The day my business partner disappeared with my life savings

Two years ago, I was the happiest man in Aba. I had just closed a deal for a container of refurbished phones from China. My contact in Guangzhou, a man called Alhaji Yusuf, said the shipment was worth ₦4.2 million. I put in everything I had. My savings from three years of selling phone accessories in Onitsha. The money I kept for my sister's school fees. Even the ₦150,000 I borrowed from my mother's thrift contribution.

The container landed at Apapa. My clearing agent called me and said everything was fine. Then the calls stopped. I tried Alhaji Yusuf's number and it was switched off. I went to his office in Alaba and found it locked. The landlord told me he had packed out two weeks ago. I felt my chest cave in.

I spent three weeks sleeping at the port, begging customs officers, paying bribes I didn't have. One morning, a man at the terminal told me the container had been cleared by someone else. Same documents. Different name. I knew then that Alhaji Yusuf had set me up from the start.

My mother found out when the thrift collectors came to our house. She didn't shout. She just looked at me and said, "Kola, your father never trusted anybody in business. Now you know why."

It took me 18 months to recover. I sold everything I owned. I started again from selling phone cases on the street. But that experience taught me something that no school can teach: in Nigeria, trust is a luxury you cannot afford. Shine your eye. Always. Because the person smiling with you today could be the one planning your downfall tomorrow.