Act 1: Scene 3 - Things fall apart

"Sometimes things fall apart so that better things can fall together"

- Marilyn Monroe

My relocation to the tropical west African country was the beginning of reality and the end of the romance. All great love is said to be destined for a tragic ending and so it was with my affair with banking. I suppose one could say that we were an unlikely couple.

The years that followed set the tone for my seven stages of grief.

Shock and disbelief:

Sub-prime. Financial crisis. Government takeover. It all happened so fast, one minute I was expensing meals at the toniest restaurants across Africa and now I was cutting coupons. Former masters of the universe were now super civil servants. Bankers were being tossed overboard by the thousands, BMW dealerships turned into ghost towns and the world as I knew it was upside down. Champagne for the pain. Banking was a dirty word.  

Denial:

I refused to believe that the affair was over and pursued banking like a jealous lover. Surely it would all be resolved soon and perhaps this was all a bad dream. My immediate manager seemed to think so too. In a period of 24 hours he informed me that there would be no salary increase for anyone and then he left the office to purchase a Mercedes Benz limousine for his official bank use.

Anger:

I was incensed. I felt robbed of my rightful inheritance. The era of six figure bonuses had come to an end and I had barely had a spoonful of the great syrup. I felt that banking wasn't worthy of my love.

I am ashamed to admit that I considered betrothing myself to the arch enemy: management consulting.

Thankfully I found solace in the words of fellow banking brothers as encapsulated in the below video call-to-arms which was issued at the height of the financial crisis when dark clouds gathered and it appeared that bankers had lost the war on talent:

Bargaining:

I was ready to compromise, I wouldn't let banking leave me so easily. I considered all options. Perhaps I would find a way to 'leverage' my emerging market experience and negotiate a transfer to London. Surely, I figured, they would appreciate acquiring my talent at a discount.

I overestimated my buy two-for-the-price-of-one African appeal.

So I begun to consider closer options, that was until one local competitor gave me a job offer with a salary discount and mandatory Saturday morning work hours. I should have known better than to attempt to dilute my brand name experience.  

Guilt:

It was all my fault. Like an over excited lover, I had  given too much, too soon. Perhaps I had been too keen, too willing to compromise. I should never have left America and entered into the arms of African banking. I was too young, too over paid and too ambitious. Now everything was uncertain. My own mother questioned the sanity of my decision to remain in the crucible of crisis. Shopping trips to London seemed unwise in this climate of uncertainty. There would be no further pinstripe suits and monogrammed shirts. I cancelled my sartorial subscriptions. I was a lion stripped of dignity, it made no sense to roar.

Depression:

'Winter is coming'

The summer of my youthful exuberance was over. Reality set in. I wouldn't become CEO of the bank before I turned 30 years old.  I hid my business cards and avoided rotary club. I didn't poke back my facebook pokes. I couldn't face the world anymore. Falling in love with banking at 16 years old now seemed tragic. Like a teenage bride, my time had come too soon. My 'type A' personality trait had led me down this dark path of hope and despair. What was it all worth?

Acceptance:

The crown prince accepted that he would never make it to Kings Landing. This game of thrones was rigged. I accepted my fate as yet another African banker with my Toyota, puppy dog and single mortgage.  Perhaps I would find a way to move into this curious new paradise called Private Equity that bankers were beginning to whisper about.

Just when it seemed all was lost, the glorious summer of my discontent emerged. I got wind of a transfer back to my home country to take on a regional role. The young lion would roar once more. Damn, it felt good to be a banker.

Next week Wednesday: Flashback forward Love in the time of Banking: Miss Crimson