The Night I Became an Accidental Relationship Accomplice in Lagos

Two nights ago, I got a late-night ride request from a bar in Lekki Phase 1.

I messaged to confirm, and the rider replied instantly:

“Just come quickly. I’ll explain in the car.”

Suspicious.

When I pulled up, the scene looked straight out of a Nollywood romantic drama.

A tall girl in a sequined silver dress stepped out of the lounge, heels dangling from her fingers, hair slightly messy like she had been dancing—or running. Her mascara was smudged, and her lips trembled like she had just swallowed a secret.

She slid into the back seat, slammed the door, and exhaled.

“Drive. Fast. Ikoyi,” she said, eyes darting around like we were in an action movie.

Halfway through Admiralty Way, she finally spoke.

“I have to get home before my boyfriend does.”

“Okay…” I replied, still unsure how this became my business.

She continued, voice dropping to a whisper.

“I told him I was spending the weekend at my cousin’s place in Surulere. But…” she paused, glancing out the window, “I was actually with someone else. Another guy.”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. Lagos wahala had entered my shift.

Apparently, her boyfriend texted out of nowhere:

“Surprise! I’m already on my way to your place. Hope you’re at your cousin’s?”

Her plan?

We detour to her friend’s house in Ikoyi so she could change clothes and make it look like she had been in Surulere all along.

When we got there, she jumped out, leaving her phone in my car. Seconds later, it started ringing—her boyfriend. I didn’t touch it. I was just the driver, not the referee.

She came back wearing oversized joggers and a hoodie that screamed “Netflix all weekend.” She smelled faintly of body spray, the kind girls use to hide the scent of someone else’s cologne.

“Please, can I use your phone to call my friend?” she asked.

Against my better judgment, I handed it over. She put the call on speaker.

“Babe, Tosin might call you. Just say I slept at yours, okay?”

Her friend didn’t even hesitate. “Of course! You even left your hair bonnet here. Should I tell him you just left now?”

“Yes, please!” she replied, giving me my phone back with a relieved smile.

We were back on the road, nearing Anthony Village, when she asked again:

“Can I quickly log into WhatsApp on your phone? My battery’s dead, and I need to reply before he gets suspicious.”

She sent him a long voice note, sounding like the sweetest girlfriend on Earth:

“Baby, my network was so bad at my cousin’s. I couldn’t even call you! But I’m heading home now. Missed youuuu.”

Then she looked at me and said, “You’ve saved my relationship tonight.”

I laughed. “No, I think I just helped hide a crime.”

We pulled into her estate in Ogudu. Her boyfriend was outside, arms folded, face tight with suspicion.

She stepped out of my car, walked over to him, and hugged him like they hadn’t seen each other in years. Then she pointed at me and said:

“This is the sweet Bolt driver that dropped me from my cousin’s place.”

He gave me a polite wave but didn’t stop squinting like he was decoding my soul.

Just as I was about to drive off, I heard her say, “Let’s go inside, joor. I even bought you suya.”

I chuckled under my breath, shaking my head.

In Lagos dating, some people play checkers, but others… they’re playing chess.