Monday morning in Lagos usually came like a slap to the face. By 6:00 AM, the city was usually a growling beast of yellow Danfo buses, aggressive horns, and the thick, humid haze of life.
But inside Ada's bedroom, the mood was different. The alarm clock stayed quiet, its digital face dark—Ada had unplugged it the night before. She woke up at 8:30 AM, not to the jolting fear of being late, but to the soft, persistent singing of a weaverbird outside her window.
The Ghost of the Office. She lay there for a moment, waiting for the "knot." She waited for the imagined weight of Mr. Williams' voice to settle on her shoulders. She even checked her nightstand for her phone before remembering its fate: currently buried in a decorative vase of sand, its battery likely dead, silenced by the weight of a thousand ignored crises.
A strange sensation washed over her. It wasn't just peace; it was power.
At 9:00 AM, while her former colleagues were likely trembling in a meeting, watching Mr. Williams pace the floor like a caged leopard, Ada was making a pot of real coffee. No quick powder, no cold office water. The aroma of newly ground beans filled her kitchen, a scent that smelled like liberty.
The New Armor
She didn't reach for the gray jacket. She didn't reach for the reasonable, "invisible" shoes.
Instead, Ada picked a fitted jumpsuit, the color of sun-dried terracotta. It was professional, but it had a flair at the cuffs that whispered of the Owambe's drama. She tied a small silk scarf around her neck—a remnant of her green lace from Saturday—and stepped into a pair of gold-strapped shoes that clicked against the floor with the rhythm of a woman who knew exactly where she was going.
When she stepped outside, the sun was already high. The hectic energy of the early morning rush had calmed into a steady hum. She wasn't fighting the city today; she was moving through it.
The Glass Palace
The offices of Onosode Logistics were a monolith of glass and steel facing the lagoon. It didn't look like the tight, fluorescent-lit maze where she had spent the last three years. This place lived.
As she walked through the hallway, she felt the eyes of the receptionists. They didn't see a stressed employee running to beat the clock. They saw a woman arriving at 11:00 AM with the stance of a shareholder. "I have an appointment with Mrs. Onosode," Ada said, her voice cool and resonant. "Name, please?"
"Ada. Just Ada."
The receptionist stopped, checked the screen, and then fixed her stance. "Mrs. Onosode is expecting you in the top room. Please, use the private lift."
The Encounter
The lift doors opened to a room that felt more like a refuge. Large windows offered a panoramic view of the Atlantic, where huge trade boats moved across the water like slow, grey giants.
Mrs. Onosode was standing by the window, her back to the door. She didn't turn around instantly. "You're three minutes early," she said, her voice like smooth grit. "In this city, being early to an 11:00 AM meeting means you've either mastered the traffic, or you've mastered yourself."
"I think it's a bit of both," Ada answered.
The older woman turned, a hungry but proud smile on her face. She held up a computer. "I've had my guys looking into your 'Portfolio Crisis' from Saturday. It seems your previous employer, Mr. Williams, has spent the morning blaming you for a 40% drop in client trust. He's telling everyone who will listen that you abandoned the ship during a storm."
Ada felt a spark of the old fire, but it didn't burn her. "The ship wasn't sinking, Mrs. Onosode. The captain just didn't like that I was enjoying the view from the deck."
"Precisely," Mrs. Onosode walked to her desk and slid a single sheet of paper across the wood surface. "He wants a helper. I want an engineer. I don't need someone to handle my numbers, Ada. I need someone to handle the chaos of the ports. I need the woman who can drop a company phone in a box of sand and dance while the world watches."
The Choice Ada looked at the paper. It wasn't a standard deal. It was a suggestion for a partnership in a new company. It was more money than she had ever seen, but more importantly, it was more freedom than she had ever dared to dream of.
"There is one condition," Mrs. Onosode said, leaning back.
Ada paused. "And that is?"
"You never, ever wear gray in this building. This kingdom was built on color. Can you handle that?"
Ada looked out at the sparkling lake, then back at the Iron Lady. A slow, private smile—the same one from Saturday morning—spread across her face.
"I think," Ada said, picking up the pen, "that I'm done with gray forever."