The day NEPA took light during my interview remains one of the most stressful moments of my life.

Everything started perfectly that morning.

I ironed my shirt twice. Practiced interview answers in front of the mirror. Even left home early because Lagos traffic has embarrassed too many people before important events.

This was not just any interview.

To me, it felt like escape.

Escape from borrowing transport money. Escape from pretending things were okay financially. Escape from refreshing job sites every morning like it was a full-time job.

The interview was online, so I found a quiet spot at a small business center with stable WiFi and generator backup. At least that was what they promised.

I joined the meeting early, trying to look calm while my heart was behaving like Afrobeats drums.

Three interviewers joined.

Everything was going smoothly.

They liked my answers. They were smiling. One of them even said:

“That’s a very interesting perspective.”

At that point, my confidence returned small small.

Then it happened.

NEPA took light.

Everything went off immediately.

Fan. WiFi. Lights. Hope.

Even the generator refused to come on instantly.

For a few seconds, I just sat there in complete silence staring at my black laptop screen like somebody in a tragic movie.

My soul left my body temporarily.

The business center guy started shouting: “They never bring diesel!”

Diesel?!

That was when panic fully entered.

I rushed outside trying to find network. The sun was hot enough to punish sin. I was sweating through my shirt while reconnecting with mobile data that was moving like it had emotional problems.

When I finally rejoined the meeting, everybody was staring.

One interviewer asked calmly:

“Are you back with us?”

I wanted to explain NEPA, generator failure, economic hardship, national suffering, and spiritual warfare all at once.

Instead, I just smiled awkwardly.

“Sorry about that. We had a power outage.”

One interviewer laughed immediately.

Not mocking laughter. Real understanding laughter.

Then he said:

“You must be in Nigeria.”

Everybody laughed.

That single moment reduced my tension instantly.

The interview continued, though my confidence never fully recovered. I kept praying silently that the network wouldn’t disgrace me again.

After the interview ended, I sat outside exhausted.

Not because of the questions.

But because surviving in Nigeria sometimes feels like completing life missions with unstable electricity, unstable internet, unstable transportation, and unstable peace of mind.

A week later, I got the job.

And funny enough, during onboarding, one of the interviewers mentioned they remembered me because of how calmly I handled the interruption.

That experience taught me something important:

Sometimes professionalism in Nigeria is simply continuing despite chaos.

Because honestly, many Nigerians are succeeding in environments that would frustrate people elsewhere completely.