Nkechi walked into Coker Conglomerates on Monday morning a different woman. The fifty-naira heels were gone, replaced by a pair of sleek, black stilettos she'd bought on credit from a persistent market trader. The cheap skirt was replaced by a figure-hugging pencil skirt that ended just above her knee. Her blouse was silk, a deep red that made her skin glow. She looked like she belonged. And she intended to.

The ice queen receptionist barely looked at her this time. Nkechi walked straight to ...