Two weeks ago, I made a routine transfer to a POS operator in my neighbourhood. I waited the typical few minutes for the transaction to reflect, but nothing happened. My account was debited, yet the POS lady hadn’t been credited. Frustrated, I tried again—this time with another account number she provided. The money came through, she gave me the cash, and I left.
I thought the matter was settled—until yesterday. My bank finally got back to me after a few back-and-forth messages. They confirmed that the first transfer had actually been successful. Imagine my shock and low-key dread!
Read Also: A Defiant Moment in Nigeria’s History: Chief MKO Abiola Declares Himself President
I knew I had to go back to the POS lady to reclaim my money. In my mind, I was already gearing up for a full-blown Nigerian-style showdown: heated words, suspicious glares, and the stubborn refusal to part with money that wasn’t rightfully yours. After all, this is the Nigeria we know.
But life had a surprise for me.
I arrived at her spot, rehearsed arguments on the tip of my tongue, only to be met with calmness. I explained the situation and asked if she could check her transaction history for that day. She gave me a small sigh, as if to say, “This is work you want to give me o,” and started scrolling through her phone.
Read Also: Suspension of NLO Southern Playoffs Centres Sparks Uncertainty
Just like that. No suspicion, no accusation, no typical Naija-style “Oga, na lie o!”
She found the payment, looked up at me, and asked for my full name to confirm. And then—she counted out the money and handed it back to me.
No drama. No denials. No fight.
Honestly, I was in disbelief. I felt almost cheated that my rehearsed monologue about standing up for myself and demanding what was mine was for nothing. It was too easy.
It’s a moment that made me realize how much I’ve come to expect the worst when it comes to these day-to-day interactions in Nigeria. We’re so used to struggling for what’s rightfully ours that when someone simply does the right thing—like giving back your money—it feels… surreal.
Read Also: Akintoye Yemisi Shines Bright: Selected as Referee for WAFCON Morocco 2025
Even more surprisingly, she mentioned that she’d given me her number that day, in case the reversal didn’t come through. I hadn’t saved it, confident that my bank would sort it out. She was calm and a little sad that I’d had to come all the way instead of texting.
In the end, all my pent-up energy and rehearsed lines went to waste. But honestly? I’m glad it did.
