I Drove a Stranger—Then She Asked Me to Lie

Two nights ago, I got a ride request from a lounge in Victoria Island, and as usual, I messaged to confirm. The rider responded with, “Just drive fast, please. I’ll explain inside.”

That was already suspicious.

When I arrived, a lady in a tight red dress, heels in hand, stumbled into the back seat. She looked like she had been crying—or sweating from a long night of fake emotions, I wasn’t sure. I greeted her, but she just said, “Drive. Fast. Gbagada.”

Halfway through Ozumba Mbadiwe, she started talking.

“I need to beat my boyfriend to the house,” she said.

“Okay…” I replied, unsure how that involved me.

Turns out she had lied to him that she was staying at her best friend’s place in Ajah for the weekend. Meanwhile, she had been with another guy—whom she left sleeping. Apparently, she got spooked when her boyfriend texted, “I’m coming to surprise you. Hope you’re at Sandra’s?”

That’s when she panicked and ordered my ride.

I asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

She said, “We have to pass through Gbagada Phase 1 so I can pick up a makeup bag and change my outfit. I need to look like I actually slept at Sandra‘s. My clothes smell like cologne I don’t recognize.”

I shook my head but kept driving. Lagos wahala.

We got to her friend’s place, and she ran in, leaving her phone in the car. It started ringing—her boyfriend was calling. I was tempted to answer, but I stayed out of it. A few minutes later, she returned, now wearing joggers and an oversized tee, face powdered like she slept in peace.

Back on the road, she suddenly turned to me and said, “Oga driver, please, let me use your phone to make a call. Mine’s on 1%.”

I hesitated but gave her. She called Sandra and put her on speaker.

“Babe, just say I slept at your place. Tosin is suspecting,” she whispered.

Sandra replied with veteran skill, “Ah, of course na! You even left your scarf here. Should I tell him you left just now?“

“God bless you,” she said, hanging up and handing me my phone.

Minutes later, her phone died. She sighed. “Please, can I log into WhatsApp on your phone quickly? Just to text him?”

Against my better judgment, I gave her again.

She sent him a long voice note: “Baby, I’m so angry. Sandra‘s network has been bad since last night. I couldn’t even check my phone. But I’m heading home now. I’ve missed youuuu.”

She handed back the phone, smiled innocently, and said, “You’ve saved a relationship today.”

I laughed and replied, “I think I helped hide a crime.”

As we neared her estate in Ogudu, she suddenly asked, “Can you do me one more favor?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Can you act like you’re a Bolt driver who just dropped me off from Sandra‘s place if he asks?”

I blinked twice, then replied, “Only if he tips me for roleplay.”

When we got to her gate, her boyfriend was already outside, arms folded, clearly suspicious. She got out, hugged him dramatically, and pointed at me: “This is the sweet Bolt guy that dropped me!“

He waved politely, still squinting like Sherlock Holmes.

As I drove off, I heard her say, “Let’s go inside joor, I even bought you suya.”

I chuckled and muttered to myself, “This Lagos girls dey play chess, not checkers.”