The Loyal Customer

Inspired by a lunchtime conversation among colleagues, Andrea and I gave a crack at browsing through yet another personality profiling book. One of the traits that popped up in several of the categories was loyalty, and I found myself asking, would I consider myself a loyal friend? Is loyalty one of my strengths? What does loyalty look like anyway?

                                                                                          

As our minds have been shaped more and more by different languages and different cultures, there are increasingly more and more concepts in our minds that can only be truly captured by a non-English word. One such word is the Amharic word “dembenya.” We use it all the time, but if you'd asked me to translate it for you, I'd definitely have to take a rain check until finding time for further consideration. If you ask an Amharic speaker, they often translate it with “customer,” but something about that never sat well with me. A “dembenya” not just a customer, it is a LOYAL customer or a patron. When in Addis Ababa we always by our meat from the same butcher, a few paces back toward our house and you come across our regular chicken and fish store, followed by our hole-in-the-wall that sells milk and mobile phone cards, and lastly the fresh bread store. Keep in mind that most of these places have identical stores within walking distance, sometimes right across the street, but a true dembenya customer will never be caught dishonoring his/her loyalty. Being a loyal dembenya is supposed to come with its benefits as the shop owner will give you preferred treatment and when it comes to fruits and veggies, they give you the cream of the crop. It’s a win-win relationship, and one I very much enjoy.

 

I was reminded of the value of a dembenya relationship last week when we drove from Addis Ababa out to the countryside. You see, about 2.5 weeks prior, when driving into Addis Ababa, we stopped at a familiar restaurant in a city called Dejen. As soon as we walk in the door, everyone who remembers us from previous visits, greets us with a big smile and the very common half lament, half accusation, “T'afachu!” (translated: Hey you disappeared! – ie. we missed you). Well, as we ate our lunch that day, two large transport busses pulled up and the passengers filed out and into the tiny restaurant. In an effort to not be swallowed up by the masses, we quickly paid our bill and gave up our seats. Once back in the truck and down the road a bit, Andrea realized that she had left her Nalgene water bottle in the restaurant. No worries, we thought, we are dembenyas of that restaurant, if they find it, they will hold it for us.

 

And so, 2.5 weeks later, here we were travelling back through that area. We stopped for a cup of tea (a bit early for lunch this time) and sure enough, as soon as the “Hey you disappeared!” greetings were finished, and without our even asking, out came the now-dusty blue Nalgene bottle that we had inadvertently abandoned. We are loyal to them, they are loyal to us. It's really a beautiful network of relationships and one that I feel is rapidly dying back at home in America, where if you can manage to slip by the megastore greeter, you can shop and self-checkout without ever having to interact with an actual person.