I’ve come to the conclusion that our education system owes us an explanation.
There are simply too many things they insisted we memorise that have contributed absolutely nothing to my adult survival.
For example, why did I spend precious classroom hours learning the body parts of a grasshopper? I knew the thorax before I knew how taxes worked. I could identify a panzi’s antennae with confidence, but nobody prepared me for the emotional gymnastics of politely asking someone to release money that already belongs to me.
If you ask me, there should have been an examinable subject called Advanced Kubembeleza Studies. Not the romantic kind of kubembeleza. Please. I’m talking about the professional version. The one where your rent, electricity, internet bundle and peace of mind all depend on how well you can follow up without sounding like you’re accusing someone of stealing your inheritance.
This subject would have covered important topics like How to Remind Someone for the Fourth Time Without Looking Annoying.
Or The Difference Between Following Up and Harassment.
There would definitely be a whole chapter dedicated to decoding corporate language.
“We’ll revert.”
“When time allows.”
“It’s being processed.”
My personal favourite? “Noted.”
Noted where? In your diary? Your dreams? Your ancestors’ meeting minutes?
And don’t even get me started on “By end of day.”
Nobody tells you whose day they’re talking about. Yours? Theirs? End of which day? Because some people’s “end of day” clearly arrives three Thursdays from now.
Then comes the masterpiece.
“We’re working on it.”
Fantastic. I’d also like to work on my landlord’s rent. Unfortunately, he has this outdated belief that “working on it” should eventually become actual money.
Now, before the finance and accounts people start drafting a strongly worded email, hear me out.
This isn’t Finance versus the rest of us.
Finance is one of the most important departments in any organisation. Without them, salaries wouldn’t be paid, suppliers would revolt, and the lights might literally go off.
But here’s the thing: without everyone else, there wouldn’t be any money to process in the first place.
Someone had to win the client.
Someone had to write the story, close the sale, organise the event, design the campaign, shoot the video, answer the customer, or spend sleepless nights delivering the project.
The invoice that lands on your desk isn’t a favour waiting to happen. It’s the final chapter of work that has already been done.
So sometimes I wish payment processing came with the same urgency as the deadline everyone else had to meet.
Because when the editorial team misses a deadline, everyone notices.
When sales misses a target, everyone notices.
When operations drop the ball, everyone notices.
But when payments take weeks longer than they should, suddenly we’re all expected to become motivational speakers.
“Please bear with us.”
My landlord has never once asked me to bear with him.
Neither has TANESCO.
Nor the internet provider.
Nor the supermarket cashier.
The people I’m talking about aren’t villains, by the way. Most of them are lovely human beings. They smile. They greet you warmly. They even ask how your family is doing.
Then they proceed to ignore your invoice with Olympic-level consistency.
These are the same people who can approve your payment, sign off your invoice, or press whatever mysterious button releases that glorious muamala notification we’ve all been refreshing our banking apps for.
And somehow you’re expected to chase them with grace.
Too many reminders and you’re labelled impatient.
Too few reminders and everyone assumes you don’t really need the money.
One exclamation mark? Aggressive.
Too many smiley emojis? Desperate.
Call them? Bold.
Don’t call? Forgotten.
It’s a delicate performance worthy of an Oscar.
At this point, I genuinely believe diplomacy should be a compulsory life skill. Forget quadratic equations. Teach us how to write a follow-up message that says, “Hello, just checking in,” while secretly screaming, “Please… my bills have started holding family meetings.”
Because adulthood isn’t about using Pythagoras’ theorem.
It’s about mastering the fine art of professionally asking for what you’ve already earned… and somehow ending every message with, “Kind regards.”
