Tears at the Automated Teller Machine (ATM): My Bitter Experience

The Nigerian banking hall is one place you do not want to have to visit, especially when you have a complaint to resolve. The queue is usually demoralizing, and at some point, you would wish you could just find a less troubling alternative. Personally, I dread entering the banking hall here in Nigeria because of the queue and bureaucracy attached, and thus, I ensure I have my Automated Teller Machine (ATM) cards for the accounts I hold.

Online bank transactions have reduced my need to enter the banking hall, as I am able to execute my transactions (including bank loans) without the need to enter the bank.

My high school was in Suleja, though I am a resident of Ilorin, Kwara State. It was a boarding school, yet I had some allowance to leave school after taking an exit permit. Back in 2008, I had occasion to enter Abuja, the capital city of Nigeria. I have never lived in Abuja, and the structure of the city can disorient anybody who is not familiar with the terrain of the city.

However, I entered the city as a stranger. The good thing about Abuja is that you can always ask your way around. Nonetheless, it was not easy meandering through the traffic and routes in Abuja. I was pursuing an embassy program, hoping to write the Scholastic Aptitude Test (SAT) to study abroad. This was the main reason that took me to the beautiful Abuja city. Along the way, I took my school son’s ATM card to make a withdrawal at the bank in Abuja.

After a long day and hours spent under the hot sun in Abuja, I approached an ATM to make my withdrawal. This was the moment I wished the ground would open up and swallow me. The ATM card I inserted into the machine got swallowed up. I had two troubles that ravaged my mind: the ATM card was not mine, and I was in a strange land. "What was I going to tell my school son?" I thought to myself. ATMs were not rampant or easy to retrieve compared to now. Having a bank account was not common, especially among young people.

The first thing I did was sit down at the bank's entrance and have a free flow of premium tears. It was a double tragedy for me because I did not achieve my purpose at the embassy, and yet, a third party’s ATM got swallowed up in a city that I was not familiar with. It was already evening, and I needed to return to Suleja, which was about an hour's drive away. I approached the security and explained myself. I pleaded further, but hope was far-fetched. The situation got worse because I had used the ATM card at a bank different from the one that issued it. My dad knew the bank’s zonal manager back in Ilorin, and I thought of calling him to influence the release of the ATM card, but the security staff made me realize that the call would be made between the zonal manager in Ilorin and that in Abuja. At that moment, I knew even security men could wield significant power. Eventually, I abandoned the option of involving my dad, who did not even know I had stepped out of school.

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I made my way to the bank where the ATM card belonged and disclosed my ordeal to the security man there. He sympathized with me and told me to come back after two days to attempt to get the ATM, with the condition that I would not disclose to the bankers that the ATM belonged to someone else. That gave me some hope, and I returned to Suleja. That very day, I was humble, scared, depressed, and a bit hopeful.

My joy knew no bounds when my school son brought out the ATM card’s details issued alongside the card when he got it. It was an envelope that contained his credentials, and that was what I needed to claim the ATM card from his bank.

"My ATM card got swallowed up two days ago, and I am here to retrieve it." I told the Bank staff I met at the customer care desk two days later, early in the morning. I had made another trip to Abuja with the sole aim of claiming the ATM card. ATM cards swallowed up are usually sent to bank branches bearing the ATM.

"What is your name?" The front desk officer asked.

"David Akinsanya," I said, looking straight into her eyes unflinchingly and handing over the ATM card’s details my school son handed over to me. I was not ready to expose my impersonation to the banker. She picked out a few cards and checked. Luckily, she saw the card bearing the name and handed it over to me after I signed a register on her table.

Immediately after I stepped out of the bank, my heart race normalized from its previous erratic beats after breathing in the air of relief. I returned to Suleja immediately and handed over the ATM card to my school son, who perhaps did not understand the travails I underwent due to his card in a city I was not familiar with. I was grateful, and since then, I have stayed clear of third-party ATM cards that are not for my relatives.

Thank you for reading. I would love to have your comments and contributions.

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