In a desperate attempt to improve her financial situation, Amara* (24) jumped at a suspicious business opportunity. Sure enough, she soon discovered that she had fallen into a Ponzi scheme and was at risk of losing money.
Rather than walk away, Amara decided to recruit her wealthy friend, Tobi* (27), in hopes of changing her fate, but what she thought would be a way out of her financial troubles soon became a decision she would regret, one that would change her friendship for the worse.
This is Amara’s explanation, as told to Azara.
“Where is our money?”
The panicked messages on our business’ WhatsApp group chat came in fast. Every member was either demanding payment or begging to speak with the people in charge, but neither was happening.
On that fateful day in February 2025, I realised I’d been scammed out of ₦940k. Worse, I’d dragged my friend into it, and he’d lost far more.
But a few months prior, before everything fell apart, I seemed to be getting my life together. In March 2024, I moved into my first big-girl apartment, a ₦1.3m/year self-con that I funded from my ₦300k I.T. specialist salary. But even though I was finally independent, I felt trapped.
I imagined that at 24, I’d be able to go out as I pleased and pay for most of my wants. But with so much of my salary going into rent and the terrible state of the economy, I was left with only enough to take care of myself, and sometimes, not even that. I remember a time when something broke in my car, and I had to pay over ₦100k to have it fixed. That entire month, I could barely afford the garri I was drinking.
I wanted more, so I started looking for ways to make extra money. But nothing seemed to work. I contemplated moving back in with my parents, but I knew that would be a different kind of trap. For a while, it seemed like my only option was to work hard and hope for a promotion.
However, everything changed when my friend invited me to an investment seminar.
“It’ll be helpful,” she promised. “They teach people about investing and how to make your money work for you.”
I wanted to tell her I wasn’t interested, that stocks were too confusing for me, but I decided I might as well give it a shot. At least, even if I didn’t understand how to invest by the end of it, I might network and meet someone who could give me a good job opportunity.
So, we attended the seminar, and at the end of it, I met the woman who changed my life, Kamsi*.
I could tell Kamsi was around my age, but the way she dressed made us seem lifetimes apart. She was put together, and her perfume smelled expensive.
She struck up a conversation with me, and I soon found myself opening up to her about my financial struggles and my desperation for better opportunities. Kamsi listened, and when I was done, she said, “You’re just the kind of person I wanted to meet.”
Kamsi explained that she was a financial guru and knew how to help me grow my money fast. She said she could help me invest in a way that wasn’t difficult, and that she wouldn’t charge me for her services because she liked me.
If she was anyone else, I might have been sceptical, but she seemed to have the lifestyle to back up her offer, so I eagerly agreed to let her help me, and we exchanged numbers.
A week went by, and she called. She said she worked with a company dedicated to growing people’s money, and after she’d told them my story, they chose me out of millions of Nigerians for their open slot.
She invited me to a class that weekend and claimed it cost ₦50k, but said she would cover it for me.
When I got to this so-called “class,” there were only a few people there, but the excitement in the room was palpable. The organisers congratulated us on being chosen, then took us through a slideshow of mostly testimonials from people who had completed their programme and were now millionaires. With each passing slide, I grew more hopeful for my future.
In the end, they promised a 10% monthly return on all investments made with them, starting at ₦100k.
I should have asked more questions, but in my excitement and because I trusted Kamsi, I gave them half of my savings, ₦200k. Then, I was added to a group chat.
With every passing day, I became increasingly aware that I had made a mistake. What if they didn’t pay me? What if the whole thing was a way to steal from me? I even called Kamsi to tell her I wanted my money back, but she assured me this specialised investment plan was what afforded her the lifestyle she had. This was the same girl who told me she’d gone to London the year before, so who was I to turn down her advice?
A month passed and, in July, just as promised, my account was credited with ₦220k.
All my doubts were replaced by excitement. I put the ₦200k back into my savings, bringing it back to ₦400k, then used part of the ₦20k to treat myself in a way I hadn’t since I left my parents’ house. I bought takeout, thrifted a dress off Instagram, and still had a little left over to put back in my savings.
Was ₦20k a lot of money? No. But did it feel like the start of a new life? Absolutely.
Now, invigorated not only by my success but also by the earnings of others in the group chat, I leapt and put my entire ₦400k savings into the business. This time, I was told I’d made a bonus and was promised ₦50k in interest.
Again, a month passed, and on the promised payout date, I eagerly refreshed my account.
Nothing.
Don’t panic, I thought. Kamsi had already told me that, because the business worked with foreign products, it might take time for the money to hit my account.
So I waited a week, but still my ₦450k hadn’t shown up. A few people on the group chat also made the same claim, but the group admins promised us that it was just an international delay. It helped that some people said they’d been paid, but it was finally enough for me to find the business sketchy.
So, this time, instead of going to Kamsi with my concerns, I went online and, through other people’s experiences, immediately discovered I was in a Ponzi scheme.
Me? A Ponzi scheme? That couldn’t be right. I didn’t know a lot about what that meant, but I knew it was bad.
I called Kamsi again, and this time I demanded she tell me the truth about my money. While she didn’t confess to any wrongdoing, she informed me that payouts sometimes came faster if you put more money in. Once again, she told me she liked me, so she lent me ₦100k until my own payout came. Then, she started pushing me to recruit people I knew and get paid for referrals.
I knew at that moment that what was happening was wrong, but I also knew that the chance to earn was still there, and still tempting.
I contemplated walking away, but when ₦450k was credited to my account three days after my call with Kamsi, I couldn’t.
As sketchy as this was, it had proved that it could change my life.
For a few months, I refused to reinvest. But when life started beating me down again, I became open to reinvesting in October 2024.
I took Kamsi’s advice and looked for someone I could recruit. The idea was to find someone who could handle a loss if it came down to that, though at the time, I was sure it wouldn’t. That was how I involved Tobi.
Tobi was my good friend. But beyond that, he was the only person I knew who worked for a foreign company as a software engineer. He never told me his exact earnings, but he lived in a three-bedroom apartment and had recently bought himself an iPhone 15, which was more than enough evidence for me that he was rich.
I called him, and after we talked a little, I told him about the investment opportunity. I explained that there were occasional payment delays and showed him I had earned twice and planned to put more money in.
Tobi was intrigued. He told me he had been looking to start investing, so I gave him Kamsi’s number, and that’s how he came on board.
For his first investment, he put in ₦1m.
I was shocked. I had known he was rich, but I didn’t know he had ₦1m to spare. For my referral, Kamsi convinced me that any amount I put in would increase by 20% in a month, and, believing her, I once again put all my savings in: ₦450k.
A month passed, and sure enough, in November, I made ₦540k while Tobi made ₦1.1m. My parents also sent me ₦400k at the time, so I had nearly ₦1m in savings that wasn’t for my rent.
Tobi and I were on top of the world. Yes, people in the group chat were seriously complaining that they weren’t getting paid and hadn’t for months, but that wasn’t my story, and I truly believed I had hacked the system better than they had.
Tobi and I became closer, and he told me he wanted to make ₦500k, so he was going to push for ₦5m. Giddy with his own belief, I also opted to put in my entire ₦940k savings, especially so I could have some money for the holidays.
Little did we know that our biggest investments would be our last.
We invested that money so that it would come before Christmas, and Kamsi said she had a great feeling about this one. Their foreign products were doing really well, and we might earn more than our usual 10%. But even as she reassured me, I noticed more and more people on the group chat were calling the business a scam. It was at this time that the business owners started removing people from the group.
So, despite it falling apart before our very eyes, Tobi, I, and a few people on the group chat eagerly awaited our December earnings. I’d planned to buy my parents Christmas gifts and even get myself a small tree for my apartment.
The day we were supposed to get our earnings arrived, then passed.
This time, it was Tobi who promised me it was no big deal. I had had delayed payments before, and they had still come. To be honest, I didn’t doubt that. What made me worry was that I would not get my investments before Christmas, but that soon became the least of my worries.
Christmas came and went, but there were no gifts for my parents and no tree for my apartment because my payout hadn’t come.
In anger, I called Kamsi after the worst Christmas of my life. She apologised and promised me that when she came home, we would discuss extra interest on my and Tobi’s behalf.
The group chat was also getting angsty, and the same promises were made to them. The only person who seemed not to worry was Tobi.
“International clients,” he said. “It happens.”
So January came, but not one of us had been paid. It wasn’t until the new year that Tobi started worrying.
A bad feeling settled in my chest, and I called Kamsi, but her line rang out. I called her throughout January. And then, one day in February, she picked up.
“What is it?” she asked me, sounding annoyed.
I was too stunned by her tone. I’d planned to shout at her, but I could only meekly ask for my money. If not the interest, then just what I had put in.
Instead of being understanding or apologetic, she told me I was pestering her and that she had already promised I would get my money.
“I know, I just wanted an expected day I would get it,” I begged her.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll call you back,” she said flatly, then cut the call.
I tried calling her back that night, but the number didn’t go through. I had been blocked.
And that’s how we get back to the beginning of the story, when everyone on the group chat made demands of a silent business owner. I realised I had lost a lot of money and had made my friend lose even more.
A few days later, the group chat was disbanded, and Tobi, who had been the calmest through all this, finally fell apart.
He tried calling Kamsi, but she blocked him too. With no one else to blame, he blamed me.
I begged for his forgiveness, but Tobi stopped talking to me. That was last year, and no matter how many times I try to reach out, he just ignores me.
As if my problems couldn’t get worse, a few of my friends started asking me why I stole from Tobi, meaning our gist had spread. I was so embarrassed that I stopped going out with friends for a long time. Besides, it’s not like I could afford it.
It’s been a while since this happened, and looking back, I still feel so foolish. I’m not the type to claim trauma, but once I hear the word “investment”, I start panicking. I hate what I allowed, and I also hate that what was meant to change my life ended up putting me in an even worse situation.
But I’ve learnt my lesson, and one day, I hope Tobi can answer one of my calls.
