Passenger Lost ₦3.2M in Crypto Hype – What My 10+ Years in Finance Taught Him
Two Saturdays ago, I was sitting in my car outside a café in Lekki, refreshing my investment app and wondering why my stock portfolio was moving like NEPA light—on today, off tomorrow.
I had just finished teaching a young client about budgeting, emergency funds, and compound interest, and I was feeling like a motivational speaker that nobody asked for.
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Then my phone buzzed.
A ride request.
I accepted out of habit and sent my usual message:
“Hi, I’m on my way. Please confirm your location.”
The reply came almost immediately:
“Please drive fast. I’ll explain inside.”
That line again. Suspicion activated.
When I arrived, a guy around 24 or 25 jumped into the back seat, breathing hard like he had been running from the police. Hoodie half-zipped, AirPods dangling from one ear, phone shaking in his hand.
“Boss, please, Ikeja. Computer Village side. And abeg, avoid traffic.”
I glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
“Are you being chased?”
He laughed nervously.
“By poverty, yes.”
That was already a mood.
As I drove, silence filled the car except for the Google Maps voice and his aggressive scrolling. Then he sighed deeply.
“Oga, can I ask you something personal?”
I nodded.
“If it won’t involve me joining a cult, sure.”
He smiled weakly.
“I just lost all my crypto money.”
I didn’t flinch. After 10+ years in personal finance and investing, I had heard that sentence more times than I had heard “How are you?”
“How much?” I asked calmly.
“Three point two million naira.”
I whistled softly.
“That’s not money. That’s a small plot of land crying somewhere.”
He rested his head on the window.
“I thought I was investing. My guys on Twitter said this new coin would ‘moon.’ I put everything.”
“Everything like…?”
“School fees. Laptop money. My emergency savings. Even the 200k my mum gave me for rent.”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
That was not investing. That was gambling with Wi-Fi.
We drove past Admiralty Way. The sun was bright, mocking him.
“I’ve been in finance for over ten years,” I said, “and the fastest way to lose money is to follow hype instead of a strategy.”
He scoffed bitterly.
“They said if you don’t take risks, you’ll be poor forever.”
“That’s a lie we tell broke people to keep them hopeful. Real wealth is boring. Budgeting is boring. Index funds are boring. Emergency funds are boring. But broke is exciting and painful.”
He laughed once, then went quiet.
We stopped at a red light. I turned slightly so he could see my face.
“You know my biggest investing mistake?”
He looked up.
“You lost money too?”
“I once put almost my entire savings into a business my friend swore was ‘guaranteed.’ No contracts. No documentation. Just vibes and friendship. Business crashed in six months. I spent three years rebuilding.”
His eyes widened.
“So how did you recover?”
“By respecting money. I started tracking expenses. Built an emergency fund. Diversified my investments. Stocks, real estate, small businesses, and yes—even crypto, but only with money I could afford to lose.”
The light turned green.
We entered the bridge toward Ikeja. The city looked busy, alive, careless with money like always.
“So what should I do now?” he asked quietly.
“First, don’t chase losses. That’s how people ruin their future. Second, forgive yourself. Third, rebuild with structure.”
He nodded slowly.
“You talk like you’ve lived this.”
“I have. Finance isn’t numbers. It’s emotions wearing suits.”
We reached Computer Village. He hesitated before getting out.
“Oga, I actually requested this ride because I was going to sell my laptop to enter another ‘sure investment.’”
I almost slammed the brake.
“You wanted to double down on pain?”
He nodded.
“I wanted to recover fast.”
I shook my head.
“Fast recovery is how people stay broke longer.”
He looked at his phone, then locked it and put it in his pocket.
“I won’t sell it again.”
“Good. Use it to learn. Free YouTube, budgeting templates, investment education. Your comeback tool is already in your bag.”
He smiled weakly.
“Can I take your number?”
“For financial advice?”
“For hope.”
I gave it to him.
As he stepped out, he said,
“You just saved me from making the same mistake twice.”
I replied,
“Experience is expensive. Some people just pay tuition early.”
He walked away.
I sat there for a moment, breathing.
Then my phone buzzed again.
A message from my investment app:
“Congratulations. Your dividend payout has been credited.”
It was small. Almost unimpressive.
But it was real. Stable. Quiet.
That’s when it hit me.
The real plot twist of money is this:
The flashy stories are usually broke stories.
The boring ones are the rich ones.
And nobody tells Gen Z that being financially stable doesn’t look dramatic.
It looks like peace.
