“Enter, Sharp-Sharp.”

The other day, on board a commercial bus – one of those luxury ones that charge you extra for air conditioning and leg room comfort – for Port Harcourt, the driver stopped over at a very popular food-stop along the Benin-Ore road after a three hours drive.

We all alighted and I quickly dashed off for the toilet to do the easy number. But when I got near the entrance to the loo, the queue of women panting to pee was so long I thought for a moment I must be on the wrong queue. But I wasn’t. Without getting into one of those pensive moods that tends to heightens one’s frustrations by concentrating on the seeming challenge in front of me, I decided to focus my attention on the women ahead of me looking at anything about them I found interesting: hairstyles, shoes, handbags, accessories, dress type and, styles.

But while doing this, a voice kept pestering my thoughts. It kept saying “Enter, sharp sharp; No waste time.” Then I heard again, “Quick, Quick. No waste time; others are waiting.”

The vocal riffs began first in a suggestive tone. Afterwards, with each repetition, the voice and delivery changed from persuasion, to admonishment then to a happy voice. As if abandoning the riffs, the vocalist then bursts into a religious song that seems to uplift her mien and tone.

To my surprise, I noticed unlike my previous experience at this same food-stop, the queue actually moved faster and promptly. The women didn’t muck about neither did the children dilly-dallied as I’ve often witnessed in the past.

Finally it got to my turn and when I entered through the door, I saw a short dark lady who looked like she was in her mid twenties with beautiful corn-rows on her hair, a mop in one hand and a small bucket in another cleaning and squeezing out the dirty water she had mopped from the mud stained floor; cajoling and reprimanding at the same time with a calm disposition that suited her no-nonsense attitude to do her job. This was the first time I had actually encountered a young woman about her age in Nigeria who treated such a manual labour as if it was an extraordinary job to do.

Trust me, these types of workers don’t have a fantastic monthly take-home pay. And the typical attitude of those who are employed for this kind of work is generally one of despondence and sometimes an aggrandised self importance – as though saying “I’m not actually here doing this job and you didn’t see me.”

This was different. The young woman did not carry any of those airs at all. Instead she epitomised the adage: there’s dignity in labour – which is the true definition of what a capitalist is – one who takes pride in his job by providing others a need or service they cannot get elsewhere.

And guess what happened next?

Almost all the women on the queue as soon as they were done with their business dipped their hands into their pockets, purses or wrappers to give the young woman a tip. By the time I calculated the number of tips she received before I added mine to it, she’s already made over N500 within minutes!

That was when it struck me: women actually do support one another when the reasons are damn obvious rather than shrouded. In other words, women can vote for other women if they have complete confidence and trust in another woman who is not only competent at her job but who knows how to communicate effectively!

In other words, how successful you are is dependent on how effective your communication is. It is not about throwing your weight around but leading by example because you believe in what you’re doing and people just believe you because they can both feel and see it.

This implies that your job may not be the type that automatically brings smile to your face but your disposition to that job can be the only difference that brings to your face the kind of smile that every kobo that gets into your pocket can only bring; all because you do your job well, have a great sense of work ethics and a healthy dose of self-assurance.