When I saw the alert that day, my legs almost gave way. ₦3 million. Me, Chijioke, who used to borrow ₦1,000 to buy data. I just stared at my phone screen like it was lying to me. For a moment, I thought maybe it was a dream. I pinched myself, and the pain told me it wasn’t.
I had actually won ₦3 million from a sports bet!
That night, I didn’t sleep. I lay awake imagining my new life. I’d get a better apartment, a new phone, and maybe even start a small barbing salon. I felt like I had finally escaped poverty. I thanked God, even though deep down, I knew I hadn’t prayed half as much as I’d gambled.
The happiness didn’t last.
The first sign of trouble came two days later when my mother called from the village. “Chijioke, I dreamt you were surrounded by enemies,” she said. I laughed and told her not to worry. How could she know that I’d suddenly come into money? I hadn’t told anyone. Or so I thought.
But news travels faster than harmattan fire in my village. Within a week, my uncle called asking for “small support” for his building project. My cousin wanted to borrow ₦200,000 for business. Even my ex, the one who left me for a man with “better prospects”, started calling again.
I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve kept quiet. But joy makes you careless. I sent money to my mum, helped a few friends, and before I knew it, my account balance had dropped to ₦2.1 million. That’s when strange things started happening.
One morning, I woke up with a fever so bad I could barely stand. The hospital said malaria, but even after treatment, I couldn’t walk properly. My neighbours said maybe it was “village people.” I laughed it off until I started seeing shadows at night. I’d wake up drenched in sweat, my dreams filled with faceless people chasing me.
Out of fear, I ran to church. The pastor told me someone close was spiritually monitoring me. I remember him saying, “If you don’t pray hard, you might lose your life.”
Fear gripped me, but what could I do?
Between hospital bills, deliverance sessions, and endless “seeds of faith,” the ₦3 million vanished. I had nothing left. Even my phone, the one I used to place the winning bet, got stolen during a night vigil.
Now, a year later, I’m back to square one. Sometimes, I wonder if it was truly village people or just bad decisions disguised as spiritual warfare. Maybe I wasn’t cursed. Maybe I just didn’t know how to handle sudden luck.
Sigh.
