Every week, Zikoko spotlights the unfiltered stories of women navigating life, love, identity and everything in between.
What She Said will give women the mic to speak freely, honestly and openly, without shame about sex, politics, family, survival, and everything else life throws our way.
This week, Zara*, 26, shares how desperation led her to put her late mother’s car in a ride-hailing app in 2021. What started as a financial lifeline became a year-long nightmare of constant repairs, lies, and manipulation. This is her story.
Let’s start from the beginning. Why did you move to Lagos in 2021?
I was running away from my father. He was very abusive. I don’t want to go too deep into that, but leaving Bayelsa wasn’t just a move; it was an escape. The thing is, he didn’t know I was running. He thought I was going for NYSC. He even sent me money for two years’ rent.
So he financially supported the move, thinking it was for NYSC?
Yes. I took that money, got two friends from school, and we got a three-bedroom together. We split the two-year down payment between the three of us, so I had some savings left. I thought I was being smart, you know? I budgeted for six months. I was sure I’d find a job before then.
What did you move to Lagos with?
Just the clothes on my back and whatever food I could steal from my father’s house and fit into my car. The car was the most valuable thing I had. My father bought it for my 19th birthday with my late mother’s money. That car was the last thing I had of her.
Did you find a job within those six months?
No. Six months came and went. I applied everywhere, everywhere, and nothing. I started taking ushering gigs, bottle girl jobs, anything I could find. But it wasn’t enough. Lagos is expensive in a way I never understood until I was living here on my own. The bills just kept piling up. Rent, food, transport, data, light… it was suffocating.
When did it become an option to put the car in a ride app?
Someone suggested it when I was at my lowest financially. I was strongly opposed to taking a loan; I still am, so this seemed like the only option. I talked to a few people about it. Some told me to use a third party to help manage things, get a driver, and legalise everything. Others warned me completely.
Also Read: My Sister Gave ₦10 Million to Church Members While Our Family Starved
What did the people who warned you say?
I remember one of my male friends was strongly opposed to it. He even asked the mechanic who came to check the car for the third party if he would ever do something like this with his own car. The man said never. Never. But I went ahead anyway. I needed the money.
What was the arrangement like?
This was 2021, and I had absolutely nothing. The deal was simple: the driver would ride, send in 35k weekly, the third party would take their cut, and I’d get 25k. Everything else the driver made was his. At first, that 25k a week felt like a lifeline.
Tell me about meeting the driver for the first time.
Seyi* came to test drive the car with me inside. I was so nervous. Not the good kind of nervous, the kind that sits in your chest and tells you something is wrong. He wasn’t a strong driver at all. I was better than him, even with my fear of driving in Lagos. But I told myself it was just nerves on his part. Looking back now with clear eyes, I know it was desperation on mine. I wish I could go back. I wish I had listened to that feeling.
Why?
The agreement we signed said we’d split repair and maintenance bills; he’d cover more, but I’d contribute. Not even a month after he started, he began calling with problems. 12k here for something minor, so maybe 5k from me. 20k there. Every other week, there was a new issue.
That must have been frustrating. What kind of issues was he reporting?
This is a car I had been driving for two years before him, and I never ran into these problems as often as he did. And some of them were so absurd. The windshield wipers? The engine oil tank? After another month where things had calmed down, he came back crying that the shocks were bad. How? Bruv, how? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
Did you try to address this with anyone?
I got the third party involved, and it reduced a bit. But by then, I had gotten a remote job, Customer Care Assistant, paying 90k, then later 150k. I had also started seeing someone who travelled a lot, and I was travelling with them. The car situation was becoming more trouble than it was worth.
How long was the driver with your car in total?
A whole year. After about a year of this back-and-forth, I decided I wanted my car back. I called the third party and told them. They said they’d get back to me. Days went by. They hadn’t responded. I was busy, travelling in and out of Lagos, and I let it slide for a bit.
Also Read: 7 Women on Red Flags They Ignored for Great Sex
What happened?
I remember this day so clearly because I had to take a bus from Benin to Lagos. It was around 4 or 5 pm, and I was trying to make it to a visualizer shoot. This man called me with more problems. Something in me just snapped. I screamed at him over the phone. I told him to give me my car back.
What did he say?
This man straight-up said no. No. I ended the call immediately and transferred all my anger to the third party. They handled it, thank God. Within a week, I got my car back.
What condition was the car in when it came back?
The car that came back to me wasn’t the car I gave him. The shocks were still bad, worse, even. The car sat lower than it should. There were so many other things wrong with it. He was supposed to fix everything before returning it. I was assured he would be responsible for all the repairs. But for my peace of mind, I didn’t even push. I just wanted him gone.
I’m sorry. What happened next?
A week after I got the car back, this man had the audacity, the audacity, to send me an email saying he borrowed money from his wife’s boss to fix the car’s tyres and I should pay him back. I sent him and the third party a scathing email. I blocked him everywhere. We never interacted again. Or so I thought.
It’s been almost three years since then. Have you fixed the car?
No. I still haven’t fully fixed it. It’s a mix of everything: financial strain, emotional exhaustion, fear of throwing more money into something that feels cursed, and, honestly, the damage just feels too extensive. Every time I think about fixing it, I remember everything that happened, and I just… I can’t. That car is still a noose around my neck. My mother’s last gift to me, bought with her own money, is just sitting there, broken. I hate it. I’m so resentful about it.
I’m sorry. I understand your pain.
My father still has access to my mother’s money. Not me. Her daughter. Him. I hate it so much, but I don’t know how to talk to him about the car. Actually, I don’t know how to talk to him about anything related to my mother’s money. I feel lost about it. Embarrassed by the whole thing. I hate everything about it.
Do you still speak to your father?
We speak occasionally. But the abuse, the money, the car, I can’t talk to him about any of it. I won’t.
What about the relationship you mentioned? The person you were travelling with?
It ended about a year after I got the car back. He helped me, opened doors for me, and assisted financially, but he was too controlling. I got that first remote job on my own before I even met him. The other gigs, yes, he helped. But I had to leave. My finances couldn’t be so dependent on someone who wanted to control every aspect of my life.
So fast forward to this January. What’s life like now?
Well, literally last week, Seyi reached out to me again.
What? Why? How?
I got a random message on WhatsApp from an unknown number. ‘Good evening, do you have any cars available for Bolt?’ I didn’t respond. He texted my name. I said, ‘Who is this?’ He asked about Bolt again. I said, ‘You think I’ll respond to such a question without knowing who you are?’
What did he say?
‘I am Seyi.’ Immediate flashbacks. Immediate ‘God forbid.’ Immediate block.
Real. What next?
Days later, he showed up at my door. At my door! How he found my estate, how he got in, because you have to call someone to let you in, how he got past my compound gate, I do not know.
Oh my God. What happened when you saw him?
This man started dragging me by my shirt, saying I must give him a car and that I should help my brother. ‘Help my brother.’ In 2026! I could not believe my ears, my eyes, anything. I had to start screaming for my neighbours to help me. They threw him out. We got the estate security involved.
I’m glad you’re safe. Are you worried he’ll come back?
I really didn’t want to involve the police, but if he comes back? E go set. All bets are off.
Looking back, do you regret putting the car on Bolt?
I don’t regret it entirely. It helped me when I had nothing. But the fact that three years later, this decision is still a weight on me? The fact that the car is still broken, still unfixed, still a reminder of the worst financial decision I’ve ever made? The fact that this man tracked me down and showed up at my house? I hate it all.
If you could go back and do it differently, what would you change?
I would have listened to that feeling in my chest when he test drove the car. I would have listened to my friend who warned me. I would have found another way. That car was supposed to be my freedom. Instead, it became my biggest burden. And I still don’t know how to let it go.
*Names have been changed for anonymity
You’ll Love: 3 Things to Know About Nigeria’s New Tax Laws
