A GERMOPHOBIC ROMANCE
A Germophobic Romance (5): A weekly Nigerian romantic-comedy series.
Read previous chapters here
CHAPTER FIVE
— Ikoyi, Lagos-Island, Nigeria. —
“Mr Savage is coming!”
Tobechukwu practically flies out of the breakroom, his voice slicing through the buzz of conversation.
“Ifunanya, stop commenting on Rahama’s gown. Focus! Mr Savage is in the parking lot!”
He hurries to the front desk, sweeping pens and files into place with lightning speed.
Samuel adjusts the blinds like the sunlight offends Mr Savage’s retinas.
Peter straightens every chair in sight. Racheal disinfects the countertop like it’s being prepped for surgery.
The four newly hired Hygiene Technicians stand in the middle of the chaos, frozen like deer in headlights.
Ifunanya glances at her reflection in her phone camera, tilting her head.
“Do I look okay? My lipstick’s fine, right? I just need him to notice me today. Just once.”
Rahama says nothing. She just blinks.
A few days ago, her whole house had erupted in celebration over the job offer.
Her mother cried and prayed all at once, then worked overtime just to buy her four thrifted blouses, two skirts, and five slightly-used gowns from the market.
Dawuda had spent all weekend teaching her how to operate a smartphone without accidentally posting a voice note to her WhatsApp status.
Racheal leans over and gently plucks a loose strand of hair from Rahama’s bun.
“Try to tuck this in. Mr Savage doesn’t like flyaways.”
Rahama nods quickly. “Thank you.”
She has no idea how everyone else looks this polished. The other three new hires look ready for a photo shoot. And then she looks… like someone who had to run to catch a bus in the rain.
Everyone drifts toward the glass doors, waiting.
Then, they slide open.
Enioluwa OmoTayo Savage steps in.
It’s like someone pressed the mute button. The air stills. The room holds its breath.
He walks in with quiet confidence, suited to perfection, holding his signature mist bottle. He sprays the air twice—once to the left, once to the right, then strolls in like royalty arriving at court.
“Good morning, Mr Savage,” Racheal says politely.
Ifunanya immediately positions herself near him, smiling just enough to be noticed, hands at her sides like a well-trained contestant.
He sidesteps her without breaking stride.
His eyes sweep the room—assessing, inspecting, memorizing. Then they land on her.
Tayo freezes.
Her gown has a stain on the hem—faint, but there.
Her thick bun is puffed up and slightly lopsided, with strands of hair rebelliously framing her face. Her slippers look like they’ve been through several Lagos roads and back.
Her knees are dry. Her nails are unfiled and dirty.
Everything about her clashes with his carefully curated, germ-free, lint-free world.
He blinks. Once. Twice.
“Racheal,” he says quietly. “Who is that?”
Racheal doesn’t even flinch.
“Rahama, sir. One of the new Hygiene Technicians.”
Tayo stares at her like he’s just seen a sanitation hazard come to life.
A hygiene technician? he thinks. She looks like she needs one.
He remembers her eyes from his house—beautiful, warm, gentle.
Now, in full daylight, without her cap and face mask?
He’s not sure if it was the flu that blurred his vision then… or if he’s hallucinating now.
“Good morning, sir,” Rahama says, offering a polite smile.
Another jolt.
Tayo freezes.
What… is that in her teeth? A speck. Tiny. Red. Pepper? Maybe from breakfast. Maybe from last week.
Her voice is calm—actually nice, if he’s being honest—but who cares about vocal tone when her entire existence is a bacteria buffet?
There is nothing good about this morning. Nothing!
She is a walking germ. A full-on contamination risk. His worst-case scenario in human form.
“Let’s pray, everyone,” Adeyemi jumps in quickly, sensing the rising tension and doing his best to smooth the edges.
Everyone bows their heads. Except Tayo.
Tayo takes three silent steps back. Just in case.
He keeps one eye cracked open during the entire prayer. He doesn’t trust anyone in this building right now, least of all the girl with questionable hygiene and flaking slippers. What if she breathes in his direction? What if she touches something?
The prayer ends.
Tayo practically bolts from the reception, spraying disinfectant in his wake like a one-man fumigation squad.
He reaches his office, kicks off his shoes like they’re radioactive, and drops them in the “contaminated” corner he keeps for emergencies.
Then he starts cleaning.
Desk. Chair. Pen. Desk again. His palms. His phone. Desk again. Just to be sure.
He’s on his third wipe-down when he snatches the intercom.
“Ifunanya. Get Peter in here. Now.”
His voice is clipped, sharp, almost dangerous.
He doesn’t even sit down properly. Just stands behind his chair, arms folded, pacing slightly as he waits.
She has to go.
She can’t stay here another minute.
What were they thinking? What was Peter thinking?
He has a list of phobias, and “Rahama Sani” now tops that list in bold capital letters.
“Good morning, sir,” Peter says, stepping into Tayo’s office with visible caution.
He keeps a healthy distance, like one would from someone who sprays disinfectant.
His eyes drift to the floor.
Tayo is in socks. Black socks.
Where are his shoes? Peter wonders.
Tayo paces like a CEO on the edge of a breakdown.
“What’s good about this morning, Peter?” he asks, voice tight, like he’s holding his sanity in place with masking tape.
Peter blinks. “Uh… sir?”
“How—how did that lady end up here?” Tayo gestures wildly.
“Who hired her? Who let her pass the interview?” He lowers his voice like the word Rahama might trigger a relapse in his immune system.
Peter looks completely lost. “Who, sir?”
Tayo stops pacing, turns, and stares at him like he just asked what 1+1 is.
“Rahama. She’s a walking germ, Peter. A biohazard.”
Peter’s face does a little shuffle—surprise, confusion, diplomacy.
“Sir, you asked me to employ her.”
Tayo stops mid-stride.
“No, Peter. I asked what you thought about her. You said—your exact words—you said she was experienced.”
Peter nods slowly, as if replaying the moment.
“Yes, sir. I interviewed her, and she has extensive experience. She’s been cleaning since she was young. And you said you thought so too. That she was composed and did a good job.”
Tayo throws his hands in the air.
“She was masked up! I couldn’t see anything. You were supposed to warn me if I was wrong!”
Peter gives a small bow of apology.
“Sir, I thought you were comfortable with her. You seemed impressed.”
Tayo exhales, slow and dramatic. He’s been deceived.
For the first time in his twenty-nine years on this chaotic planet, a beautiful Hausa girl’s eyes and her thick eyebrows tricked him.
He rubs his temples. “It’s fine. It’s okay. We all make mistakes. I made a mistake.”
A beat.
“Go out there and tell her… her services are no longer needed. We can compensate her.”
Peter hesitates. Then speaks in a tone barely above a whisper.
“Sir… that might not be possible.”
Tayo spins to him like a scene from a slow-burn thriller.
“Why? Is she glued to my company floor?”
“She’s already signed the one-month trial training contract, sir.”
“And? So?” Tayo snaps. “Don’t we terminate people mid-trial all the time?”
Peter nods slowly. “Yes, sir. But only when it falls under specific terms: breach of agreement, lack of skills, misconduct, poor performance…”
He lifts a hand.
“…and she hasn’t done any of those yet. She literally just walked in.”
Tayo stares at him like he’s just grown two heads.
Peter clears his throat. “Also, sir, the contract states what isn’t allowed as grounds for termination. Discrimination… or false accusations without evidence.”
Silence.
Tayo goes still. Processing.
Remembering the contract he personally helped design to make the company more “ethical” and “transparent.”
Ugh.
Peter continues gently, “Everyone you’ve dismissed before met the criteria. But this is… new. There is no professional reason to dismiss her”
No professional reason? She’s dirty, Tayo thinks.
Then immediately corrects himself. But then that isn’t a professional reason.
“You should’ve told me before you let her sign,” Tayo says tightly.
“We needed the hygiene team to leave for an on-site job,” Peter replies. “I didn’t want her left behind.”
Peter folds his hands, speaking like a man begging a lion not to roar.
“She’s not a full staff yet. After the trial, if she doesn’t meet the standard, we can let her go.” Peter says quietly.
Tayo stares at him.
How does he survive this?
A walking germ. In his building. His airspace.
Rahama might be harmless to others—but to him, she’s a walking biohazard.
Everything he avoids. Everything he sanitizes against. Everything he fears.
He exhales, presses his back against his polished office wall, and stares blankly at the ceiling like divine help might drop from the vents.
And then, like a lightbulb flickering on during a blackout, an idea strikes.
She just has to break the contract.
Yes. That’s it.
If he can’t fire her over hygiene—which should be a crime, in his opinion—he can find something else. Something legally justifiable. Something in the fine print.
Misconduct. Lateness. Dishonesty. Poor performance.
Even breathing too loudly if he frames it right.
He doesn’t even have to dig. She’ll mess up. People like her always do. He just needs to watch.
Closely. Like a hawk.
His mouth slowly stretches into a smile, the kind that makes Peter take one cautious step back.
Tayo straightens, wipes invisible dust from his sleeves, and says with a newfound calm, “You can go now, Peter.”
Peter blinks. “Sir?”
Tayo waves dismissively. “Thank you. You’ve done enough damage for today.”
Peter nods slowly, unsure if he’s being thanked or insulted, then slips out of the office like a man dodging landmines.
The moment Peter is out of sight, Tayo claps his hands once and whispers to himself, “She won’t last the week.”
He rolls up his sleeves and reaches for his notepad: the one usually reserved for productivity plans and strategy sprints.
Today, it’s for something far more personal.
At the top, he writes in all caps:
RAHAMA’S MISTAKE LOG.
Then underlines it. Twice.
If she so much as blinks suspiciously, he’ll note it.
If she uses the microwave without a cover, recorded.
If she shows up even a minute late, termination evidence.
Tayo leans back, satisfied. The war has begun.
And he intends to win it: sanitized, documented, and fully HR-approved.
“I know Mr Savage very well,” Ifunanya says, flipping her hair like it holds magical powers.
“That Rahama girl doesn’t stand a chance. If not for Peter’s support today, Mr Savage would’ve thrown her out faster than his hand sanitizer dries.”
She plucks another piece of chin-chin from the paper napkin on her lap, crunches like she’s biting into victory, and adjusts the hem of her white round-neck tee as she settles deeper into the bean bag.
“Even me—fine girl like me—he hasn’t looked at me twice,” she adds with mock heartbreak. “I give her three days. Tops.”
Mngohol squints at her.
“Rahama’s fine too. Just like every woman in this office. She just doesn’t come from the same kind of privilege.”
Ifunanya scoffs. “Who bring this Tiv babe come Lagos sef?”
“And who bring this Igbo babe here?” Mngohol shoots back, lips pressed into a smirk.
“Lagos is no man’s land,” Ifunanya declares, chin high.
“Nope. Lagos is a man’s land,” Adeyemi chimes in, not looking up from his phone. “I’m from Lagos. Born and bred. Just the way you’re from Owerri.”
“Why are both of you fighting my one and only?” Tobechukwu grins, eyes shifting dramatically from Mngohol to Adeyemi.
Ifunanya narrows her eyes. “Your what? Hope you’re not referring to me?”
“Of course, it’s you. Does he have another ‘one and only’ in this office?” Mngohol laughs, poking Tobechukwu’s side.
“I’m for Mr Savage only,” Ifunanya says with a dreamy sigh. “My Odogwu. My Eze. My Obim otu. My Yoruba demon—”
“Customer service rep. by day, poet by mouth,” Peter interrupts dryly, stepping into their circle.
“Adeyemi, one of our VIP clients, Mr Raymond just called. He needs some hygiene tech for post-construction deep cleaning. Urgent.” Peter adds.
Adeyemi nods, already standing and instructing.
“Mngohol, Tobechukwu, go with Oritsejumi. Tell Ohunene to drive. It’s on the mainland.”
“Okay,” they both echo, grabbing their kits and disappearing quickly.
Peter’s gaze shifts to Ifunanya. Sharp. Annoyed.
“Ifunanya, I’m sorry, but you’re the most idle person here. I attend to customers while you sit here gossiping and crunching chin-chin like it’s your full-time role.”
She straightens. “I’m on lunch break.”
“At 11 am?”
She blinks.
“Even Rahama, the same person you’re mocking, has gone out for fieldwork,” Peter says, his tone neutral but cutting.
“Meanwhile, our customer service rep. is chilling on beanbags like she’s at Landmark Beach.”
“I’m not a cleaner, Peter,” she snaps. “She is. That’s why she’s out.”
“And you’re a receptionist, abi? So do your job.”
He doesn’t wait for her response, just turns and walks off with all the energy of someone who’s done babysitting adults.
Ifunanya stares after him, jaw tight. One day. One day, Peter will regret this.
When she becomes Mr Savage’s girlfriend—the boss’s babe—she’ll promote herself, demote Peter, or worse, make him clean toilets in Rahama’s uniform.
She smiles to herself, imagining Peter bowing, begging her for mercy.
“Madam Ifunanya,” he would say, voice trembling. “Please forgive me.”
Oh, she will. Eventually. But first, payback.
With a final hair flip, she struts off to the reception desk like it’s a runway and her revenge plan just walked the first step.
Tayo rolls to the other side of his bed, for the fifth time tonight. Sleep refuses to come. Peace refuses to stay. And it’s all because of her.
Rahama.
The walking germ. The breathing bacteria. The clutter in his organized life.
He stares at the ceiling like it’s hiding solutions. There has to be a way to chase her out—cleanly. Legally. Politely. Without sounding like a tribal bigot or a hygiene fascist.
Because people talk.
“It’s because she is Hausa,” they’d whisper.
“She didn’t even do anything wrong.”
“Mr Savage is just wicked.”
“Abi she rejected his advances ni?”
No. Tayo shudders at the last one. God forbid!
And the worst part? Rahama looks like the type people would help to post a three-slide Instagram story out of pity:
Slide 1: “Let me tell you how I lost my job for being Hausa 😩”
Slide 2: A crying boomerang. 😭
Slide 3: A long thread tagged: #SayNoToDiscrimination #WorkplaceBias #LuxetouchCleaning
That’s the kind of PR crisis he cannot bleach away.
He’s asked Adeyemi how her fieldwork went today, secretly hoping for a poor report.
Maybe a missed corner or a customer complaint. Something.
But no. Adeyemi had said—and Tayo still hears it like a curse: “She’s thorough, sir.”
Tayo groans and rolls again.
Why is this woman ruining his life in less than 24 hours?
There must be something she’s bad at. Something worth firing for. Sloppiness? Lateness? Poor communication?
He grabs his phone from the nightstand and opens his browser. Fingers fly over the screen.
Search: how to make a staff quit in one week.
Articles pop up.
“Call employees out in public.”
“Give vague instructions.”
“Refuse breaks.”
“Ignore boundaries and burn them out.”
“Disregard their concerns.”
He blinks.
“Who wrote this wickedness?” he mutters.
But he keeps scrolling. Because… useful is useful.
He exhales.
Maybe he can do this. Push her out quietly. Gently sabotage her soul and beg God for forgiveness later.
“Lord,” he whispers, eyes closed, “I promise I’ll do a Thanksgiving once she’s gone.”
Because this isn’t a small issue. This is his mental health. His peace. His safe space.
How is he supposed to work with someone whose knees are white?
Who walks around with bread crumbs and pepper on her teeth like she’s saving them for later? Whose hair looks like it lost the will to live somewhere in 2020? When was the last time she washed that hair?
He shudders.
Her clothes are stained. Faded in all the wrong places.
And her slippers? Don’t even get him started on those cracked soles and backless things flapping like broken wings on the tiles.
Tayo exhales sharply and pulls his duvet over his head.
Then flings it off again. Too hot.
He turns again. Flips his pillow.
Why can’t he stop thinking about Rahama?
She’s already ruining his sleep, his airspace, his chi alignment and tomorrow will be worse.
Tayo sits up.
He needs a strategy.
Tomorrow is Day One of Operation Evict Rahama.
Let the mischievous wisdom of Google begin.
Discussion:
Should I be honest with you all?
I’m siding with Tayo on this one, I completely get him 🤣
And Rahama? Hmm… she’s really putting him through it 😭
What would you advise Tayo to do? Is he being inconsiderate? 🤔
Let’s talk.
A Merry Christmas once again, loves 🥰
PS: Loved this? Please restack and share with your circle. You’re helping the story travel and supporting the work in the sweetest way 💜
New Chapters drop every Thursday and Friday. 🤍
I’m actually a little conflicted on who I’m supporting honestly😂 Rahama could actually put in more effort with the hygiene and Tayo has a mental illness so I can’t expect him to be rational just like that. Wo, they should both compromise and just fall in love jare😔
Let the games begin 😂😂😂😂😂😂