Corporate ‘Scam’ from South Africa: How We Escaped Hemingway’s Entrapment, Enslavement

Biodun Duro/

It all started on Wednesday, October 9, 2013. I visited the Ikeja Shopping Mall, popularly called Shoprite, at Alausa in Lagos, Nigeria. My main purpose was to meet with a friend. While waiting for him, I decided to look around the shops. I ended up buying some T-shirts and jean trousers at Wrangler.

On arrival, I noticed some standing banners on the veranda of the mall just before the revolving door. The banners were announcing a promo, to the effect that if you buy items worth N25, 000 in a single shop, you qualify to take part in a raffle draw for which the grand prize is an all-expense paid trip abroad for you and your family.

After the brief meeting with my friend, we parted, and I headed for the car park, carrying the items I bought in a Wrangler-branded polyethene bag.

A guy wearing a T-shirt branded in the colours and with the logo of Hemingway’s Safaris Africa Limited, a sort of travel agency, said that I had qualified to take part in the promo and that he wanted to take my details in a form. He asked for my name, whether I was married, whether I had ever been abroad, and my phone number and email address.

I had wanted to dismiss him, given my previous encounters with similar travel agency marketers at shopping malls, petrol stations, airports, and the like. But I listened and supplied my details to him because the said promo was purportedly in conjunction with Ikeja Shopping Mall/Shoprite. I even asked the guy whether their own was a sister company to the Mall, owned by the same people. He was vague in his response. But at that stage, I wasn’t suspicious any more. He had already taken my details. He even gave me a tear slip, bearing a number, to keep. I left the place convinced I had entered a draw and stood a chance of winning.

Now, move over to scene two. On Tuesday, October 29, 2013, at about 11 am, I got a call from one ‘Olaitan’ of Hemingway’s. This is where the real fraud and entrapment by these deceptive and evil corporate marketers begins.

He asked whether I entered a draw at Shoprite, in Ikeja, to win a trip abroad with my family. When I said yes, he congratulated me. He said I was one of the 12 lucky winners, out of 8,000 who participated in the draw. That I and my family could now choose to travel to one of the following destinations: Mexico, the Dominican Island Republic, Turkey, Kenya or South Africa.

He said for him to be convinced I am the real person who has won; I’ll have to answer a few questions. He then proceeded to ask the same questions the guy asked me at the mall. I gave him the same answers. He was just saying ‘beautiful’, and ‘beautiful’ to each of the answers as they corresponded with the ones he had. I was convinced I had won. He then asked whether he could have my wife’s number. I gave him.

I called my wife to break the good news to her and told her to expect the guy’s call.

I was in front of my friend’s office, parking when the call came through. I was so excited that I broke the news to him immediately after I entered his office. He was sceptical, given that he had a similar experience about four years ago. But I assured him this was different, that I took part in a draw. And that the caller said I would not need to pay one naira. He accepted the explanation and became happy for me.

‘Olaitan’, the evil marketer, had also told me that I had to come to their office with my wife the next day, a Wednesday, either at 9:30 am or 1:00 pm. That was why I gave him my wife’s number. It never occurred to me that a corporate organisation could drag husbands and wives to their offices during peak business hours just to entrap and then enslave them.

When I got home, my wife and I discussed our good fortune and looked forward to the next day, eager to claim our prize.

The same day, later in the night, I got an SMS on my phone Hemingway’s, saying that I and my wife were being expected the next day. I didn’t read the text in detail until much later when I was entrapped. I guessed all that was in my brain was what the devil known as Olaitan told me and my wife. I felt they had invited the press to cover the prize presentation ceremony, hence the invitation during working hours and in the company with my wife.

With the benefit of hindsight, the text was sent to provide Hemingway’s a ‘defence’, against accusations of being a fraudster. In the SMS, they also said “We have a membership club, but there is no obligation 2 join. www.hsanigeria.com Confirm via SMS to ESTHER 08075891584.

The next day, Wednesday, October 30, as early as 7 am, I got a text on my phone. ‘Rise and shine! See you and your spouse at HEMINGWAYS today….. By 9:45 am PROMPT (ESTHER – 0807589158)’. At that point, I started suspecting they could be up to some tricks. But still, Olaitan said we don’t have to pay one naira, and that we are one of the 12 winners, out of the 8,000 who participated.

I had cancelled some appointments and rearranged my day to be at their office with my wife at the appointed time. By 9:10 am, I got a call from someone in Hemingway’s asking where we were. I said we were on our way; that we would be on time.

Being someone who knows what it takes to get guests and dignitaries to the venue on time on the day of your event, I felt the call was to ensure we wouldn’t be the one to keep the show from taking off on time.

Now, to scene three: On getting to their office, the 3rd floor of the LCCI Conference and Exhibition Centre, along Nurudeen Olowopopo Drive, behind MKO Gardens, Alausa, we saw other couples who were also invited. They were sitting to the right and left of a big reception area, filling out a short form. We walked to the receptionist, after ascertaining that we were invited, gave us the form to fill in our names, addresses, telephone numbers and email.

It was later that I realised that this data would be entered into their system so that no attempt would ever be made again by them to entrap and enslave, because, after their first encounter with you, you are either hooked or recognise them for the evil they represent.

By 10 am, each couple was called into a presentation room with smiles and a warm handshake by an ‘entrapment marketer’ assigned to them. We were assigned to Gbemi (Surname withheld). There are two presentation rooms, one each to the right and left of the reception area.

Soft calypso and holiday music were playing.

At this point, it dawned on me and my wife that there would be no grand presentation ceremony. Still, the atmosphere was cool. And we were in the office of a ‘big’ company which was occupying the whole third floor of the building.

The seats were arranged eatery style. There is a centre table, with two seats on one side facing two others on the opposite side. My wife and I sat on the side facing the presentation area, while Gbemi, the marketer assigned to entrap us, sat facing us. She started a conversation with us, asking mundane questions. My wife was already tunning off, even from that point.

After a while, the volume of the music was turned down. Then a lady started a presentation. She welcomed us. She said she had good news and bad news, and asked which would we like to hear first.

I noticed that from the very first minute, the whole hall took on a gay, happy mood. Two couples seem very happy and joked a lot with the presenter. Later, after going through the whole scam, I kept thinking they must have been planted amongst the rest of us to condition our behaviour and thinking.

The lady presenter decided to start with the bad news. Each of us would get our ‘gift certificates’ after a 90-minute presentation. Those who couldn’t wait for the presentation could leave. They would be escorted out.

Now, the good news: All couples who wait will get their ‘gift certificates’ after the presentation. However, couples who join the ‘Club’ will get better gifts than those who do not.

I expected a riot. We were called to come with our spouses to collect ‘prizes’ won in a draw, but within a twinkle, this has turned into ‘gift certificates’. We were made to abandon our work/offices during peak business hours and persuaded to come with our spouses. Now, we were being told that if we could not wait for a 90-minute presentation we could just leave.

Before the news could sink in with the rest of us, those couples I suspected were planted amongst us had cracked jokes and made comments that liven up the room. So, the lady presenter continued, introducing Hemingway and their South African partners, The Vacation Group (TVG) club.

She told us the several ‘benefits’ of the club. That it is a way to get away with your family to nice locations every year at a fraction of what it would cost you if you were not a member. She didn’t tell us that the club would more or less determine when you can travel, and there are several hidden charges. This became apparent to my wife and me after we had made a financial commitment, as no one gets a copy of the rules of the club, and the other terms until after making a payment.

To join, she said one had to pay ‘X’ amount as a one-off membership fee, and then N60,000 annual membership subscription. She ended her presentation by saying each couple would have the ‘X’ revealed to them by their marketer.

At this stage, it was clear to us that the ‘X’ would be heavy. She also told us that there were already 12,000 members in Nigeria, far more than the numbers in South Africa and Kenya where the club started operating before coming here. This means that Nigerian members collectively were paying N720 million every year as subscription fees.

Our own ‘marketer’ couldn’t reveal our ‘X’ to us. After we opted for ‘Gold’, a 10-year one-bedroom family holiday plan, she called a ‘manager’ who said she was a Kenyan when I asked about her accent.

The Kenyan said our ‘X’ was N1, 351, 500. If we were to take advantage of becoming a ‘chartered member’ by signing up there and then, we’d get an instant 20 per cent discount. This would bring it down to N1, 081, 200. She added that a payment plan could be arranged based on this. However, if we are to pay our ‘X’ as seated, there and then, we would get a further discount, and this would bring it down to N878,425.

We settled for a payment plan. We were to make a payment of N110,000 there and then, and pay the balance of N971,500 in 18 months of N53,956 monthly instalments.

At that stage, the subscription package containing the Club rules, and other terms and conditions documents were yet to be handed over to any of the couples.

Each couple was then conducted round photo boards on walls around the room, and three lists of supposed members of the club on big wall plaques. On one of the lists was the name Reuben Abati, who is the Senior Special Adviser to President Jonathan on Media and Publicity. For me, this ‘member’ was the hook. I told myself that if Dr Abati could be a member, this club must be something.

The photo boards were nothing spectacular. The few families featured – not up to five – didn’t seem to be having the kind of fun expected in exotic resorts. There were many ‘non-couple’ families: Men with children, and women with children.

We went back to our seats. A couple or two walked out at this stage. Then a man called our attention and another presentation began. What he did, basically was to convince us that with the payment of our ‘Xes’ and annual subscriptions, each of us would be getting about 10 times more value compared with travelling to these places with our families without being club members.

I asked Gbemi whether we could still come back in six months and benefit from the discount available to ‘charter members’.

She called another manager. He told us that forever and ever, till thy kingdom come, we could not. That right there and then was our only chance. That our names had already been entered into their database and that even if we had to fly to their office in South Africa the next day, we would not be able to; that we either make a commitment payment there and then or forfeit the opportunity.

I had warned my wife to avoid situations like this, whereby one is required to make an instant payment or commitment or the opportunity would be lost. Usually, such deals are scams. Still, my alarm bell didn’t ring. I felt if Dr Abati, a first-class brain could be a member, then it would be worth it.

Meanwhile, some of the ‘marketers’ had started announcing signing up by their couples.

Looking back, I strongly suspect that the first two of such announcements were of the couples planted amongst us.

Eventually, my wife and I decided to make an initial payment of N40,000 out of the N110,000 expected of us at that sitting. We promised to pay the balance N70, 000 latest by November 15. I brought out my ATM card, they brought their POS terminal and I paid. Then, and only then, were we given the documentation containing the club rules, ‘New Membership Application Declaration’, and other documents. Included was also our ‘gift certificate’. This was the prize we were told we had won.

The certificate entitles us to five nights at a resort in Kenya (or three nights in South Africa; or seven nights in Australia, the Dominican Republic, Mexico, Canary Islands or Thailand), bed only for a maximum of four people. We are to pay for our air tickets and feed ourselves during our stay.

What is more, we have to use the ‘gift’ within six months, and we must give them a month’s notice before the time we want to use it. And we CANNOT travel during ANY public holidays and school holidays, while our specified destination could be changed. We could have been taken to Australia even if we had requested for South Africa.

It wasn’t until we got home that we discovered all of these, as we had to hurry out to meet other appointments, given that it was a workday.

Later that night, after going through all the documents, we concluded that the whole set-up was nothing short of being a scam. We were alarmed that, apart from the conditions in our gift certificate, which would apply to all our travelling plans with the club, we would be required to pay the N60,000 annual subscriptions for the year 2014 by December 31, 2013. If not, by January 1, 2014, we would have incurred a 20 per cent penalty and it would become N72,000. If we don’t pay until March 1, it becomes N84, 000, by May 1 N96, 000, by July 1 N108, 000 and by September 1 N120, 000. If we don’t pay, we forfeit membership and the ‘X’ we had paid. Tell me, if this is not enslavement, what is it?

At this stage, we felt we had been conned and decided to take advantage of a fine print in one of their documents that one could write for a refund within three days of making payment.

That was what we did. And we told them what we thought of them, that they were nothing short of fraudsters. I had to go to their office for the next two days before they coughed out our money. Of course in those two days, other couples who had ‘won’ had been invited. And Hemingway’s Safari Africa’s entrapment and enslavement game continued.