The first real job I got in Lagos started with a lie.

Not a massive lie like saying I owned three companies or worked for the UN. Just one small line on my CV that I prayed nobody would investigate too deeply.

“Proficient in Microsoft Excel.”

The truth?

I barely knew how to open Excel without panicking.

But after months of job hunting, rejection emails, unpaid internships, and transport money disappearing every week, desperation started sounding reasonable.

Everywhere I applied wanted experience.

How was I supposed to get experience if nobody would hire me without experience?

One afternoon, sitting inside a noisy café with weak fan and weaker hope, I edited my CV. I added skills I was “willing to learn quickly.” Which is basically the professional version of “God abeg.”

A week later, I got an interview invitation.

I almost didn’t go because fear started dealing with me immediately.

What if they tested me?

What if they opened Excel in front of me?

What if they realized I was a fraud?

But hunger and unemployment are powerful motivational speakers, so I went.

The office looked intimidating. Everybody walked fast like they were solving national problems. I sat in reception rehearsing fake confidence.

The interview went surprisingly well until the final question.

“So how good are you with Excel?”

My heart nearly stopped.

I smiled the kind of smile people use when they’re spiritually surrendering.

“I’m very comfortable with it.”

Another lie.

The HR lady nodded casually and said:

“Great. Most of the role involves Excel reporting.”

At that point, my spirit left my body temporarily.

But somehow, somehow, I got the job.

The real battle started after resumption.

Every day became survival.

I spent nights watching YouTube tutorials. I learned formulas on danfo buses. I practiced spreadsheets like my life depended on it because honestly, it did.

SUM. VLOOKUP. Pivot tables.

These things became my enemies and best friends at the same time.

There were embarrassing moments too. One day I almost deleted an entire report because I clicked the wrong thing. Another time I pretended my laptop froze just to buy time during a meeting.

But slowly, I improved.

Three months later, I became one of the fastest people on the team with reports. The same skill I lied about became something I genuinely knew.

That experience taught me something complicated.

Sometimes people don’t lie because they’re evil. Sometimes they lie because life gives them no entry point. Because everybody demands experience from beginners. Because survival can push people into uncomfortable decisions.

I’m not proud that I lied.

But I understand why I did.

And honestly, Lagos has a way of forcing people to become who they claimed to be before they were fully ready.