The time ashewo told me “Waka” and other Nigerian customer service horror stories

I’m convinced that if there is indeed an afterlife, Nigerians will have their own separate heaven and Hades. We are chill deficient and are quick to insult people on top nothing. GTB takes your money and customer service will still insult you. MTN, the thunder that will fire them has gone to collect power from the only working transformer in Lagos. Fly with Arik to get the full understanding of hell on Earth. Or, at least, hell in the sky. And now, even ashewo cannot even be bothered with simple customer service! And I wasn’t even following her to drag customer o!

I was walking with a male partner in Amsterdam’s Red Light District because reasons. He was an Amsterdam virgin whereas I always make the pilgrimage to the Courtesan Quarters every time I step into the Canal City. We arrived and after the initial awe of the abundance of flesh on display, he very quickly became deflated.

You see, my friend is an Igbo man. Not for him these anorexic-looking twiglets or linear shapes. He loves curves. He was not impressed by the plethora of spirit levels with fake tits on display. Secondly, he was not sufficiently scandalised. “Raysheh, there is nothing risque here. Open any magazine, go to any beach and this is how they’re dressed anyway. Now, show me a black woman with ample boobage on display and I just might sit up and pay attention.”

I didn’t think this was the right time to mention Nicki Minaj, Rihanna or Meagan “Good Body” Good. I knew that there was a strip a way off the main District that catered to chocolate desires, so off we went in search of it.

We found it and the first lady we came across was that good type of thick. I was like “Ehen! We have reach! What say you now, nnam?!”

He was still standing there gawping when I caught the lady’s eye. Next thing, she stretched out all five of her fingers and gave me the unmistakable ‘waka’ sign.

Shuo? Me? That travelled over 5 bridges to come in search of your low-rent paying ass? Beht what I do? We were actually giggling at the time, so I passed it off her probably thinking we were laughing at her. Weirdly, I noticed that the second she caught his eye, she was making “come and do” eyes at him. But rude to me? Did she think he would ever patronise her without my permission? Like a man would leave me standing out in the cold and go and bump uglies with a woman who has just told his companion waka? Which kain life? I know ashewo isn’t a course that can be studied in any institution of learning, but surely brain cells must be required in order to sell market?

I told my companion, we shrugged it off, and we kept walking down the strip. We got to the end of the alcove and saw another yum-cious one. So we stood there deliberating the pros and cons of yansh, when I caught the lady’s eye. Once again, na cuss dem cuss me. She waved her hands frantically, shooing me from her small portion of the sex real estate.

I have narrated this story to a few male friends; the ones who frequent Amsterdam, and they have a couple of theories. One says it’s possible that seeing us together, they thought we might want a threesome and they probably weren’t in the co-operative business.

Another thinks perhaps the ladies thought we were laughing at them. Yet another thinks it might be that they thought I was competition. I’m not quite sure how to take that one.

The point is: na so una dey sell market? Telling people waka and shege all over the place? Ashewo no be work oooo! ??????but if that’s the market you sell, sell it with small customer service na, haba!