Sisters Seun* (23) and Modupe* (24) did everything together, especially shopping. But while Modupe liked their spending dynamic, Seun always found it difficult to keep up with.
So when Seun discovers a financial secret that Modupe had been keeping for years, it becomes the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and she retaliates in a way that ruins their relationship as they know it forever.
This is Seun’s explanation, as told to Azara.
Life with an older sister can be difficult. My relationship with my elder sister, Modupe, is a prime example of what I mean.
While she has been my role model in many ways, she has also been my biggest bully: forcing me to do things in her own time and in her own way.
Growing up, I watched the shows she liked because if I refused, she would give me the silent treatment or yell at me. I dressed the way she thought was best because, as she once said, “You will embarrass me if you go out wearing that.”
As a result, my preferences always changed depending on Modupe’s judgment. I grew up unsure of myself until she approved of things. I wouldn’t say I’m a people pleaser, but, God, I wanted her to be pleased with me.
Subconsciously, this insecurity followed me into my twenties. Particularly, my finances.
I got my first real job nearly two years ago when I was 21. It was a content executive role for a marketing firm that paid me about ₦150k a month. At the time, I was bewildered by that amount of money. I know it’s not much, but I had friends in entry-level roles earning ₦70k a month, so I counted my blessings.
A few months later, my sister scored a new job as a customer success manager for a foreign company. I was so excited to hear what her salary would be since she was working for a foreigner, but she shocked everyone and said she was earning ₦300k.
₦300k? When she’s earning in dollars? Even then, it sounded strange. I should have questioned it, but I didn’t think my sister’s finances would be a problem in my life, so what was there to question? Little did I know that this one oversight would haunt me for the next two years.
My sister claimed that since we earned about the same salary, it was only fair that we split the bills down the middle. We both still live at home with our parents, and our mum wanted us to start chipping in for things like food and internet. I agreed to that, but I didn’t understand why I had to split the bills equally with my sister. ₦300k may not be the highest salary, but it was double what I was earning.
I told her as much, but she called me stingy and claimed I was always opting out of responsibility. She also leveraged her “firstborn trauma”, insisting that I was trying to put the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Afraid of her judgment, or maybe because she had guilted me so well, I agreed to share our bills equally. Modupe quickly made this decision hell on earth for me.
“The internet is ₦50k, so you’re paying ₦25k,” she would tell me out of the blue. There’d be no time to plan or put together a budget. At any given moment, my sister could demand that I cough up the cost for something, and I had to.
Paying for food should have been easy because my mum still bought the bulk of our foodstuff, but at times my sister would insist at the checkout counter that we pay for half the bill, and I’d have to scramble to get the money.
The worst of this came last year, a day after I’d been paid. My mum had already pulled out her debit card to foot a ₦180k grocery bill when my sister said we would pay for everything. I had to spend ₦90k in one sitting, and I struggled to provide for my own needs for the rest of the month.
If it were just the internet and food, I may not have minded as much, but Modupe would also spring “self-care things” on me and force me to participate. There was a time she barged into my room and said I should get ready. When I asked her why, she said we were going to do our nails because she had an event.
I told her I couldn’t afford to get my nails done, and if she wanted them so badly, she could do them alone. Apparently, this was enough to make her crash out.
She bitterly reminded me that my mum would nag her if only one of us did our nails. I tried to stand my ground, but she called me selfish once again. In the end, I paid about ₦15k to do acrylic nails.
By 2026, my income had grown to ₦250k per month. But that was not the only thing rising. My resentment toward Modupe had slowly taken hold, and for a while, I couldn’t look at my sister without anger.
She claimed her own salary was still ₦300k a month, so she no longer cared to hear my excuses for not wanting to pay for things. As if she had cared before.
It seems silly now that I didn’t put my foot down after all that time, but my sister can be incredibly persuasive. Plus, she’s the only sibling I have, and it’s difficult to stand up for yourself against someone older who always wins.
However, last month, her winning streak came to an abrupt halt.
She had gone to the gym, and I was in her room looking for one of my shirts. Her laptop was open, and an email came in.
I never snoop around, especially not on my sister’s devices, but something just told me to look.
It was a credit alert from her company, and when I saw the figure, I froze.
It wasn’t ₦300k.
It was $600.
I knew there was no way in hell that could be ₦300k, so I shakily punched the figure into a converter, and the amount I saw there blew my mind.
₦797k.
My sister was earning nearly ₦1m per month.
Betrayed does not even begin to describe what I felt in that moment. If she had lied just a little, I might have forgiven it, but she was practically a millionaire, and I wasn’t even earning enough to buy myself data steadily.
The resentment I had been storing bubbled over. Quietly, I left her room. But I refused to let that be the end of it.
Some time passed, and if she noticed the change in my behaviour, she didn’t show it. In fact, two days after I found out my sister had been lying, she asked me to send my half for a snack we had been wanting to try. My share was just about ₦2,500, but I don’t think I had ever been angrier sending her money. What was ₦2,500 to someone earning over ₦700k?
I didn’t have a plan for what to do with my anger, but two weeks ago, an opportunity presented itself.
I saw her phone sitting in the kitchen while she was in our mum’s room, helping her with something.
It was as if the devil took over, because I reached for her phone, opened her banking app, and transferred ₦150k to myself. Did I have a plan? No. All I had was my fury.
She found out about an hour later, and the biggest fight of our lives went down.
She called me a bitch and told me I must send her that money back, but I told her no, finally revealing that I knew how much she was earning. I argued that she didn’t need the ₦150k, and I was taking it as compensation for what she had done.
She didn’t show any guilt. She self-righteously told me she had to lie because if any of us knew how much she was really earning, we would make her the family cash cow. She said as the oldest, the pressure would have been too much on her, but that excuse simply doesn’t sit right with me.
I’m not assertive, but I told my sister she could take this up with our mum if it bothers her so much, knowing she would not do that if she didn’t want our mum to find out her real salary.
She called me a terrible sister, amongst other horrible things, and that is the last time we’ve spoken.
I want to say I don’t feel bad, but the truth is her silence has always hurt me. I could give the money back, but for once, I want to stand up for myself.
If this is how, then so be it.
