He hung up on me before I could even finish my first sentence.
He was so convinced I was a scammer that he didn’t even give me a chance to explain. I just sat there staring at my phone, my heart racing, thinking, Did I really choose the wrong job?
Six months earlier, I was so excited to start this job. I was ready to speak to people, help them solve problems, and make a difference.
But that day, I went home wondering if I was really cut out for it.
What I didn’t know then was that moments like that would teach me one of the most important lessons about customer service: sometimes, people don’t need you to have all the answers. They just need you to listen, understand, and give them a reason to trust you.
“Retention Support Volunteer”? What does that even mean?
When I got the call that I’d been accepted as a Business Development and Innovations Directorate (BDID) Retention Support Volunteer, I did what any curious person would do: I Googled it.
The answer made me nervous. Calls to supporters. Maybe even face-to-face meetings. The introvert in me was screaming, and a little imposter syndrome had joined her.
The corporate side didn’t scare me, though. I had just finished employability training, and if I wasn’t ready, I’d fake it until I figured it out.
Nothing could have prepared me for my first day.
Day one: “Want to come along?”
After HR walked me through the paperwork that officially welcomed me into ActionAid, I met my line manager. I recognized her from my interview, and her big smile made me a little less nervous.
Then she said she was on her way out to drop off some letters. Did I want to come along?
I said yes.
And just like that, my first day became a road trip. We drove to two locations, one of them the Jerry Eze Foundation, and on the way, she gave me a clear introduction to the BDID and, more specifically, Community Sponsorship. That drive was my first real glimpse of what the job would involve.
I quickly realized this was not the desk job I had imagined.
It’s customer service in its truest form
Most people hear “retention support volunteer” and picture someone behind a desk, making calls and sending emails.
The reality is far more human.
When you call a supporter, you can’t speak to them the way you’d speak to just anyone. But if you’re too formal, you sound like a robot. You have to find the balance. You must listen. You have to read someone’s mood from their voice and adjust to friendly when they’re friendly and professional when they’re serious. And when you dial a number, you never know who is going to pick it up.
Most importantly, the goal isn’t just to ask. It’s to build trust, so that supporters understand what their gift has made possible and feel like true partners in the work.
Then comes the part no one warns you about: Rejection. Skepticism. Unexpected reactions. A click, and then silence.
That was what happened with the man who hung up on me. And that day taught me my first big lesson: never panic. Because I swear, they can smell your fear.
It also taught me something deeper. Behind every skeptical voice is a person who may have been burned before, who cares about where their money goes, and who deserves a clear, honest answer. I didn’t need a perfect script. I needed to listen, understand, and give him a reason to trust me. That is what good service really is.
Six months later
This role has taught me far more than how to talk to supporters. I’ve learned to communicate with all kinds of people, to be patient, to listen, to handle rejection, to adapt and, most of all, to believe in myself.
I’ve also met wonderful people along the way. I hear people talk about toxic workplaces all the time, but I’m happy to say I can’t relate. My manager and my director push me to do my best, while giving me the space to make mistakes, learn and grow. They encourage me to say yes to every learning opportunity, and that has made all the difference.
The role I was once so nervous about has become one of the experiences, I’m most grateful for.
To every supporter who has picked up my call
This Customer Service Week, thank you. Thank you for listening, for asking hard questions, for trusting us, and for the times you simply said, “Thanks for calling.” You are the reason this work matters.
So, that’s my little exposé. I still have a few pages left in this chapter, and I can’t wait to see what they bring.
WHERE IS AISHA?
A year ago, if you had asked where Aisha was at eight in the morning, the answer would have been simple: she was at home.
Aisha is eleven and lives in Garin Gunja, a community in Nangere Local Government Area of Yobe State. Until recently, she had never been to school. Not because she didn’t want to learn, but because the nearest school was more than three hours away on foot. For a child her age, a six-hour journey to school and back was simply impossible.
So while other children were getting ready for school, Aisha stayed home, helping her family within the farm and catering to her younger siblings. And she was not alone. Many girls in Garin Gunja were not going to school at all. For them, the distance to the nearest school had become a barrier to learning and to the opportunities that education can bring.
Their families wanted better for their daughters, but when a classroom is hours away, even the strongest hopes can struggle against the reality of everyday life.
Then ActionAid Nigeria, through its Local Rights Programmes and, built a school in Garin Gunja. For the first time, children in the community had a classroom just minutes from home.
On the day the school opened, many girls including Aisha walked into a school for the first time in their life. Aisha was eleven years old.
When we asked what the new school meant to her, with so much enthusiasm in her eyes she said, “now i can learn how to read and write, this means so much to me” her parents watched her and said, “this is an opportunity that we have been praying for, now our girls can learn to read, and write too.”
Today, Aisha is in school with over two hundred girls who will be stepping into a classroom for the first time in their lives. She sits in a classroom, learns with other children, and has a teacher in front of her. She says she wants to become a teacher, and for the first time, that dream has somewhere to begin.
There are thousands of Aishas across Nigeria, you may never meet them, but your support can.
Supports such as this through ActionAid Community Sponsorship help children like Aisha access education while strengthening communities so that more girls and boys can learn, grow, and build a future with choices.
Aisha is in school. Help us make sure the next girl is too.
Donate today.
By Annabel Ekama, Retention Support Volunteer, Community Sponsorship, ActionAid Nigeria