Work & CareerPeachTwig

10 Sept 2 min read

The Promotion That Never Came

I resumed at the company four years ago as a fresh graduate, still smelling of NYSC camp dust. My oga then told me during the interview, "Just be patient, work hard, and this place will take care of you." I believed him the way only a jobless graduate in this economy can believe anybody. For two years I was the one arriving before 7am to beat Lagos traffic and leaving after 8pm because "the client needs it by tomorrow." I skipped my cousin's wedding for a report nobody read till the following week. I put my Master's plan on hold because "this is not the time, focus on your career first." I did all this quietly, the way most of us do, because we were told hard work speaks for itself. Then the Head of Department role opened up. I had the numbers. I had closed the biggest deal that quarter. I had trained two of the people who eventually became my seniors. But the role went to someone who joined eight months before me — someone whose uncle sits on the board. Nobody said it was because of family connection. Nobody needed to say it. In Nigeria, we have a way of communicating things without saying them; you just start noticing patterns. I smiled in the meeting where it was announced. I said "Congratulations" and meant half of it. That night I sat in traffic on Third Mainland Bridge for almost two hours and cried a little, not because I hate the man that got the role — he is not a bad person — but because I finally understood something my father tried to tell me years ago: in this country, merit will take you far, but it will rarely take you all the way. Something else always finishes the journey for you — a surname, a village association, a church connection, a "our person." I did not resign in anger. I did not post anything on LinkedIn about "toxic workplaces." I simply started applying elsewhere, quietly, the way we do here — because loud exits can follow you. Three months later, I moved to a company that valued what I brought without needing to know who my uncle was. I still think about those two years sometimes. Not with bitterness exactly — more like the tiredness of someone who ran a race honestly and still watched someone else collect the medal because they knew the judge. If you are the young graduate reading this and still believing that hard work alone will open every door for you in this country: work hard, yes, but also build your network, learn to negotiate for yourself, and never assume loyalty to a company will be repaid the same way you gave it. Because sometimes, it simply won't be. And that is not a reflection of your worth.