The salary alert came at 9:17 a.m.
Temi was in the middle of writing captions for a skincare brand when her phone vibrated beside her laptop. She glanced at the screen.
Credit: ₦75,000.00
For a second, she smiled.
First salary.
Then she looked again.
75k.
Wait.
Temi picked up her phone and opened the alert properly. She knew the salary was 85k. There were very few things from that interview she remembered more clearly than the salary.
She opened the folder on her laptop where she had saved her employment documents and clicked on the offer letter.
There it was.
Salary: ₦85,000 per month.
Temi looked at the alert again.
Where is my 10k?
Maybe there was some deduction she didn't know about. Tax? Pension? Something.
Fine.
She would ask.
Temi opened her email and typed.
Subject: Salary Clarification
Hi Tolu,
Trust you're well.
I received my salary payment this morning and noticed that the amount paid was ₦75,000, while my offer letter states ₦85,000 monthly.
Please can you clarify the difference?
Thank you.
She read the email twice before sending it, then returned to the skincare captions.
Tolu did not reply that day.
Or the next.
By the third day, Temi had started wondering whether she should follow up. She didn't want to look difficult.
Then she caught herself.
Difficult because I'm asking about my own salary?
She opened the email to send a follow-up, but before she could type anything, Tolu's response entered.
Temi clicked immediately.
Hi Temi,
There was a slight adjustment to the salary during your probation period in line with our standard practice for new hires. This will be reviewed at the end of probation.
Temi read it once, then again.
Slight adjustment.
10k.
She opened her offer letter again just to be sure. Nothing about a probation salary. Nothing about 75k. Nothing about an adjustment.
Just ₦85,000 per month.
Kunle walked past her desk with a bottle of water.
“Kunle, abeg see something.”
He came around to her side, and Temi turned the laptop towards him. He read Tolu's email and gave a small nod.
“They've started.”
Temi looked at him. “Started what?”
“This probation thing. How much did they remove?”
“10k.”
“Blessing's own was 15k.”
“Who is Blessing?”
“The Content Executive before you. They did the same thing to her when she joined.”
Temi looked back at the email. “But it's not in my offer letter.”
“It wasn't in hers either.”
That got her attention.
“So what did she do?”
“She complained. They told her the same thing they're telling you now. Probation, standard practice, they'll review it.”
“And did they?”
“Eventually. Around her third month.”
Temi sat back. “Okay. So after three months, they corrected it?”
“For Blessing, yes.”
Something about the way he said it made Temi look at him again.
“For Blessing?”
Kunle took a drink of water. “Joy's own was 10k. Same story.”
“Another Content Executive?”
“The one before Blessing.”
Temi stared at him. “Wait. How many people have had this role?”
Kunle laughed. “Let's go and eat first.”
“No, tell me.”
“Temi, I'm hungry.”
“You cannot tell me they've been removing money from everybody's salary and now you want to go and eat.”
“I can, actually.”
She stared at him.
Kunle laughed. “Come. I'll gist you downstairs.”
Temi closed her laptop and followed him.
At this point, she wasn't even thinking about lunch anymore.
She wanted to know what exactly she had entered.
The buka was already busy when they arrived. Mama Chidi pointed them towards two empty plastic chairs near the back, and a few minutes later, two plates of jollof rice were sitting in front of them.
Kunle started eating.
Temi didn't.
“I'm listening.”
Kunle looked up. “Eat your food.”
“I can eat and listen.”
“Then eat.”
“Kunle.”
He laughed. “Okay, okay. What do you want to know?”
“How many?”
“Before you? Three that I know well.”
“Three?”
“Blessing, Joy and Chiamaka.”
“And all of them were Content Executives?”
“Yes.”
Temi finally picked up her spoon. “How long did Blessing stay?”
“About eighteen months. Towards the end, she was doing everything. Content, proposals, reports, pitches. If work entered the office and nobody knew who to give it to, somehow it would find Blessing.”
Temi laughed. “That sounds familiar.”
“You've been here one month. Calm down.”
“I'm just saying.”
“Anyway, she eventually left.”
“Because of the salary?”
“Not only that. She was tired.”
Kunle said it simply, and Temi understood there was probably more to the story than he knew.
“And Joy?”
“About ten months. Her own was different.”
“How?”
“They promised her HMO when she joined. One day she needed to use it and found out there was nothing.”
Temi stopped eating. “How can you think you have HMO when you don't?”
“They kept telling her it was being processed.”
“For ten months?”
Kunle shrugged. “Ask HR.”
“Ah.”
“Exactly.”
Temi shook her head and took another spoon of rice. “So she left too.”
“She got another job and left.”
“And Chiamaka?”
Kunle smiled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling?”
“Chiamaka just got tired one day.”
“What happened?”
“One Monday, we came to work. No Chiamaka.”
Temi laughed. “What do you mean no Chiamaka?”
“As in, no Chiamaka. Empty chair.”
“She didn't call?”
“No.”
“Message?”
“Nothing.”
Temi was properly laughing now. “Abeg, stop.”
“I'm serious. Biodun called her, Tolu called her. Later she sent resignation.”
“So she just woke up and said she's not doing again?”
“Apparently.”
Temi shook her head.
It was funny.
Until it wasn't.
She looked at Kunle. “So I'm number four.”
“Technically.”
“Technically how?”
“There were people before them, but I wasn't here.”
Temi slowly put down her spoon.
“Kunle.”
“What?”
“How long have you been here?”
“Two years.”
“And you've already seen three people in my role leave?”
“Temi, eat your food.”
She stared at him.
He started laughing.
“Why are you laughing? This thing is not funny.”
“Your face.”
“What is wrong with my face?”
“You look like you want to carry your bag and go.”
“I'm considering my options.”
“With your first salary?”
That shut her up.
Kunle smiled and returned to his food.
Temi did too.
A few minutes passed before she asked, “Why are you still here?”
This time, Kunle didn't joke.
“My mother needs injections every month. My sister is in OAU. Rent is every first.”
Temi looked at him.
“The maths only works if salary enters,” he said.
“Any salary?”
Kunle gave a small smile.
“Any salary.”
There was nothing funny to say after that.
For a while, they ate quietly. Around them, plates knocked against tables, someone was arguing about the price of extra meat, and Mama Chidi was shouting an order towards the back.
Temi's phone buzzed beside her plate.
Seun.
Sis, no worry about the textbook. I fit borrow Chuka own for now.
She stared at the message.
The textbook.
She had forgotten.
10k.
Exactly 10k.
Temi opened her banking app and entered Seun's account details.
₦10,000.
Her thumb hovered over the transfer button. For a second, she thought about the salary alert.
75k.
Then Tolu's email.
Slight adjustment.
She pressed send, and a few seconds later, the debit alert entered. Temi locked her phone and placed it beside her plate.
Kunle looked at her.
“You good?”
“Yeah.”
She picked up her spoon, but somewhere between the buka and the office, the missing 10k stopped feeling like an adjustment.
It started feeling like something had been taken from her.