[STORY] It started like an ordinary Wednesday night

Last month, I learned something wild about insurance policies — not from YouTube or an insurance blog, but from the middle of a Lagos traffic accident.

It started like an ordinary Wednesday night.

Rain was falling in slow motion, that kind that makes everything glisten — car roofs, puddles, even heartbreaks.

I was heading back from work in my old Toyota Corolla, singing along to Rema’s Calm Down, when a Lexus SUV suddenly swerved into my lane near Maryland Bridge.

BAM!

The impact wasn’t massive, but it was enough to jolt my coffee, my spirit, and my sanity.

I parked, stepped out, and saw the driver — a guy in his 30s, crisp white shirt, gold wristwatch, holding a phone like it was an oxygen tank.

He looked me dead in the eyes and said,

“Bros, no vex. Let’s handle this calmly, abeg.”

The rain grew heavier. My bumper was hanging like a broken promise.

I sighed, “You’ve finished me, bro. My insurance just expired last week.”

He smiled nervously. “Ah, me I get full auto insurance coverage o! Don’t worry — my car insurance policy go sort am.”

That sentence was supposed to calm me down. Instead, it triggered my curiosity.

We exchanged details, took photos, and stood under the rain like two confused extras in a Nollywood legal drama.

Minutes later, his phone rang. He turned away, whispering like someone negotiating a ransom. Then I heard it —

“Tell them the damage is more. We’ll fix ours, split the rest.”

I froze.

“Wait… what did you just say?” I asked, my voice louder than intended.

He turned, pretending to smile. “Ah, no o! I was just telling my insurance agent about the accident.”

Liar.

I could tell. The tone, the panic — it screamed insurance fraud.

I quickly recorded a short clip on my phone — just in case. The rain made everything cinematic. I even whispered like a detective:

“Insurance fraud attempt, 10:42 p.m., Maryland Bridge.”

The next morning, I got a call from his insurance company.

A woman with a soft British accent said,

“We received a claim from one of our clients regarding an accident involving you. Could you confirm a few details?”

I played it cool. “Of course. But I think you’ll want to hear something first.”

Then I sent her the recording.

There was silence on the other end for about ten seconds — the kind that feels longer than an insurance waiting period.

Finally, she said,

“Thank you for your honesty, sir. This recording will help with our fraud investigation process.”

A week later, I received a call from a personal injury lawyer connected to their legal team. He explained that the driver had tried to inflate the claim by listing fake repairs worth over ₦2 million.

Because of my recording, I had unknowingly helped expose a full-blown insurance scam.

I was stunned.

He said,

“You may actually be eligible for reimbursement under the third-party liability coverage clause, even though your insurance expired. Your evidence helped uphold your legal rights as a non-fault driver.”

Me? Eligible? I almost dropped the phone.

Two weeks later, I got a payment alert:

₦480,000 – Auto Damage Reimbursement (Legal & Insurance Settlement)

I couldn’t believe it.

All because I didn’t ignore my instincts — and I pressed record.

But here’s where it gets weird.

That same week, I tried to call the number the guy gave me — it was switched off. I checked the insurance report again.

The company said he wasn’t even their client.

His insurance card was fake.

I sat quietly for a while, thinking.

The man who tried to cheat the system didn’t just lose money — he disappeared into it.

And me? I gained something more valuable than cash: awareness.

Now, whenever someone says, “Insurance no dey pay in this country,” I just smile and reply,

“Only if you don’t know your legal rights.”