by Eketi Edima Ette

Sometime in 2014, I had a week-long program to attend in Port Harcourt. I called ahead of time to confirm my booking at Hotel Presidential. When I arrived, I was tired and just wanted to get to my room and sleep.

As soon as I stepped through the doors, I was pulled aside by one of the security men and asked if I knew where I was going. I gave a tired smile and nodded. Then I went to the counter, gave my name, signed in, and collected my key card. As I turned to drag my box, I caught the look of surprise on the face of the security man who’d questioned me earlier. I thought nothing of it.

Three hours later, I came down for lunch in the restaurant. As I was returning to my room, another security guard stopped me at the lift and asked what I was doing in the hotel.
I was taken aback. As I made to ask him why he was questioning me, he saw my key card.

“Oh, sorry Ma. You can go,” he said.

I was irritated, but shrugged it off.

Later that night, a friend came over and we went out for pizza, then returned to the hotel together. We were almost at the lifts, when, completely ignoring the man I was with, this female security guard asked me to please step aside.

“What is it?” I snapped, annoyed. It was the look she gave me, like I was gutter scum or worse, tainting the air she was breathing.

“Who are you coming to see?” she barked, moving to block me from entering the lift.

“Excuse me?”

“Are you here to see someone? What are you doing here?”

“I stay here!“ I retorted, now really angry. Like seriously, was there a stamp on my forehead that said, ‘This one cannot afford a 50,000 naira room. Na ashawo she be. Ask her questions and then bounce her’?

She hissed. As in, she actually hissed. Lips turned down at the corners like she was talking to a piece of dirt.

“Show me your key card,” she ordered.

As this was happening, my guest had shifted to the side, and said nothing, an amused smile on his face.

At that point, my ears were literally emitting steam. I rummaged inside my purse, brought out the key card and showed it to her.

The transformation on her face was instant. It went from I-was-talking-to-a-rat to Madam-I-give-you-maximum-respect in nanoseconds.

“Ah, I’m sorry Ma. Please, you can proceed. Enjoy your stay at Hotel Presi…..”

“Ask him,” I said, cutting off her silly fawning.

“Ma?” she asked, with a befuddled expression.

I pointed at my male companion and said, “Ask him why he’s here, who he’s come to see and to show you his key card.”

“Ah, madam, there’s no need. He’s…,”

“A man, right?” I was shouting now. No more nice girl Eketi.

“Because he’s a man, you saw no need to ask him for proof of stay. But I’m a woman. I resemble ashawo for your eye. God forbid that I should stay in this place on my own dime. Abi? My friend, don’t waste my time here o. Ask him.”

“Madam, I’m sorry,” she said, looking down at her feet.

Me that now had a chance to transfer the annoyance from the previous guards, I kuku seized it. Besides, people were now staring.

Ah, the lobby became my stage. Camera. Action!

“Sorry for yourself! You people have been harassing me since I arrived here. Look, I have stayed in better hotels. You cannot treat me like this because I chose to stay in this tu-ke tu-ke overpriced place.“

“Madam, please. Please. Don’t be annoyed.”

“Young lady, you’re wasting our time. Ask him, or call your manager. I am not moving from this spot, until I speak to your manager. If this is how you treat women here, then it will stop today. What nonsense!”

She wringed her hands and begged. My friend stepped in and asked me to pardon her. I postured and played tough for a couple of minutes and then told her never to pull that stunt on any woman again.

“Even if your hotel has a policy against working girls, be polite. It won’t cost you anything to be polite and usher them out with a smile. Mtscheeew!”

*
*
You talk about an Abuja big girl, the first thing that comes to people’s minds is that she’s a commercial sex worker with a lucky break. Probably charmed one Alhaji or is warming the bed of one senator.

But when you talk about an Abuja big boy, people think of him as a hardworking man, who is making money through business or a white collar job.

Hello, Stereotypes.

Government offices.
They stop you at the gate and scrutinize your dressing. Give you this look, like you’re a mistress to someone or a runs girl looking for customers. Then they turn you away from the gates of the National Assembly, because according to them, you’re indecently dressed.

One time in Uyo, I was told I couldn’t see the governor’s aide, because I my skirt was an inch above my knees.
My friend was turned away because she was wearing trousers.

None of these jobless people were asked to do this by law, by-law or code. They just took it upon themselves.

????for???yourselves?? . As the custodians of morality and dress code that you are.

Ilsa Aida was not allowed to go into the immigration office by two female custom officers, because they considered her dress not to be long enough.

These are public officers who are being paid by tax payers to do their jobs. But they harass and turn away women on some perceived moral code.

The stupidity of it galls me.

Honestly, the things we face as women in this country is just…..a bag of abominations!

Op–ed pieces and contributions are the opinions of the writers only and do not represent the opinions of Y!/YNaija

Eketi Edima Ette is a writer. She can be reached on Twitter @Ketimay