The Gift of Rejection

"Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift" - Mary Oliver.

In the summer of 2002, I hitchhiked from Gweru to Harare to look for industrial attachment. This was a core part of the university curriculum, designed to expose us to corporate realities. I walked from company to company, dropping my slim resume at reception and imploring staff to pass it on to HR or the IT Manager. I naively believed the receptionists would do as I had asked. I walked out of the city along Chitungwiza Road, doing likewise at Telecel, the telecommunications firm, Art Corporation, the conglomerate, Coca-Cola, and many others. Fawcett or Guard Alert security guards frequently prevented me from walking past the main entrance.

After three difficult months, I eventually bumped into Gift, a classmate who had been lucky to land an attachment soon after getting to Harare. Sympathetic to my predicament, Gift forwarded my resume to his boss, an entrepreneur who owned a thriving accounting software firm. After a brief interview, the Managing Director (MD) hired me.

?The first two weeks of my attachment unfolded predictably. The driver dropped Gift and me at client sites to deploy new applications or troubleshoot and fix software issues.

?After three weeks, the honeymoon was over. The MD threw me into the deep end. He assigned me a backlog of long-standing technical matters to resolve at client sites. He expected me to fix all moderate matters and escalate any complex ones to him, via a phone call.

?Technically, Gift was months ahead. He understood the underlying accounting processes and had fiddled with the applications for a few months. But the MD held us to an equal standard.

I ran into trouble just when I felt my life had found a nice groove. The MD summoned me to his office. ‘Over the last two weeks, I gave you client-facing responsibilities, but you have failed.’

Without allowing me to respond, he concluded the conversation. ‘Failing in this department doesn't mean you are useless; it means you might be useful, but not in a client-facing role. I will reassign you to a different role and give you two weeks to redeem yourself. If you fail again, it doesn't mean you are useless; it means you might be useful somewhere else, but not in my company.’

I spent the next two weeks creating end-user manuals. I faked confidence, but I was engulfed by fear and a deep sense of unease. The stakes were too high. It had taken me three months to secure this role. I also knew that if I did well, the company could hire me straight after graduation.

Those two weeks went fast. As expected, the MD called me to his office again. I felt like I was walking into a Savannah storm. He quickly shut the door and asked me to take a seat. I tried to put on a poker face, but I was quietly freaking out like an Impala sensing danger.

?‘I gave you two weeks to redeem yourself, but you squandered that opportunity. I don’t like the quality of your documentation. But this doesn’t mean you are worthless; it means you might be useful, but not in my company,’ he underlined, reasserting his philosophy. He gave me an envelope with my wages and a final payslip before instructing me to vacate the premises.

?I felt like a wounded buffalo deserted by its herd. I was certainly not new to adversity, but the MD’s words felt like a dagger through my heart. I knew I had to move on, but my feet were heavy. I had hoped for this to end much differently. I felt awful beyond words and plummeted into a state beyond despair. I have some difficult days ahead, I thought.

?I stuffed the cash envelope into a pocket inside my jacket, fearing pickpockets would pinch it at Fourth Street, pushing me deeper into the swamp. I needed every cent; my government grant had long run out. I felt like a failure, sinking in a quicksand of shame.

?My friend Gift was at a client's site – none of us had cell phones, and as a result, I couldn't say goodbye to him.

Redirecting fury towards growth

I had to act fast. I could not even contemplate the possibility of completing my degree in five years. I packed my bags and travelled back to the University. On arrival, the Chairman, Mr Hove, warned, ‘You have already lost a considerable amount of time. Your only option is to join Privilege and work here in the Computer Science Lab. You know you won't be paid, hey?’ I nodded and quickly got down to work.

Privilege and I taught Microsoft Office basics to first-year students. We joined computers to the network, replaced motherboards, formatted floppy disks, downloaded hardware drivers, and slaved hard drives.

Here are three things I learnt:

?1.????The startling rejection by my employer precipitated a cascade of self-doubt. I could not help feeling that I had failed my first test in the corporate world. But redirecting my fury towards growth neutered my negative feelings. Together with three friends, Privilege, Last Malamba (one of our lecturers) and Tapfuma Zanamwe, we founded Global Systems Integrators (GSI). We walked from company to company, dropping marketing flyers. We landed a contract to develop a website for Zimglass, one of Gweru's largest companies. I had no idea things would get better; we soon landed a deal to service hundreds of computers at Shabani and Mashaba mines. Although our venture eventually bankrupted, that episode sparked a passion for entrepreneurship that has stayed with me to this day.

2.????Failure means redirection; it pushes you towards your destiny. I threw myself deeply into our website development business. I stayed in the computer lab till dawn, playing around with Macromedia Dreamweaver 4.0. I had no idea that those skills would help me raise fees to pay for my cert, catalysing my migration to Australia five years later.

3.????Someone’s failure to perceive your value is their problem. My experiences instilled profound intolerance towards toxic bosses or anyone who beats me down.?

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