Have you ever had a friend who suddenly got richer than you and started acting brand new? Because these Nigerians have.
Their friendships took a horrible turn when money came into the picture. They were humiliated, pushed away, and even controlled by people they once cherished. These are their stories.
“He sent his girlfriend to spy on me.” — Joshua*, 45, M
When I was in secondary school, I met Mubarak*, and we became instant friends. We would chill together after school, run in the same circles, and even get into the same kinds of trouble. He was like a brother to me.
However, university took us to separate places, and we lost touch. After graduation, I entered Nigeria’s insane job market. I wasn’t doing badly, but by 24 I was still living with my parents, and I wanted something more.
Flash forward to 2017, and I got a call from none other than Mubarak. He said he got my number from a mutual friend, was thinking about me, and invited me to his house. I was shocked to learn the location was in Lekki Phase One.
His uniformed domestic staff greeted me the moment I arrived at his huge apartment. I was shocked, but excited to see Mubarak. We had a good time. However, when I asked him what he did for work, he brushed past it.
I left thinking nothing of it, but a few days later, I noticed a strange woman hanging around my parents’ house. Even my dad had to ask if I knew her.
I confronted her, and it didn’t take long for her to confess that she was Mubarak’s girlfriend and that he had sent her to spy on me because he thought I had stolen ₦5k he left on his dining table. Apparently, Mubarak had said I looked unkempt, like the kind of person who could steal, and she was waiting to see me spend the cash.
I was enraged. All this for ₦5k?
I told her I didn’t take it, but I gave her ₦10k to return to the man, since he was so desperate. Today, I have my own house in Lekki as well, but Mubarak has since moved out. I heard rumours he’s in trouble with EFCC. Good.
“She turned me into her househelp.” — Jumai*, 27, F
My childhood best friend, Favour, and I were born in the trenches together. In my face-me-I-slap-you apartment, it was her I was facing. We did everything together; played, washed, and talked about our futures.
Fast-forward to 2020. We were doing NYSC, and the ₦33k allawee was more money than either of us had ever had. Yet, it wasn’t enough for two women in their 20s.
Ghostwriting had begun to get popular at that time. I’m not a writer, but Favour had dabbled in writing here and there, so I put her on. By the time NYSC was over, she showed me she’d earned more than $1,000 (over ₦1m). She excitedly promised me that if this went on, she would soon be able to rent an apartment for us. I was overjoyed.
True to her word, a year later she got us one. We moved in 2021, and I was still working at my PPA, earning ₦50k.
Our arrangement was fine at first. Favour would buy food for us, buy me clothes, and even tried to help me get a better-paying job. But slowly, the dynamic shifted. I would wash all the plates in the house and do all the cleaning. Favour got a washing machine, but before she did that, I would wash all her clothes. If I didn’t do these chores, she would berate me and ask me who I thought I was. She slapped me once because I hadn’t washed the plates and left them overnight.
I thought I could bear it until she told me I had to start paying her ₦600k as my half of the rent, or she’d let her other friend, who could pay, move in. She knew I was earning ₦50k. Where was I going to get ₦600k from? I begged her, but she eventually kicked me out. It’s been about four years, and I haven’t heard from her since then.
“She asked me to pay off a 10-year debt.” — Hikma, 37, F*
You think when people make money, that’s when they become generous. But really, that’s when my ex-friend, Oluchi*, became stingier.
I met Oluchi at the first job I ever worked. We were both 21-year-old underpaid interns, and we became friends out of convenience. At the time, my family was struggling financially, and part of why I took the internship was to provide for them, but the ₦20k I was paid was nowhere near enough.
When I told Oluchi about my situation, she was sympathetic. She wasn’t poor, but she wasn’t rich either. However, she was rich enough to lend me ₦30k. She said I had to pay her back, but during our three months together, she never asked for it. I also forgot about the debt, and once our internship was over, we parted ways.
You’d think that was the end of it. But a decade later, Oluchi cropped up in my life again. I already knew she was rich because I followed her on Facebook and saw all the international vacations she often took.
That day, I was so excited to see her message. I thought she wanted to know how I was doing, but to my utter shock, it wasn’t a friendly message at all. It was an aggressive demand for the money I owed her. She claimed that, with 10 years’ worth of interest, the ₦30k had grown to ₦3m.
She said now that she was rich, she needed to make sure all her ducks were in a row. Please, what does that even mean?
I’ve never panicked the way I did that day. Thankfully, my sister is a lawyer and helped me mitigate the situation. In the end, the woman still demanded her ₦30k, which I paid.
My sister suggested she might have been trying to extort me to maintain the appearance of being rich, but I don’t care what the explanation is; I’m just glad things didn’t escalate.
“He replaced me with a clone” — Edith*, 26, F.
Michael* and I met through our university friend group, and I had a crush on him from the start. In fact, after uni, we became friends with benefits, but we never let it go any further.
Anyway, Michael was a tech bro, and when we left school, it started working out for him. I remember those days he’d show me credit alerts of ₦5m every other month. He started throwing parties every weekend, and he used to buy me expensive jewellery.
All this was fine. But soon I noticed his devotion started to drop. I would call our friend group to see if we could all hang out, but the members would say that Michael no longer wanted to hang out with them, just me.
Just me? Why?
I thought I was special, but soon Michael showed me the same shege. He introduced me to one of his Nepo-baby friends, Mary*, and I couldn’t help but notice she looked just like me. When I asked her about her hobbies, she said partying and crocheting, which were my top two hobbies as well. We dressed the same way, liked the same movies, and even shared the same worldview. It’s not like we were similar; Mary was actively copying me. I thought I was crazy until my friends confirmed it too.
Anyway, Michael integrated Mary more and more into his life, while pushing me further away. After some time, I noticed that he started buying Mary the exact jewellery he used to buy me. Afraid, I confronted him. He said he just needed someone better in his life and cut me off that day.
This was two years ago, and today he and Mary are engaged. I can’t help but feel like that should have been me.
“He took over my life.” — Rotimi*, 35, M.
Jackson* and I were family friends. Every time he visited, we would play on my PlayStation and just have a good time, but I never considered him my close friend, more like a strong acquaintance.
Anyway, when we grew up, he got into oil and gas and started doing very well for himself. I reached out to let him know I was proud of him, and from there he worked his way into my life. I can’t lie, at first I didn’t mind it because I liked all the perks of knowing him: exclusive club access, fine dining, nice clothes, all things he was paying for, but slowly it got… intimate.
“Where are you now?” He would call at 6 a.m. I would tell him I was at home, and he would cut the call quickly. He wanted to know where I was and what I was doing all the time. If I went out dressed in clothes he didn’t buy for me, he would get visibly upset, nearly bursting into tears.
I should have stopped it there, but all the perks he’d given me kept me glued to him. I didn’t think it would escalate the way it did.
I got engaged about a year after the madness with Jackson started, and he told me he would be my wedding planner. I told him no, and then his sunny facade dropped. He threatened me, reminding me he had access to people who would make my life hell if I didn’t do what he wanted.
In fear, I blocked his number. It’s been five years, and he hasn’t tried anything crazy, but my God, is that what having money does to a person?
“She blocked me on social media.” — Yolanda*, 50, F.
I had been friends with Derin* for over 30 years. We went through nearly every life stage together: our children’s births, job growth, her son’s death, and even when I fought cancer, it was she who was at my side more than anybody.
When you have a bond like that, you become convinced nothing can shake it. But a few years ago, Derin acquired the ultimate friendship shaker: money.
Her stepfather passed, and it turned out he was rich. She never really knew him, but he had no children, so he left her his entire ₦600m empire. Derin called me in tears, talking endlessly about how she was going to change both our lives.
And, honestly, she did. She bought me a Rolex, designer bags, and so much gold jewellery I had to start giving it to my daughters. But over time, the gifts fizzled out, and so did her presence in my life.
Whenever I spoke to her, she had a nasty attitude, backed up by an even nastier fake accent. She started to talk like and dress like women we used to laugh at on TV: overly showy, completely tasteless, and desperate to appear rich. If she was ashamed of me, I was 10 times more ashamed of her.
One day, I realised I hadn’t seen her Facebook posts in a while, which was strange because she was the queen of posting. I checked and couldn’t find her account at all, so I checked with my daughter’s account, and lo and behold, she had blocked me.
I laughed. I think I had accepted the fact that we would no longer be friends the moment she started changing, so I wasn’t upset. At least I got gold out of it.
*Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.
