Victor Msuya’s office had two glass walls overlooking the dispatch floor. When Mariam arrived five minutes before two, she could still see the whiteboard with her name blacked out.
She sat across from Victor and placed a fresh notebook between them.
He looked at the notebook before he looked at her.
“How long is this going to take?”
“Until I know what my job is.”
Outside the glass, desk phones rang in waves. One coordinator stood with a headset hanging around his neck, trying to guide a driver trapped in Kariakoo traffic. Beyond the windows, Dar es Salaam heat shimmered over the industrial roofs. Mariam’s ordinary working world kept moving while she sat in a room waiting for an answer that should not have been difficult.
Victor leaned back. “Mariam, the company is in transition. The automation rollout is changing workflows. You know that.”
“I know.”
“Some roles are broadening. Some responsibilities are being redistributed.”
She opened the first page. “Fine. What are my current responsibilities?”
He turned his laptop slightly and showed her an organization chart full of boxes.
“Customer operations is working more closely with warehouse coordination now. We need flexibility.”
“Which box is mine?”
“This chart is still a draft.”
“Then tell me in words.”
“Mariam, I already told you. Support.”
“Support for whom, doing what, on which shift, reporting to whom?”
Victor exhaled. His fingers began tapping the desk, the same quiet rhythm Mariam had seen in monthly meetings whenever someone asked a question he did not want discussed in front of others.
“This is exactly what I mean about making a conversation difficult when it doesn’t need to be.”
“There is a reason. My card is disabled. My name is off the shift board. My clients have been reassigned. I am still being told I’m active. I want to know my status.”
“You have not been dismissed.”
“Am I suspended?”
“No.”
“Transferred?”
“Not formally.”
“Made redundant?”
“We are not there.”
“Then what am I?”
“A long-serving employee who needs to stay flexible while the company reorganizes.”
Mariam closed her pen, then clicked it open again.
“Don’t tell me to be patient with change. Tell me what my job is tomorrow at seven in the morning.”
Silence settled between them.
Victor glanced through the glass. Denis was speaking to a driver beside the board. Mariam noticed Victor’s eyes follow him. For a second, her new role seemed easier to demonstrate through another person than to explain to the woman whose work had been taken away.
“You’ve been here nine years,” Victor said. “You’ve seen restructures before.”
“Yes. And every time, I knew my shift and my duties.”
“This one is different.”
“That is why I’m asking.”
He raised both hands. “Fine. Come in as usual tomorrow. We’ll continue using you for support tasks.”
“Put it in writing.”
Victor’s expression changed. “Put what in writing?”
“That I am still employed. That I am expected to report for my normal shift. That my role is currently support while restructuring is completed.”
“Why does everything need to become an email?”
“Because one system says active, another says inactive, the board says Denis, and you say support.”
Victor shook his head. “Don’t start legalizing every conversation.”
The phrase landed with more weight than Mariam expected.
She did not want a fight. She did not even want a case. She wanted work she could perform and a salary she could plan a household around. But she also knew the difference between remembering a conversation and proving one.
“I’m not asking for a new contract,” she said. “I’m asking for clarity.”
Victor stood, signaling the meeting was over. “I have given you clarity. Report tomorrow.”
Mariam stood too. “All right.”
She left the page in her notebook blank on purpose. She did not want private notes to become a secret transcript. She wanted a clear summary that Victor could correct if she had misunderstood him.
Back at the shared terminal, at 14:26, she opened company email.
Subject: SUMMARY OF ROLE CLARIFICATION — 04 SEPTEMBER.
She wrote without accusation:
Victor,
Thank you for speaking with me today. My understanding is: 1. I am not suspended and there has been no formal termination. 2. I should continue reporting for my normal shift. 3. My customer accounts have been temporarily reassigned during restructuring. 4. I will currently be used for support tasks until role allocation is confirmed. 5. My access card remains inactive and IT is expected to resolve it.
Please correct anything I have misunderstood.
Regards, Mariam.
She read the message three times. She deleted a sentence about “systematic exclusion” because she could not yet prove it. She removed the word “unfair.” She left dates, actions and a request for correction.
Before sending, two call-desk phones rang at once. A coordinator gestured at her and asked for the number of a clinic in Sinza. Mariam gave it from memory. She found herself doing the work everyone still needed from her, while no system was willing to name that work as hers.
Hamisi passed behind her. “Writing a report?”
“A summary.”
“Of Victor?”
“Of my conversation.”
“You have courage.”
“This isn’t courage. It’s memory that won’t change tomorrow.”
She sent the email at 14:34.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Then an hour.
In the meantime she counted returned cooler seals and verified contact numbers for three drivers. She refused to stop working simply because her role was undefined.
At 16:12, IT sent a ticket update:
ACCESS STATUS CHANGE REQUIRES OPERATIONS OWNER CONFIRMATION.
Mariam read it twice.
If this was only a migration glitch, why did restoring her access require an operations owner?
She almost called Victor, then stopped. She had already asked the question. Now she wanted to see what he would say in writing.
At 16:39, the notification appeared.
FROM: Victor Msuya.
No response to her five points. No duties. No date for access restoration.
Only one line:
“There has been no formal change to your employment at this time.”
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