Every October, service organizations across the world celebrate Customer Service Week; a time to appreciate customers and recommit to better service. In theory, it is a noble idea. In Nigeria, however, it is little more than an annual carnival of deceit, a week where hypocrisy wears a smile, incompetence wears a suit, and every organization suddenly remembers the word “customer.”
Since Monday, Nigerian banks, telecom giants, and public agencies have flooded social media with flowery messages: “We appreciate you!”, “You’re our heartbeat!”, and “We value your loyalty!” Beautiful words, but Nigerians know better. Our daily encounters with these same service providers tell a different story, one of neglect, arrogance, inefficiency, and, frankly, exploitation.
Let us start with the banks. They never fail to roll out glossy adverts and emotional videos, thanking customers for their “trust.” Yet, these are the same institutions that keep customers standing for hours in suffocating halls, treat complaints like irritations, and debit accounts for failed transactions. They freeze accounts without notice, hide behind faceless Chatbots, and act as though doing you a favour. But come October, they suddenly find the language of love. If irony were a currency, Nigerian banks would be the richest in the world.
Telecom companies are another set of expert pretenders. Nigerians load ₦2,000 data and watch it vanish faster than a political promise. Network signals drop mid-call, SMS messages arrive days late, and data mysteriously expires long before its due date. Yet these same operators, guilty of chronic inefficiency, parade hashtags like “#CustomerFirst” and “#WeCare”. Care? About what exactly? Nigerians now measure their data in minutes, not megabytes. Still, they are fed cupcakes and hashtags in the name of appreciation.
Then there are the government agencies, the real comedians in this charade. From passport offices to electricity distribution companies (DisCos), everyone now pretends to “celebrate customers.” The irony is thick. These are the same places where Nigerians queue for hours under the sun, only to be barked at by rude officials or told to “come back next week.” Some cannot even fix basic billing errors, yet they proudly hang banners declaring, “We’re here to serve you.” Serve who?
Let us be honest: the culture of service in Nigeria is dead, and Customer Service Week is simply the annual burial ceremony. Most organizations do not understand that service excellence is not a seven-day show but a 365-day responsibility. In serious nations, customer satisfaction is not a department, it is a corporate culture. It reflects in staff attitude, response time, transparency, and empathy. However, in Nigeria, customer service is just another title on an organogram, a department run by people who are frustrated, underpaid, and often more helpless than the customers they are supposed to help.
That is why the average Nigerian no longer takes Customer Service Week seriously. The same organizations that ignore complaints for months suddenly flood timelines with thank-you messages. The same electricity company that bills you for darkness now calls you “a valued customer.” It is a joke, and not even a funny one.
Real customer service requires honesty, empathy, and accountability. None of which Nigerian service providers are willing to invest in. They prefer photo ops to performance, hashtags to hard work, and empty appreciation to actual improvement. Customer Service Week, for them, is simply a PR opportunity, an exercise in public deception wrapped in colourful balloons and hollow smiles.
In addition, where are the regulators? Sleeping, as usual. Consumer protection in Nigeria is as weak as a melted candle. The agencies that should defend customers have been reduced to noise-making units that occasionally “warn” offenders but rarely act. It is this lack of accountability that allows service providers to continue serving Nigerians with arrogance. They know there are no consequences.
This week should have been a time for sober reflection, not shallow celebration. A moment to confront the uncomfortable questions: Are we really listening to our customers? Do we act on their feedback? Are our systems transparent? Are our staff trained and respected enough to show respect in return? Have we earned the loyalty we are busy celebrating?
Unfortunately, few organizations in Nigeria are ready for that honesty. They prefer the illusion of progress to the hard work of reform. They want the applause without the performance. However, the Nigerian customer is not fooled. We have endured too much incompetence to be swayed by banners and balloons.
Customer Service Week, as practiced here, has become the corporate equivalent of “thoughts and prayers.” It is easy to say, looks good in pictures, but changes nothing. Nigerians do not need poetic appreciation; they need working systems, responsive call centres, reliable networks, and fair treatment. Until that happens, every “thank you” this week rings hollow.
The irony is that Nigerian service providers know exactly what they should do. They have attended the seminars, hired consultants, and written handbooks. They just do not care enough to apply them. It is easier to print branded T-shirts than to fix broken systems. Easier to share cupcakes than to issue refunds. Easier to stage a celebration than to earn one.
Let us call it what it is: Customer Service Week in Nigeria is lipservice week. A performance staged by institutions that have mastered the art of public deception. Until service becomes a genuine, year-round value, not a one-week performance, this charade will continue.
Therefore, as the banners come down and the hashtags fade, one truth remains unshakable: the real celebration will begin only when Nigerian service providers stop pretending to care, and actually start caring. Until then, Customer Service Week will remain what it has always been, a noisy ritual of lipservice in a nation where true service has gone missing.
