Banks And Their Corporate Prostitutes

It has become very evident that there is now a flagrant uneagerness by the banking industry to attempt redeeming itself from the grave and obvious danger of sinking very low in the esteem of decent people. Today, most people are wont to draw parallels between female bankers and the nation’s swarm of unprincipled actresses, and between the banking industry and the scummy pond we call our home video industry. This is most unfortunate, because, before now, the hallowed precincts of the banks epitomized the cherished ideals of civility, responsibility, decency and scruples.

But we already know what to expect from Nigeria’s swarm of largely freewheeling actresses whose totally licentious quarters clearly provides very alluring incentives to become celebrated weirdoes. We can appreciate their desperation; a desperation born out of the thirst to, in so short a time, hit box-office success in a circle perennially plagued with aridity of clear imagination. And because society now has in excess voyeurs and men and women of obscene tastes, the tendency is to avoid the long tortuous trajectory of tasking the intellect to realize well-plotted drama, and relapse into the cold refuge of a filthy short-cut. The result is the unedifying sight of a bunch of actresses pulling off their dresses to feed the famished eyes of lustful men and even women.

Of course, I am told that these hare-brained strippers are the “real professionals”, accurately “interpreting” their roles. They are always quick to retort that they have the support of their parents and “pastors”. As if all these unrepentant flesh hawkers being periodically bundled back from Italy, or the bunch of over-bleached flesh that swoop on you like rapacious vampires as early as 6.30 pm once you apply the breaks almost anywhere in Lagos now, do not also have the support of their parents and “pastors.” If you ask me: there is no difference between all these categories of women, though some may appear more dignified than the others. Bare truth is: they are all using what they have to secure what they want.

That is why it must be painful exercise to many who are now forced to lump female employees of our banks among this utterly reprehensible pack. Sometimes, it is difficult to discern the real problem of women. One moment they are unambiguously proclaiming through their actions: Please, I am too cheap! With just a few dirty notes you can have all of me! Just for the asking! Then, the next moment, they are grumbling that men do not rate them highly. So, what are we really going to do?

But then the banking industry is the last place one would have expected to witness this malaise. It is difficult to visit any of these banks, especially, the so-called “new generation” variety, and not feel thoroughly disgusted. The other day, a friend went to one of these banks in Lagos, and was offered a seat by a merry, cheerful, flesh-advertising female employee. He turned down the gesture and instead offered to be attended to downstairs. When asked why, his reply was straight-forward: “I don’t sit with naked women!”

It is very painful that our banks would choose to achieve this very low descent in their blind pursuit of huge, foul, polluted profits. The way women, young and old, hop about in these banks with skimpy skirts that barely cover the pride of their womanhood, and blouses with necks cut low enough to rudely flaunt even sagging boobs, is most sickening. I am told that the more female flesh the banks expose, the fatter the deposits they are able to attract.

The other day, a staff of one of these banks came to my office to see a colleague on official matters. She might as well have not bothered to wear any skirt at all because the one she wore hardly covered anything. She was fair, very fair. She may also be said to be pretty. I am told that she is married with one or two kids. My colleague tried to ask her why it was necessary to appear that indecent. She tried to utter some blurred babble about company policy, corporate image, smart appearance, customer-impressing robes and all such gibberish. Her husband, she said, used to initially complain, but has since got used to it. Poor man, his wife probably picks most of the bills. Then my colleague tried to talk about God’s attitude towards such an outrageous, obscene appearance, but the lady snapped back: she is born-again; she worships with one of those Chapel of This or Cathedral of That, or This and That Assembly that populate every cranny of Lagos. Her Bible of course was in her handbag. I guess her “pastor” does not talk about Christ’s promise of a milestone being hung on people’s neck and they being dumped into the sea if they went ahead to seduce people into sin.

To be fair to the woman, she did confess that she does not really enjoy wearing those ungodly outfits, but then what would she do? She must keep her high-paying job. Well, the funds are rolling in, and, perhaps, the “pastor” is there giving an encouraging smile and some Satan-inspired rationalizations. And since the naïve husband at home is not complaining, why on earth then should the bird-brained doll of a woman allow any prick on her long seared conscience?

Indeed, that there are “pastors” today who encourage these obscene dressers can only vindicate the growing fear that the church has been overrun by totally degenerate men and charlatans, who congregate with like-minds to worship their god, which is certainly not the holy God that made the heaven and earth. New Generation Banks, New Generation ‘churches’! Talk of depraved beasts of the same hue constituting an incestuous family! But only God knows how many men that had to urgently visit the prostitute after ogling at these shameless, vulgarly dressed, corporate prostitutes? Only God knows the trouble they have caused to so many emotionally immature men. Indeed, their so-called pastors may not tell them this, but they must pay for this soon. Please, let’s not be deceived: the devil has populated the world with his children parading themselves as funky pastors. But the consolation, however, is that the fact that there are adulterated goods does not foreclose the abundant existence of the genuine ones.

It appears the banks are determined to take full advantage of their human (female) resources. I heard of a lady sent to “persuade” a chief executive to make a deposit in her bank. Though she was dressed in the usual “persuasive” attire, she still had vestiges of her morals intact. The chief executive was willing to make the deposit, but on one condition: she must let him probe beyond her mi

ni-skirt for a weekend at his hotel room.

But the lady thought this was unfair, shameful, in fact an insult. She reported back to her manager and expected an outrage against such an unholy demand. But the manager had a different opinion. Looking her straight in the eyes, he said: “I don’t know what you are talking about. But let not this bank lose that deposit. How you do it is entirely your business.” Of course the lady perfectly understood her manager. She also detected the veiled threat. And she did not want to lose her job either. Well, the end of the story is that her bank got that deposit. And the lady got a commendation and bonus! Do not ask me whether she is married to some unsuspecting fool somewhere. That is the rot, the decay, the stench, the slime that now go for banking policy and practice. And this lady is just one in, perhaps, a thousand cases, in which women are compelled to compromise their morals and marital fidelity, yes to hawk their bodies, to rake in huge profits into their bank’s vaults.

How can a nation sit still and watch some boardroom tin gods turn people’s wives and daughters into corporate prostitutes? Unfortunately, some ladies of loose morals who have found their ways into these banks are making it big? They are faring better than their counterparts who hang out in the evenings at Allen Avenue, swooping on every stopping car like a brood of vultures or desperate hawkers of sub-standard or contaminated wares. The corporate colour their bank ID cards give them enhances their asking prices. And so, as they are doing well for their banks, they are also doing well for themselves. And nobody is complaining. In fact, many seem to have metamorphosed from forced, conscripted victims to eager, solicitous whores. A whore is a whore, whether found in the hallowed precincts of a bank or at an unlit corner of a dingy street at Isale-Eko. They are united by their possession of the same qualities: cheapness, worthlessness, indecency and disposableness. Perhaps, somebody will tell me that this is feminism, and that these women are introducing a revolution that will make them rule the financial sector by wresting it from the domineering hands of men. Assuming they will not all become HIV-positive before achieving this feat, what with the now unassailable fact that condoms are no longer an effective protection against HIV/AIDS.

Now, I ask: can’t the few women who still have their morals intact organize themselves and say NO to this madness? Pray, is combating this progressive debasement of womanhood not more ennobling and urgent than all the noise and campaign for a woman president? Must the easiest way of becoming a corporate prostitute be to work in a new generation bank, where you could be sent once in a while to “persuade” one Chief Executive to deposit some huge sums in your bank? Now, assuming this Chief Executive is a woman, would these banks then send her a smashing young dandy to seduce her off her hard-line posture? Sometimes, when women complain about being treated disrespectfully by men, they often tend to forget they are even the ones who appear always eager to demonstrate to men that they might after all be too cheap, in fact, cheaper than “pure water“.

So, the real problem, sisters, is within, not without. Your worst enemy is not the man. You now know who SHE is!