ACCESS BANK IMAGE MAKER, AMAECHI OKOBI OPENS UP

ACCESS BANK IMAGE MAKER, AMAECHI OKOBI OPENS UP

“Six years ago today, after a bike ride and breakfast, I put on a suit and tie, cherry-red socks and black lace-ups, and got into my car. Destination: Access Bank. I walked up the stairs at 999C Danmole Street for my first day (and brand new adventure) at Access Bank.
Sometime during the night, my days of promoting whisky and premium spirits ended as I began the process of morphing into a banker. But that’s not the story. For 72 months, my boss and colleagues have allowed me to do what I love, to experiment, to grow, to fail (spectacularly in many cases), to learn and to be a part of something amazing. I love these guys. Most especially, my Corporate Communications team, without whom I’d just be a tall, bald guy in a suit. How I wish today was Thursday and there was no such thing as COVID-19. We would have our usual Executive Committee Meeting (affectionately known as EXCO), after which I’d end my day at Zenbah for my one bottle of Heineken (except that this day I would have two bottles, maybe three – six years is a big deal for me, after all) and a few hellos to the barman who always knows what to do when I walk in; the DJ with the awesome flow (this guy cannot be more than 25 years old – ok, maybe 26, yet his knowledge and command of the 90s era in terms of R&B and hip hop is unparalleled); and a couple other people who, like me, have made this spot their regular. Goodness! I miss the old days. Damn you, COVID-19! Damn you straight to Hell! Anyway, as I lie here in bed thinking about the fact that in a couple of minutes I’ll have to get kitted up for an hour on the aspha— scratch that— stationary bike (what a spectacular oxymoron), I can’t help but be thankful to God for… everything. My career, my life, the people I’ve encountered in the past six years, and just as important, those who help prepare me for those six years (the Tonys, the Wouters, the Martins, the Dans, the Ruairis, the Patricias, the Austins, the Loris, the Darrens, the Joes and many more). Wow! Six years, Lord. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. That’s still not the story. Yester— Nah. Some other time.

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