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  • No one expects that the people they trust, love, and consider family could be the ones to stab them in the back. But the harsh reality is, sometimes the biggest betrayals come from those closest to us. 

    We spoke to five Nigerians who lost money to loved ones they trusted. From the mum who lost her life savings to her daughter to the woman whose boyfriend made her fund an imaginary business, their stories show what happens when trust turns toxic.

    “My daughter emptied my account and gave all my money to her boyfriend” — Nike*, 64

    I’m typically very cautious of my bank account and everything money-related because I always have plenty of money in my savings. My grown children send monthly allowances to me and my husband, so I hardly touch whatever I make from my tailoring business. My siblings also know how careful I am with money, so they always keep money they don’t want to touch with me.

    To show the extent of how cautious I am with money, I take two buses to the only bank in my area to deposit or withdraw money as little as ₦5k. I can use a POS agent, but I don’t trust people like that. I’ve heard too many stories of fake alerts and 419 POS agents who can save your ATM card details to steal your money. I didn’t want to hear long story. The only person I trusted was my lastborn daughter. 

    She’s a uni student who lives in the hostel, but we’re still in the same city, so whenever I had to go to the bank, she followed me. I don’t know how to read too well, so my daughter helped me with the forms. She was like my handbag. Even my husband didn’t know my banking details or how much I had saved, but my daughter knew everything. She had my ATM card and would transfer money through a POS agent when I needed money. That was the only method I was comfortable with because I only had to meet the agent and collect money.  

    Around January 2024, I went to the bank to complain because I hadn’t gotten SMS alerts for about three months. This time, I went alone because my daughter wasn’t around. In fact, I’d been asking her to follow me to the bank since I noticed the issue, but she always gave one excuse or another. It turned out she did that on purpose. 

    When I got to the bank, I met the biggest shock of my life. All the money was gone. ₦2.2m of my siblings’ money and ₦1.1m of my own savings. ₦3m gone in three months. I thought they were joking. I even accused them of trying to scam me until they printed out my account statement and showed me transfers from my bank app to my daughter’s account number. 

    I started shaking immediately. I didn’t even have a bank app. I called my daughter, and when she heard I was in the bank, she ended the call and refused to pick up my calls. It took two weeks for her elder siblings to trace her in school. When they eventually found her, she confessed that she’d put the bank app with my details on my phone. It wasn’t the first time she stole from me. Wherever she was at home, she’d transfer to herself and delete the alert from my phone. 

    When she decided to “go big,” she totally removed SMS alerts and took all the money. When we asked her why, she claimed she was under a spell. Later, she confessed that her boyfriend needed a loan for his business and that he’d pay it back. It’s been over a year, and till today, we haven’t seen the boyfriend anywhere. It’s as if he disappeared. My daughter claims she doesn’t know where he is, but I don’t believe her. Her siblings want me to arrest her so the police can make her confess, but what if she gets harmed? She’s still my daughter. 

    I was heartbroken and sick for weeks after finding out — I’m still heartbroken — but I can’t throw my child away. It really pained me, and I still cry when I think about it. I can’t believe she could do that to me. My other children repaid the ₦2m debt to my siblings, but my relationship with my daughter isn’t the same anymore. I keep wondering where I went wrong in training her. 

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    “My friend sold me stolen iPhones” — Ayo*, 27

    My friend is a phone and gadget vendor at Computer Village, Ikeja, and I’ve trusted him for all my gadget needs for over six years. Sometimes, I didn’t even visit his store physically. I’d just tell him what I needed, send the money and have him deliver the item to me. 

    In February, a colleague wanted to buy UK-used iPhones for himself and his wife, and I convinced him to let me buy them from my friend. I bragged so much about my friend and claimed he was the only trustworthy person in Computer Village. 

    The phones cost ₦1.6m, and my colleague sent part of the money through me. This happened because my colleague had transfer limit issues after paying ₦1m, and I helped him pay the ₦600k balance. He repaid me the next day. I helped deliver the phones, and everyone was happy. My friend even gave me ₦50k to appreciate me bringing him business. 

    Less than a month later, wahala started. Apparently, my friend sold them stolen phones, and the owners tracked them down to my colleague. The police picked him up, and when they couldn’t find the seller (my friend), they picked me up too. They decided that since I was involved in the payment transaction, I must’ve planned it with my friend to sell stolen phones.

    I narrowly escaped prison by settling the police with ₦250k and agreeing to repay my colleague his ₦1.6m by paying in instalments over one year. I’ve paid almost half of the money and still have a long way to go. I’m still trying to trace my friend, but other vendors in his area said he also scammed some other people, and they suspect he did that to japa. 

    I never imagined he’d do something like this to me. This is someone I once sent ₦2.5m for my laptop, and he sent it, all without me stepping out of my house. We’ve done bigger deals than ₦1.6m, and I trusted him for over six years. I guess you can’t completely know someone.

    “I lost ₦1m to an investment that my brother convinced me to join” — Fred*, 33

    In 2017, I had a windfall after my mum sold my late father’s house and shared the money with me, my siblings, and a few family members. My share of the money was ₦1.5m, and I wanted to invest it somewhere so I wouldn’t spend it anyhow.

    I confided in my immediate elder brother, and he sold me dreams of a crypto project he was working on with a friend. I didn’t really understand the technicalities, but I trusted my brother. He claimed I’d get 20% interest monthly, even more if I kept the interest in the crypto and let my money compound. 

    So, I gave him ₦1m to invest in his project. He shared updates for the first two months and told me my money was growing. But six months later, he said the project crashed. I almost went mad, but I had no reason to doubt my brother. He was even hospitalised during that period because he fainted after claiming he also lost almost ₦5m.

    Years passed, and I pushed the incident to the back of my mind. Then, in 2023, my brother jokingly admitted to lying about the crash. The revelation came out because we were laughing over our experiences with bad investments one day, and he talked about buying acres of land from a scammer in 2017. When I pointed out that it was the same year as the “crypto crash”, he admitted that the crypto didn’t crash; he’d just taken my money to “stabilise” because he’d lost so much from the bad land purchase. 

    I was so angry to hear that, and the whole thing turned into a huge fight. I didn’t talk to him for almost two years until my mum threatened to kill herself if we didn’t settle our fight. We’re on limited talking terms now, but I can’t truly forgive my brother for what he did. 

    “My ex-bestfriend lied that her mum needed money for surgery” — Patricia*, 28

    Prior to 2023, Joy* and I had been best friends since university, and we shared everything. There was nothing we didn’t know about each other — or so I thought.

    In 2023, Joy came to me and begged me for ₦600k, claiming that her mum urgently needed it for eye surgery. I knew her mum had eye problems and the doctor had recommended surgery, but I didn’t know her mum had agreed to it. I was earning just a little over ₦150k/month from my social media management job at the time and had only ₦80k in savings, but I was ready to borrow money to help my friend. 

    Joy had come through for me multiple times when we were in uni, and we’d had reasons to lend each other money over the years. It wasn’t strange for her to come to me with a money need. So, I borrowed ₦600k from my bank and gave it to her.

    After I gave her the money, I kept asking Joy when the surgery would happen, but she kept giving me excuses. At some point, she was like, “Is it because you borrowed me money that you’re following up like this? Don’t worry, I’ll find your money.” I ended up apologising, insisting I didn’t mean it that way. Around that same period, Joy got a new iPhone. She claimed it was a gift from a sugar daddy who wanted to date her. I even encouraged her to return the phone if she didn’t want anything to do with the man. I didn’t know it was my money she used to buy the phone.

    I only realised the truth three months later when Joy’s mum called me because she couldn’t reach Joy. After promising to make sure Joy called her, I asked if she’d finally gotten a date for eye surgery. The woman was like, “Which surgery? I told you people I’m not doing surgery.” 

    When I confronted Joy, she tried to deny it until I threatened to tell her mum about it. Then she started begging me, claiming she really needed the phone for content and that she’d pay me back. I wasn’t ready for long stories. I seized the phone, and that’s how our friendship ended. Good riddance.

    “I funded my boyfriend’s ghost business for months” — Princess*, 38

    Kunle* and I dated for seven months in 2019, and from month one, he was carrying me along and giving me updates about his furniture import business. He even showed me documents and transactions. Foolishly, I thought, “Finally, here’s a man serious about business and sees a future with us.” That guy really put in effort to make his business look legit. I already had visions of us becoming a power couple. 

    So, when he told me he had issues with customs at the border four months into the relationship, I was only too ready to help. I “borrowed” him ₦550k to settle customs. That’s how the billing started; ₦200k here, ₦800k there. The funny thing is that he was paying me back, so I missed the red flags. His strategy was to pay me back the small amounts, so I’d trust him enough to give larger amounts when he asked. 

    When he finally ghosted me at the seven-month mark, he took my ₦2.2m along. Of course, the business turned out to be fake. I tried to find him but gave up after a few months. This will sound funny, but it wasn’t even the money that pained me; it was my pride. I always took pride in being street-smart, but one man used old tactics to scam me. I couldn’t even tell anyone.

    *We’ve changed the subjects’ names for anonymity, and their responses have been slightly edited for clarity and grammar.

    NEXT READ: I Was My Family’s Breadwinner. Then I Got Laid Off for Getting Pregnant

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  • Put a finger down if you don’t joke with your bank account and would literally spiral if you smell any funny business around it. If your finger is down, the update in this article is for you.

    You know how you gently drop “it can never be me” when someone comes on X to scream about money that has suddenly disappeared from their bank account? The National Information Technology Development Agency (NITDA) is saying it could be you like mad.

    What’s going on?

    On Monday, December 9, the Computer Emergency Readiness and Response Team (CERRT) at NITDA released a public advisory warning Nigerians of the new version of a banking malware called Grandoreiro which has been stealing sensitive information such as banking credentials and personal data from users worldwide.

    How can Grandoreiro steal from you?

    NITDA says the malware steals from users through complex phishing schemes (like emails and fake websites) that trick them into downloading harmful software, posing as important updates or documents.

    Once the malware is installed on users’ systems, it bypasses security controls and gives it access to users’ devices. This means that the malware can intercept or bypass the usual Two-Factor Authentication (2FA) methods, like One-Time Passwords (OTP), usually put in place by banking institutions to steal from users.

    In what specific ways can Grandoreiro harm you?

    1. It can bypass your system and enable unauthorised banking transactions
    2. It can steal your identity
    3. It can exploit you by taking control of your devices and bypassing security measures.

    How can you safeguard your devices against Grandoreiro?

    To protect your devices from the malware, NITDA strongly advises that you do the following:

    1. Avoid links and attachments from unfamiliar email addresses
    2. Do not download software from untrusted sources
    3. Enable Multiple Factor Authentification (MFA) on your online banking accounts to protect them
    4. Do not use public WIFI to make financial transactions. If you must, be sure to use a VPN
    5. Monitor your bank accounts closely and often in order to flag unusual activities or transitions
    6. Make sure that the antivirus software in your devices is always updated

    In the case of suspicious activities, contact the Computer Emergency Readiness and Response Team (CERRT) at NITDA either through their email address (cerrt@nitda.gov.ng ), their phone number (+2348178774580), or website.

  • You’ve probably fallen for at least one scam in your lifetime, but for Adeoti*, the number is far greater.

    In this story, she shares her frustrations about having fallen for more scams than usual, the possible causes, and what she hopes to do differently so it doesn’t happen again.

    As told to Boluwatife

    Image: Zikoko

    I don’t know if it’s because I automatically see the good in people or I’m just dumb, but I’ve fallen prey to too many scams in my life. It’s actually ridiculous. 

    I think the first scam I fell for was in secondary school. I was in SS 1 when my mum decided to sell recharge cards to augment her income as a civil servant. I convinced her to let me take some to school to sell them to my classmates and teachers. The agreement was that she’d reward me with ₦50 for every ₦1k worth of airtime I managed to sell.

    The business went well for the first two weeks, but then my mum started complaining that customers were returning the recharge cards, claiming they’d already been used. I also experienced that twice in school. We initially thought the mix-up was from the distributor my mum bought the cards from, but after asking a few questions, it turned out to be me.

    This is what happened: The recharge cards were basically airtime printed on paper. If you bought cards around 2010-ish, you know the airtime pin is just on the paper for anyone to see. One of my classmates always bought the cards for his mum who sold food in the canteen. But sometimes, he’d return them, claiming that he mistakenly bought a different amount. 

    Mumu me, I collected the cards back, not knowing he’d memorised and used the pin. That’s how the business stopped. My mum came to my school to report my classmate to the principal, but I also got punished because I sold recharge cards in class without permission.

    Just before entering uni, I fell for one of those beach game scams. The type where you see people throwing rings on items on the floor, hoping to win cash prizes or big teddy bears. I think the game organisers charged ₦100 per ring throw and didn’t let people throw themselves — the ring had to be thrown by one of the organisers. Unknown to me, it was an impossible game that no one could win. I spent ₦2k at a go and left there with nothing.

    In uni, I fell for one of those cab scams—the one where the bus driver says he saw dollars in the boot, and one of the “passengers” claims it and promises to share the money with everyone if we help him convert it. 

    In my head, I was already calculating my share of the money, so I foolishly followed the cab to the “baba” who would change the money for them. I don’t even know how it happened, but the baba convinced me to bring money for one thing. I’d emptied my account and given him my last ₦20k before I knew what happened.

    I’ve even fallen for a romance scam. In 2016, I met a supposed “oyinbo” on Facebook, and the guy started catching feelings for me. That’s how he said he wanted to send me a phone, laptop and some clothes. I thought I’d hit the jackpot.

    This “oyinbo” sent me a courier receipt to prove he’d sent the items, and within a few hours, someone called me, claiming to be from the logistics company. He asked me to pay ₦35k to clear the delivery. I thought, “How much is ₦35k in the face of what I stand to gain?” So, I sent the money. At this point, you can already guess what happened. The oyinbo and the logistics guy were both scammers, and they blocked me immediately after I sent the money. 

    Less than a year later, I still carried money and put in MMM and all the other Ponzi schemes. You’d think I’d have learnt my lesson from all my experiences, but I heard all the success stories around me and thought it was worth the risk. I lost my money.

    I’ve also once given someone ₦1k because he walked up to me and claimed he just got robbed and had no way of paying for his wife’s hospital bills. When I got home that day and narrated the story to my sister, she revealed she knew the guy and that was his go-to story to scam people. 

    Just last week, I lost ₦70k to a fake Instagram wig vendor. I’m not sure this one was even my fault because I looked out for all the warning signs. I made sure it was an account with over 5k followers, and I noticed that the vendor often posed testimonials from other supposed buyers. I thought everything looked legit, so I paid for a human hair bob wig — only for this vendor to send the most synthetic hair I’ve ever seen and block me when I started complaining. 

    My friends always laugh when I share my scam stories, but it happens too frequently to be funny anymore. I’m the easiest person to scam, and I’m not sure why it keeps happening. Maybe I’m just too greedy, and that’s why I keep falling for things like this. Is there a big signboard on my forehead that says “Mugu”? 

    My partner has suggested that the best way to be less susceptible to scams is by informing at least one person before I make major financial decisions, and I think that’s what I’ll do going forward. I can’t continue like this.

    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity. 

    NEXT READ: I Don’t Mind Starving All Year Long Just to Have Money to Spend in December

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  • The Tinder Swindlers and Anns of the world are scattered amongst us. Sometimes they’re disguised as Instagram vendors, other times as friends we’ve known for a long time. In this article, eight Nigerians shared their stories of being scammed. Trust Nigerians to bring their own werey to the mix. 

    1. “It could have been jazz, but I’ll never know”

    — Ben, 28

    In  2005, I was 10 and living in Mushin. My grandmother sent me on an errand. She used to sell provisions and wanted me to go buy coconut snacks we used to eat back then — I’ve forgotten what it’s called. She gave me ₦1k and I was off. The whole day started on a bad note: first, an okada hit me while I tried to cross the road from my house. It wasn’t serious, so I kept going. At the next junction, the same thing almost happened again. I was already stressed. 

    As I got to the market, an elderly woman stopped me. She asked me to help her buy groundnuts while she held my money for me. I didn’t want to be disrespectful, so I obliged. By the time I came back, the woman had gone. I didn’t even know what to do. When I went back home, grandma just told me it was jazz. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but it was my first taste of the lies Nigerians tell.

    RELATED: 4 Nigerians Talk About Their Experiences With Juju

    2. “I searched for the store for hours and never found it”

    — Annie, 25

    In 2016, I suffered because of an Instagram page. I was in 300 level and there was a promo for wigs happening. It was a buy one, get one free promo. The wigs cost ₦20k each, so getting two for ₦20k didn’t seem like a bad deal. I got four of my friends to join me so we could rock the new wigs together. So as a group, we paid ₦100k. The vendor told me the package would arrive in three weeks max. It never did. I had four girls on my neck and it wasn’t funny. I kept calling and sending the vendors texts. 

    When she finally responded, she told me to come to the address on her page. She mentioned losing someone in her family and struggling to stay focused. I understood. Next thing, I was on my way to Lagos Island. I got to the address and the building was just a warehouse. I trekked around for at least an hour hoping to find a building with her store name. Nothing. I kept calling the number and it wasn’t reachable. That’s how I had ₦80k gbese to cover.

    3. “She tried to frame me for fraud”

    — Yetunde, 53

    In 1999, I worked at the bank. I was 26 and quite naive at the time. As one of the youngest people at my bank, it was easy for me to make friends. I got closer to one of the older women. She seemed very interested in my life and gave me tips on getting through hectic days at the bank. Sometimes, we’d end up hanging out on the weekends. She seemed pretty harmless. 

    Who would have thought she’d try to frame me for fraud? She felt I was getting too close to one of the customers. But rather than talking to me about it, she went straight to the branch manager and told him I had plans to defraud the bank with my lover. She claimed I had been signing off on unauthorised cheques to grant him access to more money than he had. Why did she do this? I have no clue. I only got out of the situation because of a co-worker that knew the customer personally. When he heard the matter, he spoke up for me. If that didn’t happen, I would have lost my job.

    RELATED: “If You’re Not A Fraudster In Cyprus, You’re A Nobody”- Abroad Life

    4. “I can’t tell my kids I lost ₦3 million to crypto”

    — Lucy, 46

    My kids had been telling me about crypto and I decided to try it in 2021. I didn’t want to ask them for help though. I felt I could figure it out on my own. A friend had gifted me ₦3 million, so I decided to give it to a guy that always talked about crypto. A month went by and there was no feedback from the guy. I asked him what was going on and he just kept putting me off, saying something about the dip. It’s been a year and I haven’t heard from him. He conveniently resigned while I went on leave. I didn’t make too much noise because it wasn’t the money I worked for. I didn’t tell even told my kids because I’d never hear the last of it.

    5. “Instagram hackers fooled us”

    — Sandra, 24

    My mum and I knew someone on Instagram. He was a direct friend and randomly posted about getting ₦20k for ₦5k. He wasn’t into money doubling, he just claimed he had done it with some guy. I sent a dm and he told me it was legit. Since we knew him, it was easy to trust. When I sent the money, he also asked for ₦5k bank charges to send the money. At this point, we should have noticed the red flags, but we didn’t. We sent the money. After a few minutes of texting back and forth on when the money would be sent, he blocked me. Turned out that the guy we knew had been hacked. 

    6. “I thought he was in danger, so I sent the money”

    — Daniel, 30

    A friend called claiming to be at the police station. He sounded disoriented and needed ₦15k to settle the officers with credit or cash. The number didn’t have a name, but I felt the voice was familiar. I didn’t even think twice. I bought the airtime and sent it straight to the phone. About a week later, I saw the friend I assumed was at the other side of the call and asked him if he was okay after the “incident”. He was confused.

    7. “Computer Village has always been a mad place”

    — Daniel, 37

    10 years ago, I went to Computer Village to buy a phone. I met a guy on the street and we settled for ₦38k. He handed me the phone. When the guy counted the money, he was claiming it wasn’t complete. So he asked me to hand him the phone while I re-counted to confirm. I did and as expected, it was complete. When I told him, he said it was a mistake on his part. He handed me back the phone and disappeared into the crowd. When I finally checked the phone as I walked back to take a bus, the phone pack was loaded with dirt. I still don’t understand how he switched phones so quickly. I couldn’t even shout. The whole place was crowded.

    RELATED: The Zikoko Guide To Surviving Computer Village

    8. “The bus driver took off with my change”

    — Yusuf, 28

    Just this Tuesday, I was on my way to work. The bus fare from my house is ₦100 and I had ₦700 on me. I wanted more change so I gave the driver the ₦500 rather than the ₦200 note. When I handed him the money, I was focused on my phone, chatting away. I absent-mindedly asked for my change, but the driver didn’t answer. I wasn’t close to my bus stop yet, so I didn’t stress. I went back to chatting. When I got to my bus stop, I didn’t remember about the change until he was driving off. The one time I needed Lagos traffic, the whole roads were free. That’s how I ended up leaving ₦400 with the man — money that was meant to be for lunch. I’m still so angry.

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