Dear Asyana, Your Space Is Gorgeous… But My Mandazi Was Missing

 

 

Yesterday, I decided to change my ambience and take coffee in one of those charming spots with stunning spaces and a soothing atmosphere. Since Asyana is just within our neighborhood, I went with a friend in the evening after a long day of writing emails and pushing papers.

Now, knowing there were kids waiting at home, I could not possibly walk in empty-handed—especially not with Ray in the house. She would have been all over me, wondering why Patricia came home with nothing. So I passed by Cleanshelf and picked up two packets of mandazi they absolutely love. I tucked them into my backpack alongside my ever-present laptop, always ready for those spur-of-the-moment thoughts.

Asyana is truly beautiful—one of those places that makes you exhale differently. For a while now, my friend and I have had a habit of frequenting upper-floor spots, sipping endless mugs of tea in the company of monied meat-sellers. But this time, we decided to switch things up. From the paved walkways to the perfectly lined archways and blooming palm trees, everything about the place felt well thought out and inviting.

I noticed they had recently launched a new wing with co-working spaces, which instantly caught my eye. I mean, give me a laptop and some Wi-Fi and I am good to go.

At the gate, the friendly security team asked to check my bag. The moment the guard saw a bottle of water and my two packets of mandazi, she gently informed me that outside food was not allowed. I asked—ever so politely—why I had to leave them behind, especially since I had no intention of opening them at dinner. But I was not in the mood for a back-and-forth, so I complied. I quickly drank my water (no way I was going to leave that behind), handed over the mandazi, watched her bag them in a larger paper bag, scribble my name on a slip, and store them.

We spent the sunset hours lost in easy banter and soft laughter, admiring the beauty of well-invested cash. The service was slower than expected, especially since the place was not packed, but we were in no rush.

As the evening deepened, we decided to explore a few of the cottages—my friend often hosts conferences and was curious about the space. Coincidentally, the cottages were right where I had left my mandazi.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, here is where the story flips. I asked for my bag. The shift had changed. The lady was gone. Two male security guards were now on duty. I asked again, and they retrieved the bag—but here is the kicker: the bag had been opened, and one of the packets of mandazi had clearly been tampered with. Someone had helped themselves.

Can you imagine? 😳

For a moment, I was not sure how to react. Dismay spread across my face as the guards acted completely unbothered. I stared at the packet, wondering if I was dreaming or had somehow been transported back to primary school—where kids pinched your food and acted like it never happened.

Anyone who has ever bought these mandazi knows the packet normally holds about 8 or 9. But here I was, handed a packet with four—four!—and a large tear on the side.

Part of me wanted to laugh, but another part of me was boiling with silent fury. I felt emotional, unsettled, and honestly, a little violated. The lady showing us the cottages tried to calm me down, asking me not to get angry—but really, WTH? Who does that?

I placed the half-eaten packet on the table, told them they could help themselves, bagged the untouched one, and walked off—utterly disappointed.

For the rest of the walk through the cottages, I was in a daze. I could not even appreciate the beautifully designed rooms or their elegant décor. I mean, I am still trying to wrap my head around the fact that, despite calling the hotel multiple times, no one has responded. No apology. No explanation. No accountability.

And that, for me, is the bigger issue. It is no longer just about a torn packet of mandazi—it is the silence, the disregard, the feeling that customer experience can be so casually dismissed.

There is an adage: You seal the hole or sink the ship. And right now, the hole is gaping.

I still have residue emotions—frustration, disbelief, a little sadness. What amplifies it is the nonchalant attitude of the management. Honestly, even a simple apology would have gone a long way. Just a sign that someone, somewhere, cared enough to ensure it does not happen again.

I am not happy. Some places are beautiful—but also chaotic. And that chaos, no matter how elegant the backdrop, lingers.