lots of stress. This morning the sky has an unusual dash of orange cast onto the otherwise pale grey cloud, otherwise, the day promises to be like every other. The road is washed black by recent rain and the sidewalks are flooded with people going about their Mondays.

As the bus hits the bus stop to the company's building, he already knows he needs to cross the triple-laned road twice to get to his building. His mind moves rapidly to autopilot mode. The rest of the day will play out like a terrible computer game – none of the fun but with the same black hole in his memory once it's done.

The headquarters of the Lagos-based company is located in the heart of the city, off Allison Road. It's a radial road extending from Dogoyaro, one of the city's core commercial areas. The wide, shiny building anchors this area filled with office workers and looms over them. It's by far, the biggest building in the area; it has eighty-seven floors, but its exterior is made of concrete, steel, and glass and projects both industrialized modernity and corporate culture.

Once one crosses the building’s manicured lawns in front, they would pass through security, which, like getting on the Metro, includes multiple electronic security gates, searches, and identity protocols. The lobby by contrast is an empty, open space, with a light-filled atrium. Floor-to-sky ceilings create a dramatic entrance, with offices on multiple floors in the recesses of the building. The gray stone interior is warming, even as glass elevators move up and down the height of the building. Riding in one you feel like you are part of the company.