He said to me,
“Nigerians hate their job. Haven't you noticed?”
The statement hit me. I understand the reality of his point but my
mind had never captured it in those adjectives. Hate is a strong word. It
speaks of disdain. Come to think of it? He couldn't be far from the truth.
The rude cashier at the
paying point.
The wicked university secretary. Oh those university non-academic
staffs can be wicked souls. Please do not offend them if you are a student.
The ever-irritated bank teller. Has any of them ever smiled at
you? (Occasionally, a few of them do) Yes, they are nice when they talk to you
about opening an account with their bank; then come to the bank to make
withdrawals or deposit.
The frustrated bus conductor.
The angry fish seller. “That's the amount I will sell. If you
don't want to buy, please go to another table. You are blocking my market.”
Then she looks away.
The abusive Keke driver.
The nasty nurses. Forgive me but I had to use this word for them.
My idea of a nurse is someone that brings back to life, someone that nurtures
and brings comfort. However, if you think Nigerian nurses, wake up from this illusion.
It doesn't exist in our hospitals. You hear them scream at patients. They don't
talk to you, they talk at you. One time when my sister was in admission, the
matron announced her presence each day with shoutings and mutterings. So she
walks in through the door and wakes up sick patients who probably couldn't
sleep through the night as a result of pains. I wish someone could secretly
video what goes in our Government and private hospitals and then you will
appreciate why those who can afford it go abroad for treatment.
That same period, she needed a blood test for a surgery in early
hours of the morning. It was actually 2:am. So I got to the lab and knocked on
the door to wake the lab scientist up. He comes out and says, “Why are you
disturbing my sleep.” I was shocked. I said “Oga, you are on night shift. Are
you supposed to sleep at all. Please stay awake. I might need to come back.”
Now I was begging him to work for his salary. He said, “I've warned you. If you
come back here again, I won't respond to you.” Believe me, it wasn't a threat.
The doctors sent me back to the lab again that morning. I knocked on the door
forever. This young lad never responded. I simply said to him because I knew he
was awake, “may you never be in my position.” I was hurt that night because my
sister was in an intensive state.
Why did I decide to write about this? Recently, I went to withdraw
money from the bank. I had written out my request and one lady was attending to
me. An elderly man walked up to the counter, filled out his request and handed
it over to the other lady. She looked at his slip and said, “Are you sure the
account number is correct.” The man said yes. She said, “This account number
doesn't belong to this bank.” He said, “This is my account number and bank.”
She then went, “I don't have time for this nonsense. I've told you this is not
our account. You opened the account somewhere and then come here to disturb me.
Please stop disturbing me.” I couldn't believe my ears. I had to wade into the
situation to shut her shitty mouth up.
One, there was no crowd; it was just me and the elderly man.
Two, he was elderly. I thought Africa is synonymous with respect
for elders
Thirdly, the man wasn't rude to her at all. So there was
absolutely no reason to speak to him like that.
I said, “Madam, stop
talking like this and explain what he should do.” I then took his slip and
crosschecked with the account number he wrote in his diary. It checked out. I
said, “Papa please go to costumer service and lay your complaint. It will be
sorted out.”
He thanked me left. As he walked away, I couldn't help asking
myself “Why do Nigerians hate their jobs?”
Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen
No comments:
Post a Comment