I’m constantly amazed by my resilience. No matter how many times I’m turned down, I still get up the next day and continue with my job search.

Not having a specific place to go, I walked around the city centre, hoping to find someone who needs a hand, even for a day. Not having much luck there, I walked to Kacyiru.

I make it a point to read billboards and signposts as these give me an idea on what places to try. One of the signs was of a bar and restaurant. Turning to my right, I walked down a dusty road. About 300 meters on, I got to the restaurant.

The gate was open as though to invite me in. And the guard, apart from speaking good English, was friendly and polite, asking how he could help me.

I took that as a good sign. "Hullo, I would like to speak to the manager please,” I told him. He didn’t ask why I wanted to see the manager, like many do and just pointed to a White man sitting outside what appeared to be the entrance to the restaurant.

Saying a quick thank you, I walked over to the said manager, all the while rehearsing what to say to him. "Morning sir,” I went.

Putting his cigarette down, he extended his hand in greeting. "Sit down,” he offered. So far, so good, I thought to myself, perhaps he thinks I’m a customer! "I’m looking for a job,” I said, not wanting to beat around the bush.

"What kind of job?” he asked, smiling "Anything really,” I replied, surprised that he too was friendly and not asking who had told me there were vacancies at his restaurant. "I can be a waitress or clean, be a personal assistant, communication officer…anything like I said,” I told him.

"Let’s see your papers,” he said. Now this was even more than I’d expected. Like myself, this manager wasn’t wasting anytime. I reached inside my bag for my papers but realized they weren’t where I thought they would be. That alarmed me. I opened the zipper wider, unaware that the manager was watching closely. I have this very big bag like most ladies and I put everything in there: scarf, makeup, tissue, tooth brush, comb, deodorant, diary, newspaper job cuttings…It’s basically my mini carry on.

Five minutes later, I still hadn’t found my resume and I was beginning to fidget. "Sorry I’m taking long. My papers were right here,” I told the mzungu. "That’s alright, take your time,” he answered. Deep down, I felt like I’d failed the first test but I continued looking anyway.

After what seemed like eternity, I found them but only after emptying the contents of my bag. I was so relieved I’d found them I didn’t notice the solemn look on his face.

I tried to read his face as he scanned my documents for any reaction but there were no signs as to what he was thinking. After an awkward silence, he handed them back to me and much as I wanted to keep a positive outlook on things, I knew that wasn’t a good sign.

"Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do for us. Perhaps if you spoke French and Kinyarwanda because the bulk of our clients speak those...”

My resume says I’m fluent in English – only, so I understood where he was coming from. Once again, the language barrier had foiled a potential opportunity. Taking advantage of his good nature, I asked if he had friends or knew anyone who might have an opening.

"At the moment, no,” he said and just as I was about to thank him for his time, he scrolled through his phone and gave me a number of a lady I should try. "She may or may not help but you tell her Jerry sent you.” Replacing the contents of my bag, I stood up to leave. Jerry’s next words shocked me.

"Sophie,” he called out in his American accent, "next time, try to be organized. It goes a long way. And don’t say you can do anything. It’s ambiguous. You must know what you want to do or else people will not take you seriously.”

Instantly, I knew what he was talking about. My messy bag! First impressions do last indeed. I felt small at Jerry’s remarks but at the same time, I was glad he’d at least told me. Others don’t. My only hope is that he doesn’t reveal the same to Diane, the contact he recommended I try for a job.

To be continued...