Working in a city that never sleeps

I cried hot tears of joy! I immediately emailed H.R of my prospect employer. They were happy. I was happy and I finally signed my then revised letter.

What followed was a whirlwind experience. After the rigorous background checks, including calls with three people from each company I’ve ever worked for (this is why you must never lie on your resume), I underwent five weeks of extensive training. I also had to take FINRA (Financial Industry Regulatory Authority) exams in order to be licensed as a securities professional in the U.S. Most Wall Street* jobs require you to already be licensed in order to be considered for the role, I was lucky to have found a bank willing to offer me a job with no license, on condition that I would pass both the exams I needed to take within a month of joining my team. Did I not study like I was mad? The recommendation is that in order for one to pass (min 73%) you have to do at least 700 practice questions – I did 1200. There’s also a 30 day cooling-off period before you can rewrite, should you fail. Even though we were told that failing the exams wouldn’t result in dismissal, Nelson Mandela did not spend 27 years in jail just for me to go to America and fail. The funny part is that before my first exam, instead of saying “good luck” some of my colleagues sent me congratulatory messages. The pressure! Their messages were not in vain though, I passed both exams on first attempt.

 

Ain’t no day like pay day…

I had a job, which was great, but I also needed to get paid! Moola, zaka, chankura (I never use these terms in real life and I don’t know why I’m using them now but I think it makes me sound cool). But wait, a salary means you have to pay your taxes right? This meant that the other admin was to get my social security number (SSN). The good thing is you can actually start working while waiting for one. But because in the U.S payday in generally twice a month (mid-month and end of the month), my first pay cheque was due before my SSN was issued. H.R. told me not to worry and that my cheque would be posted via mail. Haibo! I saw the dollars slip through my fingers! So close yet so far! But to my fellow South Africans, the U.S. mail service is actually a trusted and well-functioning institution. Everything is posted. My bank card, work permit, SSN card and many other important documents were sent to me via mail. As in P.O. Box! I’ve never had anything get lost in the mail.

Fast-forward to when I was officially an admin-free human. I had a job, a bank account, a SSN (also required to apply for a credit card and state I.D.), securities license and a New York state I.D. (not required but very necessary so you don’t walk around with your passport). Go-time!

 

Time to get down to business…

Having had spent last year working in London, which is thought of to be fast-paced, I feel like there is no place in the world that has an intense corporate culture remotely close to New York. The days are long, every request is urgent, emails are responded to and phone calls are taken AT ALL TIMES (I have very much been on call with someone (not from my company) in their hospital bed before an op) and if you’re in banking, leave is not quite like how the rest of the world views it, here its more, leaving place A for place B but I will no doubt respond to ALL emails. I once spoke to an MD who said they’ve never had an “out of office” in their 20years+ working on Wall Street. I don’t know what war New Yorkers are preparing for, but I can see they are determined to win it!  It obviously varies from industry to industry but everyone I’ve spoken to who’s worked in other countries agrees that things are way more intense here compared to other parts of the world. New Yorkers on the other hand, don’t seem to fully understand what I mean – because this is all they know! For me it was definitely baptism by fire!

I had (and continue to have) a lot of adjusting to do. New country, new culture, new job, in a completely different (and more technically inclined) product area to what I have experience in. In my interviews I kept stating with great enthusiasm that I was looking for a challenge. Which to be fair I was, but never in a pandemic years did I think I’d get the most challengey challenge I’d ever experienced. I knew that with no recognizable school on my resume, no connections and no U.S. experience, moving at the level I was at at the time in my previous role would be a bit of a battle. But I long accepted that the story of my life is a series of three steps back to move one step forward. So I thought, if I have to regress in my career path, let me at least go into something that was going to give me a daily mental work out, and the world was listening, so I ended up in Securitization. Outside of high level info on the housing crisis and watching The Big Short, I knew nothing about Securitization. But sometimes, when you say that you’re a “fast learner” in your cover letter, you might just be required to prove it. Who would’ve thought! Has it been daunting? Absolutely! I’ve learnt either a new term or new skill every day since I started. I'm completely outside my comfort zone. It’s unsettling and exciting all at the same time. I’ve had some really tough days but all in all, all of my good days, outweigh my bad days. I’m also grateful to have been blessed with the most amazing and supportive team who have really been great in helping me get up the curve.

 

In the famous words of the great philosopher, Robyn Fenty – work, work, work, work, work, work…

Monday to Thursday I eat all my meals (supper included) at my desk while working. I would say I currently work, on average, 16 hours a day and some days I don’t even have downtime. You are literally pushing from the moment you sit down. Lunches are usually a massive bowl of salad I can never finish.  New Yorker’s live on salad. There are so many salad places around my office and they are always all usually packed around lunch time. And if you walk around the floor during lunch time, all you’ll see is biodegradable (hi Greta!) salad bowls sprinkled everywhere. On Friday evenings I at least get to eat dinner at a dinner table…or the couch with my work phone close by. Working on weekends is not taboo, naturally. 

So when Mr. Sinatra sang about New York, New York, he was talking about the intensity of it all. The culture of “stay ready so you never have to get ready”, the life of survival of the fittest, the strong belief in hurry up and GO! The deep sense of urgency. The constant rush. It is after all, the city that never sleeps…

 

*Wall Street is not merely in reference to a location but used as a synonym for the U.S. financial industry and the firms within it.

Coming to America Too

The past 12+ months have been one hectic ride! I celebrated and mourned. Lived and laughed. Lived and worked in three different continents. During a pandemic! My final destination? New York…

New York, often called New York City (NYC) to distinguish it from New York State, is the most populous city in the United States. New York, New York, refers specifically to Manhattan - or as introduced in the opening creds of The Daily Show with Trevor Noah – “the most important place on earth”! Yup! That’s NYC, always putting itself above everyone and everything else - absolutely on brand! Ranked as number one in the Global Cities Index (GCI)*, New York takes its world dominance stance very seriously! It also happens to attract many individuals who do too, making it a highly competitive environment. And as initially sung by Frank Sinatra and more recently reiterated by Jay Z with a touch of swag; “…if I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere…”

 

Ok, the intention of this blog is not to wax lyrical about NYC but rather to share some of my experiences (with a side of major culture shock) since officially moving to Manhattan from Johannesburg seven months ago, so let me stick to the script!

 

Before New York there’s the United States of America – and it really is America vs. the rest of the world. Honestly, the U.S. is just a whole different world on its own! For instance, you’d think as a mainly English-speaking country, communication would be a breeze. Wrong! A large majority of my colleagues are American so I’ve had to learn to speak American, and no, I’m not referring to the accent (which I don’t plan to adapt to…unless I’m offered cash). I’ve had to adapt to miles, Fahrenheit, inches, ounces and my pet peeve – writing the date as month-day-year vs. day-month-year (which totally makes sense because days make up a month and months, a year, but hey, when in Rome…). But that’s not even half of it. The highest mountain to summit as a foreigner in this country is that of obtaining a work permit! As an immigrant looking to work in America, there is a lot you need to consider. There is a lot that I had to consider! Most of it was learning on the go so I hope by sharing my story, I can help someone considering immigrating by equipping them with info I wish I knew beforehand. Disclaimer: what I’m sharing here is specifically my experiences as a South African woman in banking although I will try be broad where I can!

 

First thing’s first...

So the universal consideration is employment authorization to work in the country. When you apply for a U.S. job online there is one, just one question that will determine whether your application progresses to the next stage or goes to the place where failed applications go to die: “Are you authorized to work in the U.S?” i.e. do you have legal documentation that allows us to hire you?! If you’ve never worked in the U.S. / don’t live in the U.S. / don’t have a work permit, only pure luck and the holy spirit will get you through here. I will dive deeper into this topic momentarily.

Second consideration is edumacation! A Bachelor’s degree in the U.S. is typically four years. That might get you to the door. But to get in, you’ll probably need a Master’s degree or a globally-recognizedprofessional designation (e.g. CFA) at a minimum. This is particularly true for non-entry level investment banking jobs or consulting jobs because the competition is increased by freshly graduated MBA students looking to break into these industries, which leads me to my next point…

Another layer is where you went to school. The pecking order places Ivy League schools at the top, followed by other American schools, followed by other first world schools and then everything else (Ouch!). Do you now understand one of the drivers behind the “The College Admissions Scandal”?

 

First comes the work permit…

The country is not accommodating when it comes to immigrants looking to work in the U.S. The barriers for getting a work permit are many. The whole process will give you a whole lot of unsolicited character building. But there are obviously certain ways to crack it, otherwise there wouldn’t be any non-Americans working in corporate America. The easiest way to make it in is an internal transfer via an L-1 visa, meaning moving to the U.S. office of your current employer, this of course means you need to be working for one with presence in the U.S. in the first place. The second cousin-twice removed of this is getting an H-1B visa, which means that a U.S. company needs to sponsor your visa. The problem is most U.S. companies do not provide visa sponsorship (it’s an extremely long process so the company must feel like they really need you and your skills, not forgetting that you are competing with many other Americans!). The other route (the category I fall under) is obtaining an Employment Authorization Document (EAD), through a spouse legally permitted to work in the U.S. And then, if you are really extraordinary, you can qualify for an O-1 visa which is reserved for "Individuals with Extraordinary Ability or Achievement". 

The funny part about work permits is that every job requires one but in order to apply for one, you need to have a job offer. It’s really a case of a dog chasing its tail, just more exhausting than fun! I think that’s why in most cases people end up hiring immigration lawyers to help them find creative legal ways to get over the line. This route is not cheap by the way! Anyway, knowing this I did these things concurrently (i.e. work permit and job applications), with the hopes that by the time I got a job offer, I would have a permit. I was applying to a minimum of three jobs a day, every day, for over a month. I got too many rejection emails to recall! And then I finally started seeing progress here and there. In the end I made the final rounds from two banks and then in the same week, I got the worst news ever. I received an email saying that my work permit would be ready in 12 to 16 weeks, meaning at the time, the earliest I’d get it would be end of August (oh, I had already resigned from my job at the time by the way). I felt hot immediately and I said a short prayer asking God for a miracle. I concluded by saying “actually, thank you for making sure that my permit arrives in time for me to accept a job offer” (what you know about faith of a mustard seed?) then I proceeded with the final round of interviews with the heaviest heart! 

In the one interview I was interviewed by two people and at the end I just told them about my work permit story. They offered some words of encouragement, with one interviewer telling me they were in a similar situation when they first moved to the U.S. and ended up waiting for over a year for their permit. At the end of every interview I had, I would ask for advice on navigating corporate America and I got different answers every time - all highly valuable, open and honest (maybe I need to write another blog just on this). In this particular instance, the one interviewer said, “While you wait for your work permit, take time out, relax and find a hobby because once you start on Wall Street, you’ll have no idea what hit you”. Oh boy…

 

I got the job!

In the end, my last round of interviews from both banks were amazing! Then the job offer came from the company I’d been praying to work for! But the work permit was nowhere in sight! I had five days to accept or reject with a start date two weeks after that. This was miles away from the earliest I could get the work permit. So I couldn’t accept the offer and I accepted that God was teaching me the art of patience. So I finished serving my notice and after logging off my old work laptop for the last time, I was officially unemployed. My husband, ever the enthusiast, trying to cheer me up said; “What if your work permit arrived today? You should go check the post when they deliver today’s mail”. So I dragged myself to our mailbox, opened it, “Just a bunch of spam as usual” I thought to myself as I sifted through the promotional envelopes. Then, at the bottom of the pile was the envelope that changed my life! My work authorization card had arrived in record time!

 To be continued...

*The Global Cities Index (GCI) measures how globally engaged cities are across five dimensions: business activity, human capital, information exchange, cultural experience, and political engagement.

 

Reflections

The year 1993 in South Africa was the year before the country transferred to democracy. I lived with my mother in Eshowe where she spent the year at the main hospital in town as part of her nursing training. My older sister was in boarding school while my older brother lived back home in Empangeni with my dad. My mom rented a room in a big house in town which we shared with other people. The communal areas in the house were the kitchen and bathroom. In our room we had a bed and no TV. The radio, which was always tuned to Ukhozi fm, the biggest radio station in South Africa and very much Zulu was our sole mode of entertainment. I enjoyed listening to radio soap operas in the evenings during the week and on Sundays, a Sunday school show - I think it was called Ukhozi lo dado ( dado is an affectionate name for children in Zulu - the Zulu version of “bundles of joy” so to speak) or Lethani abantwana beze Kimi which means “bring the children to me” derived from the bible verse from the book of Matthew 19v14. 

While in Eshowe I attended pre-school at Eshowe Junior which at the time ran on a quota system that limited the number of Black learners sharing a class with the other races. School attendance was split in two halves; the morning session was only attended by whites students, a handful of Coloureds and Indians and a limited number of Blacks. School ran till 12pm for this group. The rest of the Blacks attended from 12pm. I was part of the second half and cannot even tell you what I did at home in the mornings while I waited for school to start but I can tell you I did feel rejected. I never understood why I wasn’t able to attend classes with the white kids. That year my mom had also started applying for schools as I was about to start first grade (class one as we called it back then) the following year. I bargained with God to at least allow me to be in a class with the whites who I viewed superior (exactly how apartheid South Africa wanted to frame our thinking). I didn’t leave it completely up to him though. I also spent months prepping for grade one interviews. I even learnt how to write the alphabet and my name. Turns out you’re not expected to know how to write when you start grade one. I learnt that at the interview.

In 1994 I started grade 1 at Empangeni Preparatory School (or simply "Prep" as it was referred to back home) and I was in the A class! My first teacher was Mrs Catteroll and I adored her! It was in Mrs Catteroll’s class that I made my very first two best friends. Lauren invited me to an exclusive tea party at her house. There was a dress code and everything. Only six girls were invited and I made the cut! I wore the dress I had worn at my pre-school graduation. It was floral with a layered bottom. Being invited to Lauren’s party gave me access to the white world and boy was it different to anything I had ever experienced! After Lauren, Lyndi, who ended up being my BFF for the rest of my primary school career, invited me to her 7th birthday party. After that I got pulled into the white circles which also extended to boys. Jason was the first boy to invite me to a birthday party. It was at their family home, a farm in Felixton in northern Kwa-Zulu Natal (KZN). Then next it was Nicholas G of the famous Empangeni family, the Granthams (those who know, know). Then it was Nicholas A whose mom ended up being my grade 7 teacher years later. And Julian, Gareth and Gavin and the list went on. Between grades 1 and 4, parties and social gatherings consisted of the same circles and I was always the only black - it was like small-scale kiddies version of  The O.C. / Laguna Beach (if the reference makes no sense to you, keep it moving, nothing to see here). Now I’m not sharing this because I want to boast about being the token black girl back then but because those years shifted my perspective and opened me to opportunities that a girl from the township could’ve never been exposed to. For one, most of my friends’ parents were friends with the teachers and I’d find myself hanging out a teachers’ house over the weekend when I’d spend the weekend at a friend’s house. There are a lot of advantages that come with a teacher knowing you outside the school environment and on a personal basis. When a teacher knows you personally, you are considered (read: privilege). 

Taken after a day of making customized t-shirt's at Lyndi's house

At my friends homes there was also reading time, a concept I found intriguing. So you’re telling me you have two TVs but have a period where they are off and everyone is reading? Ok, count me in! There was also extra murals. Everyone had to do something outside of school work so I joined hockey with Lyndi and Lauren. Then there were elite social clubs (I kid you - not)! In grade two Lyndi started the Collies club (she loved dogs). There were 7 of us - Lyndi, Lauren, Cara, Caitlin, Michelle and Karen and of course me, the BFF. Karen, who was Indian and I were the diversity candidates in the group (BEE ahead of it's time). The group was a sisterhood establishment and each month someone hosted us at their house. I refused to host. I lived in a four room house in the hood. And by four room I don’t mean bedrooms - there were only two of those, my parent’s and ours (my sister, brother and I). Once when it was Lyndi’s turn to host, it was a movie day! I will never forget this day because it was my first time ever at the cinema and the movie we watched was George of the Jungle. Lyndi’s mom volunteered to drive some of the girls there including me and so she came to the hood to pick me up. Our house had molded out cause of rain, not a pretty sight but what caught my friends’ attention was the fact that we had no gate (homes in my hood back then neither had fencing nor gates) and when one of them asked what happened to our gate, I said, very embarrassed, that it had been stolen.

A hockey player that also dabbled in netball & athletics

In 1996 Felixton College, a private school in northern KZN was established causing a mass exodus of Caucasians at my school. All my friends left and although I begged my mother to take me out of the school, our finances could not grant me the privilege. I remained friends with most of them till grade 7 regardless but somewhat now felt like an outsider again, just like how it was in pre-primary. But I made a new group of friends and life went on. I continued playing hockey and in grade 5, started after school drama lessons with Mr. Foxcroft. That man dedicated so much to honing my confidence and was never inappropriate with any of his learners. He was just a teacher passionate about his job. I remember Mr. Foxcroft entering me into the KZN leg of the National Eisteddfod of South Africa. I did a poem titled Tickled Pink which if I correctly recall, he wrote. On the day of the competition he picked me up and dropped me off at home (yes, we still did not have a gate) and I returned the favour by winning a gold certificate. Mr. Foxcroft not only honed my public speaking skills but as a writer of short stories and poems, he also inspired me to start writing which in turn fueled my love for reading. 

Mr. Foxcroft's drama class

The first library in my neighborhood, eNgwelezane was opened in 1998. This was revolutionary and a direct attack on the the "Blacks don't read" stereotype. I spent many weekends with my friends Andile and Lulu there. You could only take two books out at a time so I’d pick three books; read one there at the library and then take the other two home using my library card. My aunt, who is my dad’s oldest sister was a teacher and she bought a set of encyclopedias, Britannica Kids and the Poldy the scarecrow series which stayed at my grandparent's house which was not far from our home, so there was no guessing where the rest of my spare time went. I also begged my mom to buy a series called “You can Read” (it was an educational series, almost like Barney, but better!) and Andile, who lived a few blocks away, and I would watch it with great intensity, singing along to the nursery rhymes and learning new words.

In 1999 the world went crazy because we were nearing the end of a millennium. The term Y2K (standing for “year 2000”) was trending and everyone believed the world was ending yet panic buying was at an all time high! How you can think you’re going to die on one hand and yet stock up on groceries on the other is still quite mind boggling! Cellphones had just entered the scene and many believed that when we crossed over to the new year, phones would burst into flames because they wouldn’t recognize the year. It was basically Armageddon! But 1 January 2000 came and went and the world was still turning.

The year 2000 was a beautiful one for me. My baby brother, the most beautiful creation I'd ever seen, was born in May that year and at the end of the third term, I was named the very first black head girl of Empangeni Prep. I wasn’t an obvious choice because there were three other girls who people were convinced would take the title. How the system worked was that from terms 1 to 3, every grade 7 would have a chance to be a monitor. This allowed teachers to observe your leadership skills as you performed different duties at school including monitoring classes in different grades. Towards the end of the third term, grade 6s, 7s and teachers would then vote for the year’s perfects and head prefects. After my appointment, Mrs Rudling, the school principal at the time secretly told me that I was the first head girl to be voted for by every grade 6 pupil and every teacher (not sure what the numbers looked like with my grade 7 peers - *side eye*).

Check out my Head Girl note :) 

To put it in summary, primary school shaped my world forever. It introduced diversity and possibility into my life. I went through the initial process of self identification/discovery which would continue to evolve over time. I started dreaming many dreams! Dreams of traveling the world and owning a school and meeting Oprah - there were no boundaries to how big I could dream. I’m grateful for all the teachers who made me believe I could, from Mrs Catteroll in grade one, to Mrs Hemme and Mr Deary in grades 4 and 5 to Mrs Aboud and Mrs Hills in grade 7 and of course Mr Foxcroft and Mrs Rudling. If any of them ever come across this, I want them to know that I’m eternally grateful!

Back to School: Grown Ups Edition

After recently completing my studies, a friend of mine said: "you really managed to do this masters thing under the radar, hey!" Well it was all intentional to be quite honest, partly because I was nervous about whether I'd make it to the end (silly self-esteem) and partly because I didn't want to count my chickens before they hatched! But hatch they did, and I can now count all my chickens with the greatest of pride! Hello Meg, the Hen!

After doing terribly in my first attempt at GMAT, I threw in the towel and decided to resume my studies with CIMA with intentions of starting with level two of three. During this period, my employer at the time announced that they would be closing down the investment banking division of their Africa business. There were ten of us in the division at the time, only one survived and it wasn't me. All this commotion forced me into some serious introspection, and I had to admit to myself that actually, neither Management Accounting nor an MBA were my perfect fit. However, I still wanted to study further. Almost a year later, I finally decided to enroll for an MCom in Development Finance.

The pre-beginning...

The decision was now made so I went ahead and made the application. Only after I was accepted did I tell my boss. She was immediately supportive but there was still some lobbying that had to be done internally. This meant that I had to pay the acceptance fee out of my savings in the interim and to show my commitment, I did just that. 

Now that I've seen the journey through till the end, I've put together some tips that while specifically constructed for those wishing to enrolling for an MCom at UCT (and things I wish I knew before I started), could be applied for other masters programmes pursued part-time.

Tip 1...

Before you start, you need to be mindful that fees are largely on 3 parts:

         i.            Application fee

       ii.            Acceptance fee

     iii.            Tuition fee

Therefore, it is important to look these up beforehand and perhaps even compare them across different institutions and gauge which institution would give you the most value for money for comparable academic programmes

The beginning...

In March 2018 the journey began. At this point, I had managed to get some partial funding from work. The balance, including flights, accommodation, books etc. would be on me. I therefore had to dip into my savings once again. I was fortunate enough to have one of my girls host me for the three weeks while I was in Cape Town for the three separate blocks which we were expected to physically attend classes. But wait for it, not only that, but she also dropped me off on campus every morning and even shifted her gym schedule to fit in with mine! Every morning we'd wake up at 5 am for the gym before my classes. God gave me the cream of the crop from the friendship pool!

Tip 2...

If you're not based in CPT, you're going to need a place to stay! The first win is on campus, so if your employer can cover this, let this be your pick! The second option is Airbnb as close to campus as possible. Lastly, if you are fortunate enough to have friends/family in CPT, stay with them but make sure that they understand that you're there for studies so minimization of distractions is NB!

The during…

Let me tell you something about working and studying, it is difficult, but not impossible. Time management is key! I remember I once had to work on an assignment while work was peaking. We were executing a transaction for a client and I was the originator on the deal so had to accompany the client on a roadshow to meet investors in South Africa and Namibia. This meant back to back meetings all day and client dinners or drinks in the evenings. I would get back to the hotel each night and try squeeze in as much as I could while also trying to get enough sleep so I wouldn't be nodding off in the meetings during the day.

Tip 3

Amid "life-ing" always remember you are a student. Block out at least one hour every night and triple that on weekends, to focus on your studies. Apart from two, two-week vacation breaks I took in 2018 and 2019, I always made sure I did something that had to do with my studies every day, whether it was reading academic articles, working on an assignment or studying. Time was prioritised!

Tip 4

Get a study group! I was fortunate to have the most amazing study group! Although welcoming, we were also very strict on membership. I was even once appointed to formally dismiss a prominent member for slacking. It was messy but necessary! We met every single Saturday morning to either work on individual assignments through sharing ideas and group discussions (sometimes debates) or studying for exams. We'd allocate chapters based on strengths then teach/feedback during our sessions.

The beginning of the end…

After a grueling 12 months, we finally put our pens down! The course work was done. What was left was the mountain that not many summit…on time, the dissertation. I thoroughly enjoyed this period. I generally do love researching things in general. Anything. A quick 5-minute google search of a very simple question can turn into hours of me digging the why behind the why and the how and next thing I'm in a deep dark hole and having sleepless nights wondering if there's more. Yes, I make a solid “30 Seconds” teammate.

Tip 5…

Pick a topic you enjoy so that the research becomes more of a journey of discovery rather than a mundane task at the bottom of your to-do list

Put a lot of effort into your proposal so that you have a solid foundation and you never have to change your topic. Make sure that the data you will need is available – check and double-check, don't just assume!

Work on it every day.

Keep an open channel with your supervisor. Make sure you engage with them at least once a week. This means that you need to put in some work so there is something to discuss and for them to provide feedback on. This means you're progressing every week. 

The end…

This was the part where I write about my graduation. The excitement of the build-up, the pride in my mom's face when I walked across that stage and the pride inside of me knowing that I finally did it. But this is not that kind of ending. The year is 2020 and the world is facing a pandemic called Covid-19. The world is cancelled and so is my graduation. I am however grateful for all the warm congratulatory messages I’ve received, and I do of course still have the degree at the end of the day! I take neither of the two for granted #foreverblessed

Twice as Good

“The most disrespected person in America is the black woman. The most unprotected person in America is the black woman. The most neglected person in America is the black woman.” – Malcolm X (1962)

…I would replace “America” with “the world” to be quite honest…

So, a few weeks ago, while South Africans were high on a World Cup rugby win, social media, Twitter in particular made a rather wicked turn. No, I’m not referring to the negative comments made by a certain red-beret-wearing “Honourable” B - never mind. I’m referring to how one minute Tweeps were coming out in Rachel Kolisi’s defence, pleading girls to stay away from our very married captain and the next minute black women were being attacked. We were being called all sort of names which I won’t even go into here. But have you come across a black woman? Do you have any idea how amazing black woman are?

I recently had brunch with a somewhat mentor figure in my life (she doesn’t really know it but here we are) and we ended up talking about what it means to be a black woman in corporate South Africa. One thing she said to me, which I now occasionally use in my pep-talk-to-self was (I’m going to use quotation marks even though these were not her exact words but you know, dramatic effect), “Do you know how amazing you must be as a black woman to sit at the same table as a white male, who had all the opportunities and privilege that you were deprived of growing up? You had no cushioning, no social capital, but yet here you are, in spite of it all. Do you have any idea?” This conversation took me back to a couple of years ago. I was in my final year and interviewing for graduate programmes at various institutions. One such was a bulge bracket bank I was dying to work for, having watched The Pursuit of Happyness and decided I wanted to be a stockbroker or a trader. I managed to make it to the final round but ultimately lost to another candidate. The dreaded call came from the head of H.R. who was super nice and almost apologetic about it. I asked her, with my heart now in my shoes, why they picked the other candidate over me. She told me that although I got positive reviews, the other candidate seemed to be a better fit. He’d started trading stocks since he was 13! Thirteen? I didn’t even know what stocks were at 13! I realized then the amount of catching up I had to do but didn’t really consider that even with my shortcomings I had managed to make it to the final round of this much sought after graduate programme.

Still on the topic of catching up, I once witnessed a rather heated argument at work a couple of years ago between a middle aged white woman and a black woman. I’m not sure what triggered the said argument but what I do recall was the black lady saying “Well, by the time I was 13 I was already expected to cook for the family and clean the house because my mother was busy cooking and cleaning for families like yours so you could do your homework in peace!” This is another thing that sets us back as black women. While I personally wasn’t expected to clean at home during the week, I was expected to cook for the entire family from as early as Grade 5. So, after school ended, I would tend to my extra mural activities (I did everything from hockey, to drama to modern dancing and even attempted netball and athletics) then I would take a 2km lonesome walk to the taxi rank because my parents didn’t have a car and the school bus only did one after school pick up. Then I would get off about 800m from home, get home and yup, cook! While the gravy or whatever would simmer on the stove, I would do my homework, either on my bed, the couch or the coffee table because we had no desks nor a dining table at home. And guess what, my parents never even checked my homework but they were always diligent in signing when I asked them to so Miss Woods would know that they “checked”. When my parents were working late, I would ask my brother who is four years older than me, to sign then I would lie to the teacher because I now had to explain why I had a random signature all of a sudden. It was either I lied or get in trouble for my homework book not being signed so please don’t judge me. All I really wanted to say was “Look, Miss Woods, I do my homework every day but my parents don’t ever check it cause they wouldn’t really know how to correct me anyway cause they are sacrificing all they have so I can get a better education than they got so them signing off means absolutely nothing, thank you very much!” This is just one of many examples of situations that get overlooked but actually maintain the inequality gaps between race and gender.

Another topic that my black girlfriends and I often discuss/ vent about is this responsibility placed on the backs and shoulders of black women to be shining stars. As if we are not hard enough on ourselves, we have this duty to exceed expectations and be top performers not for ourselves, but for those who follow behind us as we rise up. We need to instill confidence in our gender and race so that when a young black girl is hired, nobody is going to credit Black Economic Empowerment for them being there. Everyone needs to automatically think she’s capable because there are examples of people who look like her that have already proven that. When she is introduced as the CEO of a blue chip, people shouldn’t be shocked but firmly agree that she was the right person for the job.

So, when I say it’s tough being a black woman, it’s not that I’m asking for sympathy, its merely just an exasperated sigh before I pick myself up and face this world, a world that is not built for us to succeed. But you know what, whatever you decide to throw at us, just consider it handled!

School is Still Cool

So, this year I gave up Twitter for lent and believe me it’s been quite a sacrifice. I’m no longer getting my current affairs update from the source. It’s like I’m back in the 90’s. I mean I had to read about our former president floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee from an online news source! However, one thing I’m glad I didn’t miss were the videos from the UKZN 2019 graduation ceremony! What a treat! I literally cried like I lost the cat that I’ve never owned. It was just so beautiful to watch the pride of parents oozing from their sweat glands. It made me realize just how much our parents sacrifice to give us that priceless opportunity: education.

It’s when I look back at my own life that I truly appreciate these sacrifices. All my mother wanted was to get us into multiracial schools and get a good education and I was the first to make it in my family: Class One in Empangeni Preparatory School. However, there was a little problem. Because the school fees were so expensive for my parents, my mom had to be very creative in making ends meet for everything else, like sewing my school uniform. For the life of her, my poor mother could never quite get the right blue material of the formal school uniform so mine was always either too dark or too bright…and I hated it! I stuck out like a saw thumb – a seven-year-old’s worse nightmare! Anyway, after endless complaining, my mom trekked to the school’s second-hand shop and got me the formal school uniform. I was finally wearing the correct shade of blue! Problem was, I only had one of these. I wore it so much that it quickly faded, and I was back to being the sore thumb! Being a kid, I never really appreciated the bigger picture, that my mom was, in all her power, pushing to get me an education she never had!

High school was a little better. I got a partial bursary in grade 8 for being named Head Girl in grade 7 and so my parents could at least afford me decent uniform. There were many other sacrifices that my parents continued to make until I finally graduated, first for undergrad and then my honours. There has been nothing more liberating than getting these qualifications. It’s given me opportunities that my parents could have never dreamed of, taken me to places that I could have never imagined; me, a young black girl from eNgwelezane Township!

Sure, the education landscape is changing and so are career choices but one thing that remains is that knowledge is power and education is still the key to success. So, continue investing in yourself; sign up for that course you’ve been mulling over, go back to school, upgrade your matric results, it’s never too late. More importantly, remember the sacrifices that were made by those who came before you. Sacrifices that have given you opportunities that some may never live to see. Don’t take that for granted.

My relationship with airports and other life hacks (Part one)

The alarm goes off and my friend, Nswana and I reluctantly peel ourselves out of bed. We’re in a hotel in Copacabana on our last day of what has been a pretty awesome trip in Brazil. The time is 4:30am and we have a 06h50 flight to São Paulo from Rio. The hotel is about 30 minutes from the airport and being the punctual people we are, we’ve planned everything down to the last second:

• Pack everything the night before
• Settle our bill
• Need to be out of the hotel by 05h15
• Arrive at the airport at 05h45 latest
• Check-in
• Take off at 06h50
• Arrive in São Paulo Paulo at 08h10
• Kill time for a couple of hours in the city
• Be back at the airport two hours ahead of 18h30 flight back to South Africa

By 05h05 we’re done and we head down to the hotel lobby where Phumla (who was part of our travel group of 10 and was staying not too far from us - equally punctual) is already waiting for us. By 05h15 the three of us are in an Uber on our way to the airport. We get to Galeao A.C Jobim International and try check our bags in. The lady at the counter does not know English. Nada. She gets one of her colleagues to assist us. He explains that it’s way too early to check-in our luggage. We have plans to explore the city of São Paulo and pulling these big bags around is just not going to cut it. We walk around the airport trying to find a place where we can leave our bags. We see signs that lead to the info desk, follow them and we find it, by a huge Father Christmas with a sleigh, Christmas display. We approach the ladies and in our best Portuguese (by this time I’m convinced I’m fluent in Portuguese – Nswana keeps hating and tells me to quit lying to myself) we ask “Você fala Inglês (Do you speak English)?” This has been our litmus test throughout the trip. A negative response means the conversation is over. Nothing to see here. Move right along.

Anyway, luck is on our side and one of the ladies understands English. Between her broken English and our broken Portuguese, she manages to get someone to take us to the designated baggage storage place. We get there, put our bags in the lockers, and get our keys and pay. And we’re off! Three responsible, punctual African girls set to take on São Paulo in under 4 hours. I mean, what could go wrong?

There aren’t any Ubers at the airport so we catch a cab. Our cab driver is the friendliest middle-aged lady and she’s just going on in Portuguese telling us about São Paulo. Phumla and Nswana are talking back in rudimentary English and me, in what I have convinced myself, is decent Portuguese (ignoring Nswan’a eye roll and silent plea for me to “stop that”).

Ok. I’m going to have to hit the fast forward button real quick here!

The time is now around 2pm and we decide we’re actually good, let’s head back to the airport. I pull up the itinerary on my phone to double check the name of the airport and I punch it in on my Uber app: Guarulhos International. Our Uber arrives and we hop in. We arrive at the airport way ahead of schedule. So much time on our hands – look at us! Now to find the baggage storage place.  So we start searching…and searching…and searching. The airport is HUGE and NOTHING looks familiar! Nobody speaks English. Time is running out, we’re going in circles and anxiety is at an all-time high! After running around for what feels like an hour, we see a sign written “Airport Services”. We head to the little office there and find a lady sitting behind a computer and guess what, she speaks ZERO English. We’re trying to explain our situation to her using Phumla’s Google Translate. We’re running out of time so we’re talking in brief phrases with the most important one being; “Baggage storage by a big Christmas display”. She gets someone on the phone and Nswana speaks to her. The person on the other end of the phone speaks perfect English, small win – big thumbs up. Nswana hangs up, sighs, looks at us and says, “Guys, we’re at the wrong airport”. We were at Guarulhos International, the airport we would be departing to SA from, however, earlier that morning, we had landed at  Galeao A.C Jobim International - clearly not the same airport. Our eyes pop out the way a cartoon character’s would if we were in an animated movie. The lady behind the computer explains to us (read as: types on her Google Translate) that we can catch a bus to the other airport. It should take us 20 minutes there and 20 minutes back – problem is, it is now peak hour traffic. We look at each other and run out of that office. We get to the bus stop and then realize it only leaves on the hour. Time is not a luxury so we decide to take a taxi which is ridiculously expensive but it’s either we pay that or miss our flight back home. So we pay.

We get to the other airport and find the baggage storage place in less than 2 minutes! It was that easy to find! We grab our bags and rush out to get a cab back to the other airport which we would be departing from. Nobody is talking in the car, we’re sweating bullets and dying from anxiety as we keep checking the time and the meter reader because funds are low. Important to mention is that we don’t have wifi nor data so this whole time so we aren’t able to communicate with the rest of our travel group, who had taken different flights to São Paulo to us. Traffic is pretty hectic because: Murphy’s Law. 

We finally get to the airport but cutting it super fine so we run to the boarding gates, determined not to miss our flight back to SA. Nswana’s phone beeps as it miraculously connects to the Starbucks wifi. It’s a message from one of the girls in our broader travel group. She (Nswana) reads it, looks at us and says; “Guys, our flight has been delayed by four hours!”