The Fake Love Experience

In the distant past of 2014, yours truly was proudly sporting a Nokia Asha phone, my life's most pressing matter was levelling up my 2go star status from veteran to master. Yes, my friends, that was my grand quest. Academically, I was a solid C student, but as long as I aced math, English, and basic science, my dad was cool with it. Speaking of my phone, It was those grades in my JSS 1 results that landed me my prized Nokia Asha, which I promptly christened my 'gateway to 2go wonderland.'

2go soon became the centre of my universe. The chat rooms were a hoot, teeming with humour, mischief, and all-around madness. It wasn't long before I found myself hopelessly addicted. So addicted that one fateful day, I almost lost my front tooth from falling into a gutter because I was too distracted with 2go and did not look at where I was going.

On 2go, in a chatroom for Manchester United fans, I found myself passionately arguing with another user named Kamara19. Our fiery debate? The merits of Phil Jones, of all people! I was firmly in the 'against' camp and argued like my life depended on it. Our debate reached a hilarious climax when Phil's epic blunder led to a Manchester United goal, effectively ending our virtual brawl. Kamara, my spirited opponent, later messaged me to admit defeat and even suggested we connect as fellow United fans. I couldn't resist the offer

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As we chatted, I uncovered more shared interests beyond football – music, movies, fashion, you name it. One day, I boldly suggested swapping photos. I sent mine, and Kamara was all compliments. When I opened her image, I was in for a shock – she was a girl! But here's the kicker – her interests were anything but stereotypically girly. Our chats ventured into deeper, more intimate territory.

Eventually, I gathered the courage to pop the question – I asked her to be my girlfriend, and she said "yes." I was over the moon, so I did what any smitten teen would do – I bragged to my school buddies about her. When they saw her photo, they went from zero to hero-worship in seconds.

My allowance vanished faster than socks in a washing machine – I spent it all on recharge cards and 2go credits for Kamara. We never talked on the phone because she used her mom's.

Then came the '₦1000 caper.' Kamara texted me with a proposition – I could make a quick ₦1000 by sending her the digits on my mom's credit card and the CVV. She added the cherry on top by asking for the OTP code sent to my mom's phone, with strict orders to delete the message. You'll never guess what I did. Yep, I followed the instructions to the letter. She even sweetened the pot by sending some pictures that gave teenage me wild 'daydreams.'

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But hold onto your hats, because the show was far from over. In my innocence, I shared the story with Kamara, who offered me comfort, the next week, they wanted me to do the same trick, but this time with my mom's primary account. I was about to go full-tilt cyber heist when I got distracted. In the Manchester chat room, I saw people ranting about Kamara's financial escapades. They called her everything from a man to a woman. It turns out, she was a gender-chameleon extraordinaire, switching roles whenever she pleased.

As it turns out, she'd managed to make a living by fleecing people through various scams. Some unlucky fellow even escalated the matter to the DSS after losing a small fortune. To cut a long story short, the grand reveal was that Kamara was part of a five-person team – four guys and one gender-blurring maestro (the one whose photos they used) – and they'd raked in about 5 million. The DSS caught them before they could even catch a flight out of the country.

As for me, I was heartbroken, but the silver lining was that my mom remained blissfully unaware of my digital misadventures. But oh, what a plot twist! One fine Saturday morning, my mom received a call from a bank official. Her missing money had miraculously reappeared, and the thieves pointed their bony fingers at me as their partner in cyber-crime. I tried to protest, but I was met with a barrage of kicks and slaps that turned my denials into 'mumblings of denial.' The punishment came in the form of flogging that left me sitting at a perpetual 45-degree angle for a whole week. They confiscated my phone, and I was left in tech exile for four agonizing years. To save face, I fed my friends a whopper of a tale – I told them my parents confiscated my phone after discovering the nudes Kamara had sent me.

This experience left a mark on me like a cat scratching its name on a leather couch. So, you'll find me lurking in the shadows of social media, like an online ninja with an anonymous profile, avoiding interactions with strangers like potholes on federal roads. Sure, some of my friends call me a "weirdo" for it, but you know what? I'm okay with that. I've learned my lesson - once bitten, twice shy, and I'm not in the mood for another scam