Oga! You Are Welcome!
The frail man standing before me extended his hand and spoke in a surprisingly heavy voice.
“Good morning, sir. You are welcome.”
The greeting was polite, but abrupt. I had not expected such a direct reception, and for a moment I struggled to gather myself. I hurriedly put on a smile, returned his greeting and followed him into a dimly lit conference room.
He pointed towards a chair and invited me to sit. The chair looked almost as fragile as my host, so I lowered myself carefully, afraid that any sudden movement might test its strength. Once seated, I turned towards him and offered my visiting card.
He accepted it without much interest. He did not offer me one in return.
Instead, he came straight to the purpose of our visit.
This was my first sales call of the day. Based on what I had been told, I had expected to walk into the impressive office of a large Nigerian media company. In my imagination, there would be a spacious reception, a polished conference table, branded walls and perhaps an assistant serving coffee while we prepared for the meeting.
The reality was entirely different.
The modest surroundings had unsettled me more than I cared to admit. The dim lighting, tired furniture and complete absence of corporate decoration did not match the image I had created in my mind. I found it difficult to concentrate on my presentation.
My sales colleague, who had accompanied me, seemed completely unaffected. He was at his eloquent best, confidently introducing us and speaking about the opportunity as though we were seated in the grand boardroom I had expected.
I, however, was still trying to reconcile appearance with reputation.
Nigeria had surprised me many times before. Businesses that appeared ordinary from the outside could command considerable influence, relationships and market power. Elaborate offices did not always indicate commercial strength, just as modest surroundings did not necessarily suggest weakness.
Yet this meeting felt different.
We had worked for several days to secure the appointment. I had been told that winning this account could open the entire media sector for our products and services. This was not merely another sales call. It was potentially the doorway to a new vertical.
When it was my turn to speak, I introduced my company and briefly explained the solution we had come to present. Almost immediately, I sensed that our host had little patience for the formalities.
“Can I have your brochure?” he asked. “We will study your product and get back to you very soon for a demonstration. My other colleagues will also like to attend the demo.”
His message was unmistakable.
We were welcome—but only for a few minutes.
I felt disappointed and slightly offended. We had spent nearly an hour fighting our way through the unpredictable Lagos traffic. We had prepared carefully, travelled with expectations and arrived ready to make a serious presentation. Surely, I thought, we deserved a better audience.
This is a familiar emotion in business. We invest time, energy and effort into securing an opportunity, and that investment quietly creates a sense of entitlement. Because we have prepared, we expect the customer to listen. Because we have travelled, we expect the meeting to last. Because we believe in our solution, we expect the prospect to be interested.
But the other person may be carrying a reality about which we know absolutely nothing.
I looked directly at my host. I was about to push harder, extend the conversation and rescue the meeting when something within me asked me to pause.
Years of interacting with customers had trained me to notice hesitation, resistance and discomfort. At first, I had interpreted his behaviour as impatience. Now, as I looked more carefully, I saw something else.
There was a thin, watery film over his eyes. It seemed ready to break at the edges. The veins in his eyes were red, and his face carried the strain of someone trying to contain intense pain. He was not dismissing us because our proposal lacked merit. He was struggling to remain present while his mind and heart were somewhere else.
His expression suddenly changed the entire meaning of the meeting.
A moment earlier, I had seen an uninterested prospect. Now I saw a human being in distress.
My heart began to race. I wanted to break the uncomfortable silence, but I did not know how. There are moments in business when no sales manual can guide you. You have to depend on observation, empathy and instinct.
I finally gathered the courage to speak.
“Sir, I understand that this may not be the right time for a business discussion. But I can see that perhaps you need some help. How can I help you?”
He moved slightly in his chair, and his eyes shifted.
At once, I worried that my question might be misunderstood. In some business environments, an offer to “help” can carry an entirely different meaning. He might think I was hinting at a favour, an inducement or even a bribe to keep the conversation alive.
I quickly clarified myself.
“Sir, do you need any medical help?”
The film in his eyes finally gave way. Tears began to form and roll down his cheeks. He composed himself almost immediately, but the barrier between us had broken.
For the first time, his eyes showed warmth.
“I have just received news that my child has been caught by the police for drug abuse,” he said. “I have to rush to the police station to resolve the matter. I am sorry I cannot meet you at length.”
His words struck me with unexpected force.
I had never encountered such a situation during a sales call. In a matter of seconds, my frustration disappeared. The brochure, the presentation, the traffic and the commercial opportunity all became insignificant.
Before me was not a prospect obstructing my sales process. He was a father in agony.
What moved me most was that he had still chosen to receive us.
He could have cancelled the appointment. He could have asked an assistant to turn us away. He could have left without explanation. Instead, despite the distressing news about his child, he had waited for us, greeted us and listened briefly because an appointment had been made.
His welcome was not warm in the conventional sense, yet it carried a deeper form of respect.
In Nigeria, the word “Oga” is often used to refer to a senior person, a respected figure or someone carrying responsibility. It can describe a boss, an elder, a provider or a person expected to take charge. That morning, however, I saw another side of the idea.
An Oga may appear strong because others depend upon him, but behind that public strength may be fear, helplessness and pain. Society often expects the patriarch or caregiver to remain composed. He must solve problems, protect the family and continue fulfilling obligations even when his own heart is breaking.
My host had controlled his emotions long enough to honour the time he had given us. His restraint was not indifference. It was responsibility.
This experience taught me something fundamental about influence.
We often associate influence with powerful words, persuasive presentations, impressive personalities and clever negotiation techniques. But some of the deepest influence begins with simple observation. It begins when we stop trying to control the conversation and start noticing the person in front of us.
The same principle applies in retail.
A customer who walks into a clothing store and rejects several fabrics may be labelled difficult. A salesperson may assume that the customer is wasting time or searching only for a discount. But perhaps he is choosing clothes for an important interview after months of unemployment. Perhaps he is buying a suit for a wedding that carries emotional significance. Perhaps he is spending carefully because the purchase is stretching his budget.
Understanding the emotion behind the purchase changes the quality of service.
Instead of rushing the customer, the salesperson may ask a thoughtful question: “What is the occasion?” That single question can transform a transaction into a relationship. It allows the salesperson to guide rather than pressure, and to influence through relevance rather than persuasion.
The same is true in corporate sales.
A prospect postponing a decision may not dislike the product. The company may be facing a cash-flow problem, an internal restructuring or a leadership crisis. A retailer refusing to increase inventory may not be resistant to growth; perhaps he has unsold seasonal stock or concerns about declining footfall.
When salespeople interpret every hesitation as an objection to be overcome, they risk pushing harder at precisely the wrong moment.
Influence does not always mean changing someone’s mind. Sometimes it means creating enough psychological safety for the other person to speak honestly. Sometimes it means postponing the sale. Sometimes it means leaving quietly and returning when the customer is ready.
Businesses often invest heavily in customer relationship management systems, analytics and automated communication. These tools are useful, but they cannot replace human sensitivity. A system may tell us when a customer last purchased, how much he spent or which proposal is pending. It cannot always tell us what burden he carried into the meeting that morning.
The most influential people are often those who can read what has not been said.
As I walked out of the office, my mind was no longer occupied by the lost sales opportunity. I was thinking about the father we had just met and the extraordinary control with which he had managed his grief.
My colleague hurried to catch up with me. “Sorry, sir,” he said. “This meeting could not be fruitful.”
I did not reply.
From a conventional sales perspective, he was correct. We had not completed our presentation. We had not scheduled the demonstration. We had not moved the opportunity forward.
But for me, the meeting had been profoundly fruitful.
I had entered expecting to influence a business decision. Instead, I had been influenced by a human experience.
That morning reminded me that every office contains private struggles, every customer carries an unseen story, and every business conversation takes place within a larger human life.
Sometimes the greatest success in a meeting is not winning the account. It is recognising the moment when business must step aside and humanity must enter.
We had been welcomed for only a few minutes. Yet the lesson stayed with me for a lifetime.
