There I was, a 300Level medical student whose brain was already frying from the sheer heat of poverty and school work, staring at a laptop screen that has seen better days.
A random guy DMed me for a graphic design gig and I billed him 15k. He scrolled through my portfolio, took his sweet time, then hit me with it:
“Bros, this work is too elite for 15k. I go bless you properly.” My chest swelled dangerously with hope as he asked for my account details. I sent them, with the speed of a Danfo driver reversing on the highway the second he spots LASTMA officers. 120 seconds later, my phone buzzed like it had been waiting its whole life for this moment.
Credit alert: exactly 1,000,000 naira.
Immediately, I dropped to my knees on the cracked tiles of my room, the same floor that had tasted my tears from failed tests and unpaid bills. The tears came so hot and unashamed. I started thanking God and my village people, because finally —finally — poverty vomited me out. All those nights stitching designs between Anatomy tests, all those mornings pretending I wasn’t starving, it felt like God had finally seen me.
With violently shaking fingers, I composed an epistle of gratitude. I completely abandoned professional etiquette and tapped straight into pentecostal warfare. I sent him a massive, emotionally crippling paragraph, thanking him for recognizing my anointing, altering my destiny, and rewriting the financial history of my bloodline. Then, I hit send.
His typing indicator popped up immediately.
But he did not reply with a ''you are welcome.'' He replied with a sentence that carried the chilling exactness of a death certificate.
“Ah sorry chief. I wanted to send 100k for the deposit but my finger rested on the zero button. Abeg refund 900k ASAP.”
My millionaire era was just two minutes and twelve seconds. Long enough to taste heaven, short enough to remind me the devil still knows my account number.
DISCLAIMER: I have never made one million naira in my life. But if this story gripped your soul enough to believe I did, then I already possess the exact currency I need to manifest it one day. Thank you for reading my fiction.
Honestly, I miss my Yoruba staff so much.
I was arranging the books in my office when I picked up one of them and ₦19,500 fell out. I froze for a moment… then I realized it was money she kept before leaving.
That particular book was where she recorded sales of water and soft drinks. Most times, customers paid via transfer, but whenever it was cash, she kept every naira safe.
This is someone who never allowed anybody to owe the office including me. She doesn’t allow anyone touch our fridge including her colleagues.
There was a day she told me I was owing. I argued that I wasn’t owing, but she insisted. She even said if I didn’t pay, she would use her own money to pay and balance the account.
I didn’t rest that day. Because how do you explain a staff willing to pay for what the boss took?
That’s the kind of person she is.
Beyond her work, she brought in customers, convinced people effortlessly, and always told customers “I love you, hope to see you again.” Customers loved her so much and they gifted her money before she left. Everyone who have been to my office knows this lady.
Before she relocated to Lagos to focus on her fashion business, I paid her salary and added extra cash gift, then prayed that Lagos will favour her. I also told her to keep in touch with me whenever she needs anything.
She deserves it.
Dear Olayinka, God bless you for me. ❤️