When ‘sweetheart’ costs a sale: Why professional language matters
A hawker displays Santa caps to motorists on Uhuru Highway ahead of Christmas celebrations.
What you need to know:
- A routine supermarket visit turns uncomfortable when a salesman uses an endearment instead of professional language, raising questions about courtesy, training and respect in customer service.
- Drawing from a second encounter on Nairobi’s Uhuru Highway, the piece shows how assumptions—about gender or language—can instantly cost a seller a willing buyer.
After the church service on Sunday, I passed by a supermarket to pick up a few things before heading home. Within a few minutes, I had picked whatever I needed and was wrestling with my inner child who wanted a packet of crisps. At that point, a salesman approached me with a confident smile.
Whenever I meet people promoting items—inside supermarkets, in malls, in public transport—I listen to them politely, as long as time allows. I even ask a few questions if I am intrigued enough. If for nothing else, to show them their work matters.
When the salesman walked towards me holding two items, I made a mental note to extend him my usual courtesy. I figured that would be a good distraction from buying snacks I did not need. That was until he opened his mouth and, in his greeting, said, “Niaje, sweetheart (Hi, sweetheart).”
I thought the words had come from somewhere in the air. I mean, I am used to catcalls on the streets and similar uncontrolled public spaces where such behaviour usually goes unaccounted for. But inside a supermarket, where everyone is assumed to be civil?
While he introduced the product he was holding, my brain was trying to understand what about me would have made a stranger—one trying to sell me a product—call me "sweetheart" instead of addressing me formally. Eventually, my brain managed to form words. I cut him mid-sentence, told him I was not interested in the product and walked away.
Sweetheart? There is a common assumption that women like it when they are called endearing names by random men they meet. I am here to categorically say that I am not one of those women. I have never met such women, and I do not even associate with women like that.
I cannot say for sure who is supposed to teach that particular salesman that he cannot walk around the supermarket calling strangers "sweetheart", especially when trying to sell them products. I do not know if school teaches these things. Is it possible for someone to go through basic education, from primary to high school, without learning how to courteously address strangers in formal contexts? Or is this something he should have learned during a peer mentoring session? My hunch is that it is something people learn from common sense.
One question kept ringing in my head after that encounter: do organisations train all their salespeople before sending them out to represent them and promote their products?
Once, while in my third year of university, I was heading home after class in Fannie's car. Fannie is my friend and was my classmate at the time. She was also easily my school mother; she made sure I had enough snacks before and after class, and often gave me lifts after evening classes.
That evening, the vehicle stopped in traffic on Uhuru Highway. We were busy chatting when a hawker approached the car. All windows were shut, but something about him had attracted Fannie, and she rolled down her window to buy one of the items and support the young man's hustle. As soon as she rolled down her window and motioned to him, the hawker launched into his mother tongue. For a mysterious reason, he assumed that both he and Fannie came from the same part of the country. Disappointed by that behaviour, Fannie said “asante” and rolled her window back up without buying. Just like that, he had lost a sale.
Back then, I did not understand Fannie's anger. By the time she turned to me and said, “Can you imagine!” I was deep in fits of laughter. But now, looking back at that moment and what happened to me on Sunday, I wonder why we sometimes willingly sabotage ourselves. What was so difficult about speaking in Swahili to a potential buyer, especially when trying to sell something on Nairobi's Uhuru Highway?
While such moments may seem small, they have the potential to shape how a brand is remembered. A careless word, an unnecessary assumption, or a misplaced familiarity can cost a sale. Professionalism is not a soft skill. It is a business imperative.
The writer is the Research & Impact Editor, NMG ([email protected]).
