A few days ago I hit the streets to conduct some business. Before then, I hadn’t been out of the house much, which meant no visits to the bank, among other places. As I’m sure you well know, staying at home does not necessarily translate into reduced spending. In my case I was practically doling money out by the minute, albeit not to flimsy ends. So it was that by the time I was ready to re-emerge from hibernate mode, I didn’t quite have enough cash to go on. Upon realising that, I did some quick mental work to rack up distant memories of anyone in my house who might just happen to owe me money. Unluckily for her, my mother turned up as the one to bear the brunt of my ‘cashlessness’ that day. I remembered paying for some stuff on her behalf for which she was yet to reimburse me. Ope o. I wasted no time in asking for my money, but it was my turn to feel unlucky because she didn’t have spare cash at hand either. After much insistence, she finally managed to part with a meagre five hundred bucks which I figured would at least get me to the bank so I could withdraw some much-needed cash. So, I said to myself, good to go!
My respite was short-lived however, because at my very first port of call (en-route to the bank) I met an old friend who needed some petty cash for transport. Without even realising what I was doing, I counted three one-hundred naira notes and gave them to her. It was after she had thanked me profusely that I realised I now had just over two hundred naira before the bank. That wouldn’t have been too much of a problem if I hadn’t urgently needed to print out a document from a business centre in Ilupeju (I live in Shomolu). And then obtain a signature on the document from an architect’s office at Anthony. And finally find my way to my bank’s Anthony branch to withdraw money. All of that to cost all of two hundred naira. Muttering a silent prayer of thanks that I at least had enough cash to get to the bank, I set out.
My planning was right on target, so by the time I left the architect’s office just after 4pm, my cash balance was zero. Well, no worries, since my bank is just a stone-throw from the architect’s. Thankful that the sun had already spent the better part of its energy that day, I began my trek to the bank. It was about that time that a sense of uncertainty began to creep in on me. Closing time at the bank is 4pm, and even if it weren’t, I wasn’t with my chequebook anyway. Who needs a chequebook when a cash machine can give me what I want in less than half the time? And I don’t even have to say hello! It was then I realised that if my esteemed cash machine for any reason failed to bring forth naira notes, I would automatically be sentenced to an impossibly long trek from Anthony to Shomolu. The other options available to me were even less attractive: beg, borrow or steal my way home. But I quickly banished those anxious thoughts from my mind; that was not my portion in Jesus’ name!
Soon enough I reached the bank and walked straight to the ATM machine. As I approached I caught the tail end of a fellow customer’s transaction – I watched him remove his card from the machine and walk away – with no money. No, I thought to myself, it can’t be what I think it is. The guy also, not quite wanting to accept what had - or rather, had not happened - hung around to see if I would have better luck with my transaction. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how badly we want to believe or disbelieve things just because we do or do not want them to be so. I mean, what exactly are the chances that one customer’s card or account will differ from another’s under the same set of circumstances? Anyway, that’s quite beside the point.
So I step up to the machine, insert my card, punch in my PIN, choose all the right options, and – “Sorry, unable to complete transaction”. What?! But the ATM at this particular branch of this particular bank almost always delivers! What to do now? My guy took the hint this time and strode off. I stood there for a while contemplating my next step. I actually had options. There were two other banks nearby – not that there was any guarantee they would work – but at least I could try. The only snag was that now I’d have to pay the obligatory 100 bucks to withdraw my money from another bank. I’ve never really seen any sense in that, so it’s a levy I always try to evade. This time, however, I didn’t have a choice – in fact, I was thankful that I at least hope remained somewhere, anywhere.
Walking to the next bank, my mind flashed back to the day I was going for an interview in Surrey, England. I lived in Nottingham, which is a good three-hour drive from London Victoria Station. I got on the 6a.m. coach (or bus) from Nottingham and got to Victoria right on schedule. I had carefully planned my itinerary that day to include a visit to the Czech Embassy in London to apply for a visa – you know, to practically kill two birds with one stone. So from Victoria I bought a Zones 1-6 day travel card and took the tube to Kensington Palace Gardens where the Czech Embassy is situated. The visa application process turned out to be a lot smoother and faster than I expected, and I was in and out of the embassy under one hour. With some time to kill before my onward journey to Surrey, I walked into the McDonald’s restaurant along the road. I had a motivational book in hand and decided to peruse it in the meantime. The origin of the book is another matter: my Naija housemate persuaded me to take it in for the interview to make an impression of serious-mindedness on my interviewers. Well, I can’t say it worked because I eventually didn’t get the job. But again, that’s just by the way.
I wasn’t really hungry plus I was trying to scrimp on cash, so I didn’t eat anything at the restaurant. I just sat there reading until I figured it was time to resume my journey. So off I went by tube to Waterloo Station, from where I boarded a final train to Surrey. The train had barely pulled out of Waterloo when I instinctively reached into my coat pocket for my phone, and – it wasn’t there! I felt all over my body and nearly spilled the contents of my bag as I searched frantically for the phone, but it was nowhere to be found. I quickly ran a mental trace to determine where I last glimpsed the phone, and it came to me – the restaurant! There was no way I could turn back to get the phone without being late for my interview, so I just tried to calm down and settle my nerves the rest of the way.
After travelling for about an hour, the train finally got to my stop. Relieved to be so close to the end of my very long journey, I strode purposefully to the barricades, produced my Zones 1-6 travel card with a flourish and inserted it into the slot. I was truly shocked to hear the beep that told me I had been refused entry. The black warden took a look at my ticket and pointed out to me that Zone 6 ended way back in Waterloo, and my travel card could take me no further. Well, I didn’t know that. So, how much would I need to cross the barrier? Two pound-something. No problem, I had some coins right in my wallet which I proceeded to fish out on the spot.
Now, you have to understand that the scene that followed is one of the most mortifying and truly humiliating moments of my life. To cut a very long story short, I searched for my purse in vain. What, my purse, too? This time I did turn my bag upside down, spilling its contents on the bare floor. All my money was in that purse, with all my bank cards! That meant I had no cash and no access to cash. The warden was now watching me intently, apparently trying to fathom what to believe about me. I was getting more and more bewildered by the minute, and subconsciously trying to avoid realisation of the full import of my predicament. On unfamiliar terrain with no phone and not a penny, I was surely doomed. But I could not afford to think of later; my impending interview was more important to me than anything else.
I shot a quick glance at the warden’s name badge, and there it was - just as I’d half-hoped. The guy was Nigerian, Yoruba. Mr. Ola-something. Still reeling from shock and disappointment, I launched into a narrative in fluent Yoruba, basically explaining the day’s events to him. I’m not sure he believed me, but by the time I finished I knew he would have no choice but to let me through on parapo grounds. He did. I had originally meant to take a cab from the Surrey station to the venue of the interview, but that would not be possible anymore because cab drivers don’t listen to stories. It took me about forty-five minutes to get to my interview venue on foot, mostly because I was wrongly directed twice by supposed locals. Thank God, I finally trudged into the lobby at a few minutes before 2p.m., in time for my interview.
While I sat there with a handful of other interviewees waiting for my turn, I struggled with unbidden thoughts of my predicament. The only thing that kept me sane – and that is where I’m going with this account – was the fact that I had my travel card on me. Remember, the one for Zones 1-6? I figured that I would somehow squirm my way back out of the Surrey station and get to Waterloo by begging or borrowing, but at least from there I could go almost anywhere in London with the travel card.
I’m not sure I want to bother you with the details of how I got to Waterloo after what I thought was a fantastic, or well, at least promising interview. Just know that between hitching a cab ride with a Chinese stranger, begging a British warden (the Nigerian guy had been relieved of duty) to allow me free passage at the station and convincing an Asian train ticket collector that I was anything but a lying, conniving fare-evader, I finally landed at Waterloo.
From Waterloo, the rest was easy, and that is the point of this story. My travel card absolutely saved me. I was still over two hours away from my lodge – an aunt’s house in Kent, but I had no cause to be alarmed. I could travel underground or overground or anywhere in between without paying a penny. It was all paid for in the travel card. I could make one or one hundred journeys in London that day with the same travel card and it wouldn’t make any difference to my pocket. That was the day I blessed the inventor of those precious paper tickets. I mean, how else in the world would I have survived that day’s ordeal? And as it were, my options weren’t limited to transportation. Under other circumstances I would have walked into a restaurant for a much-needed late lunch and paid by a swipe of my bank card on an electronic device – and my account would automatically be debited.
These were the nostalgic thoughts that hit me as I walked to the bank at Anthony in search of cash to get me lunch and get me home. Suppose that morning I had bought a travel card that could take me around Lagos for the whole day for about two hundred naira. Suppose I could walk into Sweet Sensation at Town Planning and buy food with my plastic bank card? My day would have actually been a whole lot more pleasant with fewer things to worry and/or pray about. I wouldn’t have to exert my faith in prophesying that I would not walk home, that I would get cash out of the very next ATM I visited.
Money, like many other things in our world has long since moved from paper or ‘hard’ state to electronic or ‘soft’ state. I think life would be a lot easier for the average Nigerian if this all-important global shift is allowed to reflect in citizens’ everyday activities – shopping, travelling, eating, etc. A popular slogan that was thrown around my office while I was a bank employee was “Nigeria is a cash economy”. In this now-flat world, that is not something any country should be proud of. I sincerely hope the relevant authorities are working hard; I seriously look forward to the time when I can relive the British experience in Nigeria!
Oh, and I did get my money out of the second ATM machine, so I can safely say my prayers were answered. On the bright side: At least the myriad adversities we face in these parts increase our appreciation of the divine. Hallelujah!
My respite was short-lived however, because at my very first port of call (en-route to the bank) I met an old friend who needed some petty cash for transport. Without even realising what I was doing, I counted three one-hundred naira notes and gave them to her. It was after she had thanked me profusely that I realised I now had just over two hundred naira before the bank. That wouldn’t have been too much of a problem if I hadn’t urgently needed to print out a document from a business centre in Ilupeju (I live in Shomolu). And then obtain a signature on the document from an architect’s office at Anthony. And finally find my way to my bank’s Anthony branch to withdraw money. All of that to cost all of two hundred naira. Muttering a silent prayer of thanks that I at least had enough cash to get to the bank, I set out.
My planning was right on target, so by the time I left the architect’s office just after 4pm, my cash balance was zero. Well, no worries, since my bank is just a stone-throw from the architect’s. Thankful that the sun had already spent the better part of its energy that day, I began my trek to the bank. It was about that time that a sense of uncertainty began to creep in on me. Closing time at the bank is 4pm, and even if it weren’t, I wasn’t with my chequebook anyway. Who needs a chequebook when a cash machine can give me what I want in less than half the time? And I don’t even have to say hello! It was then I realised that if my esteemed cash machine for any reason failed to bring forth naira notes, I would automatically be sentenced to an impossibly long trek from Anthony to Shomolu. The other options available to me were even less attractive: beg, borrow or steal my way home. But I quickly banished those anxious thoughts from my mind; that was not my portion in Jesus’ name!
Soon enough I reached the bank and walked straight to the ATM machine. As I approached I caught the tail end of a fellow customer’s transaction – I watched him remove his card from the machine and walk away – with no money. No, I thought to myself, it can’t be what I think it is. The guy also, not quite wanting to accept what had - or rather, had not happened - hung around to see if I would have better luck with my transaction. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how badly we want to believe or disbelieve things just because we do or do not want them to be so. I mean, what exactly are the chances that one customer’s card or account will differ from another’s under the same set of circumstances? Anyway, that’s quite beside the point.
So I step up to the machine, insert my card, punch in my PIN, choose all the right options, and – “Sorry, unable to complete transaction”. What?! But the ATM at this particular branch of this particular bank almost always delivers! What to do now? My guy took the hint this time and strode off. I stood there for a while contemplating my next step. I actually had options. There were two other banks nearby – not that there was any guarantee they would work – but at least I could try. The only snag was that now I’d have to pay the obligatory 100 bucks to withdraw my money from another bank. I’ve never really seen any sense in that, so it’s a levy I always try to evade. This time, however, I didn’t have a choice – in fact, I was thankful that I at least hope remained somewhere, anywhere.
Walking to the next bank, my mind flashed back to the day I was going for an interview in Surrey, England. I lived in Nottingham, which is a good three-hour drive from London Victoria Station. I got on the 6a.m. coach (or bus) from Nottingham and got to Victoria right on schedule. I had carefully planned my itinerary that day to include a visit to the Czech Embassy in London to apply for a visa – you know, to practically kill two birds with one stone. So from Victoria I bought a Zones 1-6 day travel card and took the tube to Kensington Palace Gardens where the Czech Embassy is situated. The visa application process turned out to be a lot smoother and faster than I expected, and I was in and out of the embassy under one hour. With some time to kill before my onward journey to Surrey, I walked into the McDonald’s restaurant along the road. I had a motivational book in hand and decided to peruse it in the meantime. The origin of the book is another matter: my Naija housemate persuaded me to take it in for the interview to make an impression of serious-mindedness on my interviewers. Well, I can’t say it worked because I eventually didn’t get the job. But again, that’s just by the way.
I wasn’t really hungry plus I was trying to scrimp on cash, so I didn’t eat anything at the restaurant. I just sat there reading until I figured it was time to resume my journey. So off I went by tube to Waterloo Station, from where I boarded a final train to Surrey. The train had barely pulled out of Waterloo when I instinctively reached into my coat pocket for my phone, and – it wasn’t there! I felt all over my body and nearly spilled the contents of my bag as I searched frantically for the phone, but it was nowhere to be found. I quickly ran a mental trace to determine where I last glimpsed the phone, and it came to me – the restaurant! There was no way I could turn back to get the phone without being late for my interview, so I just tried to calm down and settle my nerves the rest of the way.
After travelling for about an hour, the train finally got to my stop. Relieved to be so close to the end of my very long journey, I strode purposefully to the barricades, produced my Zones 1-6 travel card with a flourish and inserted it into the slot. I was truly shocked to hear the beep that told me I had been refused entry. The black warden took a look at my ticket and pointed out to me that Zone 6 ended way back in Waterloo, and my travel card could take me no further. Well, I didn’t know that. So, how much would I need to cross the barrier? Two pound-something. No problem, I had some coins right in my wallet which I proceeded to fish out on the spot.
Now, you have to understand that the scene that followed is one of the most mortifying and truly humiliating moments of my life. To cut a very long story short, I searched for my purse in vain. What, my purse, too? This time I did turn my bag upside down, spilling its contents on the bare floor. All my money was in that purse, with all my bank cards! That meant I had no cash and no access to cash. The warden was now watching me intently, apparently trying to fathom what to believe about me. I was getting more and more bewildered by the minute, and subconsciously trying to avoid realisation of the full import of my predicament. On unfamiliar terrain with no phone and not a penny, I was surely doomed. But I could not afford to think of later; my impending interview was more important to me than anything else.
I shot a quick glance at the warden’s name badge, and there it was - just as I’d half-hoped. The guy was Nigerian, Yoruba. Mr. Ola-something. Still reeling from shock and disappointment, I launched into a narrative in fluent Yoruba, basically explaining the day’s events to him. I’m not sure he believed me, but by the time I finished I knew he would have no choice but to let me through on parapo grounds. He did. I had originally meant to take a cab from the Surrey station to the venue of the interview, but that would not be possible anymore because cab drivers don’t listen to stories. It took me about forty-five minutes to get to my interview venue on foot, mostly because I was wrongly directed twice by supposed locals. Thank God, I finally trudged into the lobby at a few minutes before 2p.m., in time for my interview.
While I sat there with a handful of other interviewees waiting for my turn, I struggled with unbidden thoughts of my predicament. The only thing that kept me sane – and that is where I’m going with this account – was the fact that I had my travel card on me. Remember, the one for Zones 1-6? I figured that I would somehow squirm my way back out of the Surrey station and get to Waterloo by begging or borrowing, but at least from there I could go almost anywhere in London with the travel card.
I’m not sure I want to bother you with the details of how I got to Waterloo after what I thought was a fantastic, or well, at least promising interview. Just know that between hitching a cab ride with a Chinese stranger, begging a British warden (the Nigerian guy had been relieved of duty) to allow me free passage at the station and convincing an Asian train ticket collector that I was anything but a lying, conniving fare-evader, I finally landed at Waterloo.
From Waterloo, the rest was easy, and that is the point of this story. My travel card absolutely saved me. I was still over two hours away from my lodge – an aunt’s house in Kent, but I had no cause to be alarmed. I could travel underground or overground or anywhere in between without paying a penny. It was all paid for in the travel card. I could make one or one hundred journeys in London that day with the same travel card and it wouldn’t make any difference to my pocket. That was the day I blessed the inventor of those precious paper tickets. I mean, how else in the world would I have survived that day’s ordeal? And as it were, my options weren’t limited to transportation. Under other circumstances I would have walked into a restaurant for a much-needed late lunch and paid by a swipe of my bank card on an electronic device – and my account would automatically be debited.
These were the nostalgic thoughts that hit me as I walked to the bank at Anthony in search of cash to get me lunch and get me home. Suppose that morning I had bought a travel card that could take me around Lagos for the whole day for about two hundred naira. Suppose I could walk into Sweet Sensation at Town Planning and buy food with my plastic bank card? My day would have actually been a whole lot more pleasant with fewer things to worry and/or pray about. I wouldn’t have to exert my faith in prophesying that I would not walk home, that I would get cash out of the very next ATM I visited.
Money, like many other things in our world has long since moved from paper or ‘hard’ state to electronic or ‘soft’ state. I think life would be a lot easier for the average Nigerian if this all-important global shift is allowed to reflect in citizens’ everyday activities – shopping, travelling, eating, etc. A popular slogan that was thrown around my office while I was a bank employee was “Nigeria is a cash economy”. In this now-flat world, that is not something any country should be proud of. I sincerely hope the relevant authorities are working hard; I seriously look forward to the time when I can relive the British experience in Nigeria!
Oh, and I did get my money out of the second ATM machine, so I can safely say my prayers were answered. On the bright side: At least the myriad adversities we face in these parts increase our appreciation of the divine. Hallelujah!
5 comments:
"I seriously look forward to the time when I can relive the British experience in Nigeria!"...Ore, na which of the experience you want to relive - the multi-lingual and cross-cultural citizenry to and fro Waterloo or ... I'm just kidding!...You didn't say what happened to your phone and purse, you got them back?
I feel sha, got a similar experience today to use an ATM, canyou imagine using my own bank's ATM and telling me "your financial institution is not available"...I was too amused to be annoyed, I just walked away laughing...Naija...only Naija!
:)) Anonymous, your comments had me laughing out loud. I know that feeling of being "too amused to be annoyed". I have felt that way a countless number of times and in various situations in Naija. I haven't shared on this blog the story of the dilapidated, ready-for-the-scrapyard danfoe carrying passengers in Lagos with this graffiti-like inscription on its rear: "Safety is of the Lord"! Amazing.
I did get my phone and purse back. My purse was intact because I left it at the Czech embassy, but my phone bill had been run up by the rogue who found it in McDonald's. Whoever picked it up took out the SIM before handing it over as 'found' to McDonald's management. By the time I blocked the SIM 24 hours later the chap's calls had cost me in excess of £60! Well, at least all was not lost; I only had to block the SIM, pay for a replacement SIM and clear up the bill! Now, that is an experience I would not want to relive anywhere!
I feel ur pain Surname sake, cos i'v had experiences with cashless ATMs...note, both in Naija n here in d UK...beleive it or yes!
the aside i.e d "waterloo" story is something i would only wish my enemy - sorry oh!
with respect 2d day travel cards...I think they r trying 2start somethg like that in Abuja-dts if dey havnt started...b4 i left, they had ds standard double-decked buses n had banned okadas from d town...i hope it spreads quickly 2 oda parts of d country.
cheers!
Keep up the good work.
This is what i call ATM Palaver...I was just checking through your blog and came across this
Let me also use this medium to say eku e pale mo...
http://www.spiritofjesus.blogspot.com
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