Pay ₦18,000 for a dress from Lagos while your card settles in dollars, return it a week later, and on most platforms you get back a number that is almost what you paid. The rate moved. Somebody had to carry that movement, and the industry default is that the customer does — quietly, in the small print, a few percent at a time.

When we drafted our Refund Policy we wrote the default the other way around: a refund returns exactly what you paid, in the currency you paid it. If the naira moved against us between the charge and the refund, that difference is a cost of running a payments company. It is not a deduction from a customer who is already unhappy enough to send something back.

The customer already trusted us once, at checkout. The refund is where they find out whether they were right.

Promising it is easy; affording it is treasury work. Every corridor we convert across carries a stated margin, and a slice of that margin funds the refund float — the pool that absorbs rate movement between charge and return. The float is sized against observed refund rates per corridor and reviewed with the same discipline as any reserve. When a corridor turns volatile, the margin breathes; the promise does not.

The second half of the promise is speed, because a perfect refund that takes three weeks is still a bad refund. Refunds travel back the way the money came, and the timeline is stated in days on the receipt itself — never “typically.” A merchant who refunds quickly sees it reflected where it matters to them; a buyer who is owed money watches a clock we set publicly, not one we keep to ourselves.

None of this is generosity. A refund handled exactly right is the cheapest trust we will ever buy: it converts the worst moment in commerce into the reason someone pays with Bolrach the next time, anywhere on the estate.