The Citizen's newroom in Industria. Picture: Faizel Patel/The Citizen
The little green light beeps its welcome as it has for the past I don’t know how many years. Many.
“Well, that was the last time I’ll clock in here,” I thought looking at my faded access card with barely an employee number visible. Yes, the office is moving and yes, I’m excited – but not prepared for the deep sense of loss that hit me.
Life is buzzing and we move along with The Move locked somewhere in a dark corner of our minds. Until you see the mayhem overnight: desks are gone; screens are gone; people you greet every morning are gone. Why did I think we’re all into this together?
We’re all busy packing and throwing and swearing at a cable that is just stuck after years of grime? They moved overnight and I didn’t get the memo. Unlike us die-hards still hanging around to make the last deadline. I’ve told any and everybody willing to listen I have kids at home.
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“I’m not your mother. I’m not packing you up. “Mark your stuff clearly and leave your desk empty.” But I see men who have never packed up a house battling. Damn, I see men who can’t even unplug four plugs.
“Am I pleased I didn’t marry you,” he hears while I’m crawling under a table; printing out labels; sticking it on whoever owns whatever. There’s a lot of laughter. We throw “stuff” we thought was important but we haven’t looked at in years. But one by one the office empties and the desks are bare.
I have a last ciggie on the balcony with its dismal view; wave a last hello at the night shift guards coming to protect … who exactly? And on the spur of the moment, I marked the two rickety balcony benches that I’m sure will become firewood with my name. And did I mention I pinched a cutting of the entrance plants to move with me?
“Last one out switches off the light,” I hear as I walk down the stairs for the last time; swipe my card for the last time… It’s goodbye to life as I’ve known it; it’s goodbye to the darling canteen lady who has fed my family every day; who became my bread and butter.
Crying into my red tonight I realise: I’m mourning. But at least this grief is different. I had the chance to say goodbye.
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