Help! I'm Greying

IT was 8.00 p.m, and the meeting had not ended. I looked around me; my colleagues were still listening with rapt attention. "The Bank must move forward," the MD roared, 'We must channel our energies towards a significant improvement in profitability, visibility and stability." He paused to look at all of us, his pupil enlarged, piercing deep into our eyes as though he could read the thoughts and intents of our minds. I sincerely hoped he couldn't read mine because I knew what exactly was on my mind, and it was certainly not ‘work’, not at that time of the day.

 "Can anybody tell me how we can achieve this before the end of the financial year?" He asked.

 Silence. Nobody spoke, and definitely not me, who was struggling to keep awake.

 "Can anybody tell us how we can achieve significant improvement in profitability between now and year-end?" He roared yet again, this time fully rousing me from my intermittent peaceful slumbers.

 Someone in front raised his hand; I knew it must be him. A diminutive bespectacled young man in a black suit with a red paisley handkerchief in the breast pocket and a matching tie, who I secretly call 'Dr. Know It All."

'Dr' is always ready with answers, whether it is about banking, walking in the moon, armchair coaching of Nigeria’s Super Eagles or deciphering secret codes during the cold war. In a move that appeared well scripted and probably rehearsed the previous day in front of a giant mirror at home, "Dr." began to answer, in a deep baritone, jerking his hands involuntarily as he was prone to do:

 'To achieve this lofty aim, our plan must be anchored on (a) Aggressive branch expansion programme, (b) Market and product development, (c) Improved customer service, (d) Optimal human capital utilisation and (e) Competing through information and communication technology."

 He paused, staring at all of us, to observe what impact his answer made on us. He didn't need to wait long; loud applause followed his impressive answer. A broad smile filled half of his face. He raised his shoulders high with great pride, probably wondering whether our brains were made on a Sabbath day, keeping us in a perpetual state of lethargy.

 I stifled a yawn as I looked around. Seated next to me, a male colleague also tried hard to keep awake. The meeting has gone on for over six hours, and we are yet to conclude. I needed to leave the room, so I devised a little trick - cough as if you will choke the next moment and excuse yourself.

 The trick worked as planned as I seized that opportunity to call home.

 "Hello darling," I said and before my husband, Bryon could answer, I heard a loud "mama" in the background. My eighteen-month-old baby had been waiting for his 'mama' to return home. My darling husband would be waiting to gist with me. My mother-in-law who came on a short visit would be wondering what kind of life, her 'wife' must be living.

 I stayed away for about five minutes and returned to the meeting. As I sat down, I reflected on my life, particularly the events of the previous morning. I had woken up early to get ready for the Monday morning meeting at the head office of the bank. As I was dressing up, I realised that the top of my hair was black while the scalp was growing grey. I screamed, and my husband, Bryon woke up.

"What is it, Ayomide?" he queried, thinking I had a nightmare.

I turned to him terrified, calling him by his pet name, "Bee, help me, I'm greying."

It was not funny. I couldn't count the grey because they were so many.

I asked him if I was looking older, but he shook his head vehemently. I wondered if he was lying. I enquired again, but Bryon maintained his stand. And a serious look. 

I quickly checked his hair, but I couldn't find a single strand of grey.

"Bee, but you are much older than me; why am I greying?"

 He tried not to laugh, knowing it was a serious issue.

 "Maybe, it is hereditary," he offered a lame excuse.

 I paused to consider. Maybe. Then I thought about my sister, Zara, who is two years older than me and remembered that her hair was still jet black.

 I became suddenly miserable, remembering all the grey-haired older friends we have. “Maybe, it would look lovelier later," Bryon suggested giving an example of an older friend that looks distinguished. I really got annoyed at that point because the guy in question, a Deacon in our church, must be over 60 years. I left home in haste.

Immediately after the morning meeting, I called my best friend, Amaka to lament about my hair. She sent her driver to deliver "No-Gray hair cream."

 "Is it a dye?" I enquired.

 "No, it is just like a hair cream; it will darken your hair gradually." She responded.

 "But would the grey disappear?" I asked miserably 

"Well, it will not disappear immediately; you have to use it every day." She assured.

 I grimaced "All the days of my life?"

 Amaka laughed - "Beauty has its cost, my dear."

 That night, I was reluctant to try the cream. It took three hours to decide to open the bottle. Ah, what a horrible smell! I could not stand it. I would rather grow grey than smell like a stale and fermented fruit; I decided to dump the cream in the bin.

 As I sat down reflecting in the meeting, I understood some basic facts:

 - one strand of grey represents late closure

 - second strand - deposit target

 - third strand - profit target

 - fourth strand - risk assets

 - fifth strand - increase/decrease in the portfolio

 - sixth, seventh, eight.....

 I was still counting when the meeting came to an end. It was time to go home...........

 (Post-script: I just left the grey to grow out beautifully… years later…see pix)