The first light of Monday morning slipped through the curtains, brushing against the cream walls of Tamara's room. It was a space of quiet familiarity, dominated by a large, white wardrobe storing her carefully chosen outfits, and a desk nestled beside her bed, currently stacked with her laptop and a slim pile of files.
At precisely 6:30 am, the gentle but insistent buzz of her alarm shattered the silence. Tamara groaned, pulling the duvet over her head. She was exhausted. Having worked until past midnight on critical documents for her unit head, her body craved more rest. After a brief internal struggle, she tossed and turned one last time, then reluctantly hauled herself up. Dressed in her familiar, comfortingly baggy pink pajama trousers and an oversized nightwear t-shirt, she sat for a moment on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling before slipping her feet into the slippers waiting beside her.
She made her way to the washroom, the ever-cool tiles, a contrast to the warmth of her room. She gently splashed her face with water, waking up her skin, before applying toothpaste to her brush. Staring at her own tired reflection in the bathroom mirror, she methodically brushed her teeth.
After a quick, invigorating bath, Tamara returned to the bedroom for her routine morning skincare. Standing before her dressing mirror, she began the process. She applied a gentle cleanser, massaging it into her skin to remove any overnight impurities. A cotton pad soaked in toner followed, sweeping across her face to balance the skin's ph. She patted on a vitamin C serum, aiming to brighten her complexion. A light face cream was massaged into her face and neck, ensuring hydration. Finally, a layer of sunscreen was applied; a non-negotiable step before facing the day.
She moved to the wardrobe, her eyes scanning for an outfit that conveyed both professionalism and quiet confidence. Her choice fell on a classic black pencil skirt paired with a vibrant purple blouse. She quickly tucked in the blouse, securing a neat silhouette. Her long braids were swiftly gathered and tied into a tidy bun. A few minutes were spent on a small, soft make-up application: a touch of mascara, and a swipe of lip gloss, just enough to look polished. Completing the ensemble, she stepped into her black high-heel shoes and paused, admiring her reflection. The tired look was now replaced with a sharp, professional readiness.
Tamara Owusu-Addo had never been the loud type. She moved through life quietly, with the kind of calm that made people overlook her until they had to look twice. At twenty-seven, she lived in Oyarifa with her mother, Auntie Kate, and he twenty-four year old sister Jemayah, a fourth-year medical student at the University of Ghana who filled their small apartment with chatter and late-night laughter. Tamara was the opposite: soft-spoken, organized, and always composed. Her father's death eleven years ago had changed everything. She still remembered the crash: the screech of tires, the smell of metal, weeks she spent in the hospital while her mother tried to keep the family from falling apart. Maybe that was why she grew up cautious, unwilling to rush anything, and unwilling to take risks.
She was tall, about five-nine, light-skinned, and carried herself with pure grace. People often said she had the kind of beauty that didn't announce itself, the kind that lingered. After graduating from the University of Ghana with a first-class degree in Accounting, she completed her national service at Xenith Global Holdings, a Nigerian energy company with its head office in Lagos and a branch in Accra, where she was posted to work. Two years later, she was still there, a junior accountant: steady, reliable, and far too attached to her routines.
It was 7:15 am. Just then, her mother's voice called from downstairs, "Tamara, breakfast is ready. Hurry before it gets cold!"
"I'm coming, mummy, give me a minute!" she called back.
She snatched her handbag, quickly stuffing the important files from the desk inside. She hurried out of the room and into the dining area where her younger sister was already seated, and her mum was serving. She leaned down to give both a peck on the cheek, asking how they were doing.
Auntie Kate looked closely at her. "You look tired, honey. Were you working late again?"
"Yes mummy, but don't worry, I was just finishing up some documents," Tamara assured her, though her mother's worried face prompted a soft sigh.
"You must take it easy, my love," her mother insisted gently.
Tamara turned to her sister. "Jem, do you have lectures today?"
"No," her sister replied brightly, "I'm going with mummy to the shop to help her today."
Their mum ran a small fabric shop at Rawlings Park, and the girls took turns helping her there whenever they had some free time.
"Then that's good," Tamara said, a quiet sense of relief washing over her.
They quickly ate their breakfast. It was a simple but hearty meal of oats, fried egg, and bread.
"Guys, I'm running late," Tamara announced, pushing back her chair. "I really need to go. See you in the evening!" She gave them a quick wave and darted for the door.
"Take care and have a great day sweetheart!" her mum called after her.
Tamara walked briskly towards the junction to catch a bus. Her eyes kept darting to her watch; she was already behind schedule and needed to be at work by 8:45 am. The sun was already high, and the heat made her wish she had left earlier. Please, no traffic, she prayed silently. A bus arrived, and she joined the queue of other commuters waiting to board. Her luck ran out moments later as the vehicle plunged into the notorious heavy Accra morning traffic. She leaned back, anxiety creeping in, praying she wouldn't incur the wrath of her unit manager today.
She reached the office complex at 9:00 am precisely. As she rushed through the entrance, the receptionist delivered the blow with a serious expression: "The manager wants to see you, Tamara."
A wave of panic hit her. Oh no,It's because I'm late, she thought, her stomach clenching. She walked on nervous legs to the office of Mr. Peter Koomson. He gestured for her to sit down.
"Tamara," the manager began, not mentioning her tardiness, which only increased her nervousness. "I have some news for you. You are going to be transferred to the company's headquarters in Lagos next month. It's the board's decision."
Lagos? The single word echoed in her mind, and her entire mood shifted from anxiety to a sickening shock. "Lagos?" she repeated, her voice thin. "But why, sir? Have I done something wrong."
The manager explained the necessity for her expertise at the larger branch. Then, his tone became firmer. If she refused the transfer, she would regrettably be forced to resign or face termination of her appointment.
"I know it's sudden," he said, "but this is an opportunity to gain more experience. You'll get exposure to the head office and see how the company operates on a bigger scale. I believe you can adapt."
A cold knot formed in her chest. She couldn't afford to lose this job. The high rate of unemployment in the country made that a terrifying prospect, and this salary was the lifeblood supporting her sister and her mother. She thanked the manager with a carefully neutral expression and left the office.
The rest of the day passed in a gray haze. Sadness settled over her like a heavy shroud. She even refused to eat lunch. Her work colleague, Clara, noticing her distress, came over and offered a comforting hand.
"Everything will be fine, Tamara," she assured her, though Tamara found little comfort in the words.
That evening, during dinner, she shared the news with her mother and sister.
Tamara sat down and took a deep breath. "I have something to tell you both. They're transferring me to Lagos. I don't know anyone there. I don't know how I'll manage. I'm so confused right now."
Jemayah's eyes went wide. "Lagos? Seriously?"
"Yes," Tamara said, poking at her food.
Her mother reached for her hand. "That's a bit sudden, but you'll be fine. You're a strong girl. We are here for you, so you don't have to worry".
Tamara shook her head. "It feels so far from home. I don't think I'm ready to go and I don't want to lose my job too."
"You will adjust," her mother said firmly. "You'll meet people, make friends, and soon it won't feel so big or strange."
Jemayah smirked. "Sissy, you need to relax, okay? I don't think Lagos is that bad. You may meet some nice people there, who knows?"
Tamara went to bed with a mind churning with worry. Why Lagos of all places? She knew absolutely no one there; no friends, no family. How would she cope?
She slid off her bed and knelt on the cool floor beside it. She cried, her tears silent and heavy, and then she prayed, praying for strength, praying for guidance, and hoping against hope that somehow, everything truly would be fine. With that small release of emotion, she eventually climbed back into bed and, exhausted, and drifted off to sleep.