Lesson from Imperial Bank: Things happen but care is priceless

Last Tuesday, at about 10a.m, I walked into the bank. I needed particular statements and for some archaic reason, this bank I deal with, requested I go in to have those provided. Isn’t it our grandmothers who had to do that? Yes? Yes.

At the entrance, I tried not to utter a single word to the motorbike rider on my right who couldn’t decide whether he was going in or not. Accident averted, I smiled at the empathetic guard, double-parked the car (at the instructions of the same guard) and looked at my notepad, a pseudo-diary.

First, the bank. Then, the dry cleaners. Followed by a meeting on Mombasa Road. And then a tentative one in town. And if the weather and traffic cops were on their best behavior, I might just be able to make it to Kangemi. The only prayer in all of these was: the bank attendants better be fast!

They were. The customer service lady was prompt in providing forms to fill. The “in-house” guard was polite and quick to ask if I needed any assistance. The teller was charming and pleasant, processing the documents the fastest way their slow machines would allow him. And some random fellow with a tag showed up, said hello, and informed me he’d be able to finalize the last part of the process while the teller waited on the machines.

As I made lame, early morning chit-chat with the teller, I noticed a lady on my left. She was possibly my grandmother’s age. She had a really tired wig on, a long flowery skirt and she wore very simple black shoes. She was also a woman who knew nothing about mascara, eye shadow or blusher. Her face was smooth, almost bare, she probably only used Vaseline. The only other thing she wore, were beautiful wrinkles on her forehead, neck and hands.

The lady was in a somber mood. She looked like she had a lot on her mind. I tried to imagine what it was: an ailing child at the Nairobi West Hospital? A husband who just passed away? Overdue school fees for a grandchild in secondary school?

The teller returned, asking how I’d been since he last saw me. I smiled and responded with the very brief and generic: “Alright, can’t complain. Yourself?”

I didn’t hear what his response was (rude). Immediately he started speaking, I turned back to the lady who was now making an enquiry with her teller. I wondered: did this woman have anyone to ask her how she was doing? Was there anyone at all?

I watched her receive Kshs 700 and slide them up from under the teller’s screen. Her face lit, if only briefly. She held the money with so much care. She counted each note and felt the very mechanics of their making. Then she folded them all in one half and put them in a tiny black paper bag. There, I noticed another look on her face, a look of absolute contentment.

I only had one question in mind after seeing this lady walk out of The Priory, what if her Kshs 700 was at Imperial Bank?  What if that’s all she had and needed and she couldn’t access it? With the government quiet, CBK in command and Imperial Bank closing shop indefinitely, what would she do?

Supposing she doesn’t have anyone close enough to ask her how her day is, where would she go and who would she ask, for another Kshs 700? Who would explain what a moratorium is and what receivership means? Who would make her fathom the fact that the very institution she entrusted with her Kshs 700 has now kept her from accessing it? How could anyone console her that Sir Patrick Njoroge is trying to fight the bad guys which unfortunately means temporarily harming the good guys?

You’re probably wondering, “But does Imperial Bank cater to people with only Kshs 700? Isn’t it an elitist bank?”

I don’t know. But watching the three Imperial Bank clients on Jeff Koinange Live the other day was heart wrenching to say the least, elite or not. Someone needs to make something happen and have that bank running again. And someone else, needs to put better mechanisms for damage control when such things happen.

Moral of the story? Call someone today, and ask them how they’re doing.

Yvonne Aol is a writer and freelance journalist. You can read more of her work herehttp://www.cottageaoll.com/