"Hello James, How have you been? It’s me, Opeyemi Salawu." The WhatsApp notification popped in, which prompted me to respond to him excitedly.
"It is such a pleasure to hear from you. I have been good, you?" I replied almost immediately.
Opeyemi happened to be my primary school classmate, and we graduated in 2002 before proceeding to different high schools. We had lost each other’s contacts, which was similar to other classmates of mine. He was the timid type, and he was among the few classmates that I related to. He had a short stature, was dark, and could easily be mistaken for my younger brother back in the school days. A couple of us had gotten together after several years, and we created a WhatsApp group to reunite old-time classmates. Many faces could not be recalled, as some looked almost like they were, while others had changed completely, and of course, some names only sounded familiar. We did a lot of catching up on the group, including updating one another on some vital data such as occupations, locations, and marital statuses. This was about eighteen years after we graduated from primary school. We scheduled a physical reunion, which we held in December 2020, and we had about two dozen of us in attendance. It was a memorable reunion, even though we have not had another physical opportunity to reunite.
"So James, I am into the transportation and processing of cassava produce for companies that require it for processing. I have limited slots for investment, and I would love for you to benefit from this investment opportunity." Opeyemi continued his conversation after we had spoken a few times. "The minimum investment package is N450,000 ($608) with a 10% monthly return over twelve months, which we can then review or renew the contract with your capital intact.
"Okay, is your company registered, and does it have any insurance?" I asked skeptically.
"The business is registered, and I am the Chief Executive Officer (C.E.O). My insurance is covered under the umbrella of the companies I am supplying cassava produce to." Opeyemi replied with a tone that sounded more assuring and convincing. "And if you have friends that can come on board, I can accommodate a few slots for them." Opeyemi spoke further.
"I would rather invest first, and when I am convinced, I can thereafter invite more friends and colleagues. In addition, I do not have the complete minimum package to begin with." I replied him.
"For you, I can make an exception; you can start with half of the minimum package, which is N225,000 ($304), which you can top up after a month or two. However, your monthly profit would be 10% of your investment package." He offered further
This sounded a bit fair to me, even though I was not particularly convinced about the insurance coverage of his agricultural business and the farm location was many miles away for me to visit. The first month of my investment, which was July, came with a mix of anxiety and hope. I had to call him when it was 72 hours after the proposed profit payment date had elapsed. He told me the delay had come because my investment was below the minimum package; however, he was able to fast-track that month’s ROI for me. This prompted me to secure some extra money, which I added N275,000 ($371) to the previous investment to make my total capital investment N500,000 ($676). "Having an additional N50,000 ($67) to my monthly income of barely N200,000 ($270) sounded like a good deal I could benefit from." I thought to myself, turning a blind eye to the subsequent delays that ensued in the agreed-upon monthly ROI. The next ROI I got was in November, which was after a whole lot of communication and convincing.
Unfortunately, my Volkswagen 4 car was giving me troubles, and I was able to sell it off for N750,000 ($1000), and as though I was cursed or overcome with greed, I invested an additional N500,000 ($675) to the previous account to make the total invested capital N1,000,000 ($1,351), meaning I was entitled to N100,000 ($135) every month. Apprehension began to get a better hold of me when the agreed ROI never came in. By March of the following year, which was three months after I summed up my capital to one million naira, I made a request for my one million naira capital investment, and he pointed out a clause in the agreement document I had not taken the time to peruse and scrutinize in detail. However, I pointed out to him in our conversation that I would demand my investment once I felt the need for it and that it should be returned within two months, which he did not outright object to. I knew many things were wrong, but it was already late, and my desperation to get my capital out was at its peak this time around, damning the profits.
By June 2021, I told him I was cutting all ties of friendship or comradeship with him after we dragged the capital withdrawal to a halt. I made several consultations, and by December, I had reached out to him since he had completely shut me out.
I was dumbfounded when I came across Opeyemi’s Instagram page, where he recently advertised scholarships and grant facilitation to the tune of N750,000 ($1,000) for any individual in need of business support.
"Once you can bring N200,000 ($270), your previous ROI will commence, and all things will work fine." Opeyemi concluded during one of our phone conversations.
"What? You expect me to bring more money when I have not received my capital or profit from the lingering amount?" I was shocked to my marrow, and I commended within me Opeyemi’s boldness and confidence. He told me there was nothing he could do to help me unless I brought the extra money or if I could bring in my friends to invest. I really felt he was talking with charm or something. He believed I was dumb or gullible. At that point, I was glad I never convinced my friends to invest.
"Opeyemi, I will do whatever it takes to get money from you." I threatened him over the phone.
"Good luck with that." He replied before ending the call.
Eventually, I petitioned the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) here in Nigeria; however, I was told the body would not officially investigate such a case as the amount in question was small. The petition was submitted to the police, and he was called but declined to turn up. Nigerian police is a topic for another day because I eventually spent about N200,000 ($270) to get him tracked and picked up from Abeokuta back to Ilorin, where he spent the weekend at the police cell.
"You will pay us 10% of every naira Opeyemi pays you, and payment must come through us!" The police officer in charge of my petition revealed
"Alright by me," I replied. At this point, all I needed was to get my money out of Opeyemi.
His family members equally surfaced, and a down payment of N400,000 ($540) was paid to me before he was released to his family after an undertaking was signed.
"How much is one million naira that you could not have reached out to us as his family members if you called yourselves friends?" One of Opeyemi’s family members had blurted out, and I gave her a numb response, knowing full well that arrogance reeked in their lineage.
Between January 2022 and today, he and his family were able to cough out an extra N300,000 ($405), and till date, the police and Opeyemi’s family have kept silent as regards the balance of N300,000 ($405). We still view each other’s WhatsApp statuses occasionally, even though no form of communication has ensued. My decision is to send him a message soon to eventually break every tie between us while I forfeit the unpaid balance.