Money can change how people see you, or at least, that’s what these Nigerians believe.
Whether they were secretly wealthy, quietly struggling or somewhere in between, they went to surprising lengths to keep their real financial situation hidden from their friends.
I’d just landed a well-paying job on top of my freelance work, and instead of being happy for me, my friends would throw subtle jabs at me or make weird facial expressions whenever money came up. They made me feel bad for succeeding.
To keep the negative energy at bay, I told them that I’d lost my job. One time, I received a huge freelance payment, and smiled when the credit notification came in. When they asked why I was smiling, I lied and said I’d seen something funny online. They suspected I was lying and hiding something, but I never gave them proof. Thankfully, we’re no longer close. If I could go back, I’d never be friends with people who didn’t want me to grow in the first place.
I grew up very comfortably. My dad owns several businesses, and we’ve never really worried about money. The problem is that whenever people find out I’m from a comfortable family, they start treating me differently.
Secondary school was the worst. Once my friends found out my family had money, they expected me to cover bills, lend them money, and solve their financial problems. So when I got to university, I deliberately downplayed my background. If friends asked where I lived, I’d give vague answers. I even used public transport when I could’ve driven because I didn’t want attention.
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The truth came out after I invited a few friends to my dad’s 50th birthday. They saw the big house, the dignitaries and everything else. Some of them laughed, but others seemed genuinely annoyed that I’d hidden it. One former friend accused me of pretending to be something I wasn’t.
Looking back, I’d probably do it again. Once people know you have money, some friendships stop feeling equal. You start wondering whether people like you or what they can gain from you.
During NYSC in 2023, I struggled financially. From the outside, though, nobody would’ve known. My friends worked in tech and seemed to be doing well, so I felt ashamed of how little I earned.
I became an expert at keeping up appearances. I’d borrow outfits and money from my cousins, then carefully choose where and when I showed up. If my friends planned an expensive outing, I’d invent excuses instead of admitting I couldn’t afford it.
The worst moment was when I spent almost my entire month’s salary contributing to a friend’s birthday gift because I didn’t want anyone to know I was struggling. I had to take a loan to make it through the rest of that month.
Nobody found out, though. I eventually got a better-paying job and kept the same social circle. Sometimes, you just have to fake it till you make it.
When my business started doing well in 2022, I didn’t tell anyone. Most of my close friends knew me from the years when I was struggling, and I preferred it that way.
I kept living exactly as I always had. I maintained the same apartment and the same habits, even though my income had increased significantly.
The reason was simple: I didn’t trust people. I’ve seen successful businessmen targeted because of their success. One time, a friend spent nearly an hour advising me on how to make more money because he thought I was still struggling. I just nodded and thanked him. I don’t want any undue attention.
Only my brothers know how much I make now. I don’t regret keeping quiet about it. Money changes the people around you faster than almost anything else, and I don’t want to attract any vipers.
In 2015, my dad lost his job, and my family was drowning in debt. The only reason I could even afford to go to university was that a kind uncle stepped in and refused to let me lose my admission. There were days we genuinely didn’t know how we’d afford basic things like food.
I couldn’t bear the thought of people pitying me, so I lied. I acted like everything was normal. If I couldn’t afford something, I’d claim I wasn’t interested. If I missed an event, I’d say I was busy.
The hardest part was listening to conversations about money while secretly calculating how to stretch the little money I had until the end of the week.
The truth came out in my third year when one of my friends discovered I was juggling multiple side gigs while studying. She confronted me, and I broke down crying.
My friends were angry that I’d struggled alone for so long. Instead of pitying me, they supported me, and my final year was much easier than I ever imagined. Hiding my situation protected my pride, but I almost ran mad trying to keep my secret and maintain the illusion of being comfortable.
In 2001, my family and I moved to Ibadan from the North. I noticed many political families lived in our neighbourhood, and I wanted to join their circle because people close to them usually got lucrative contracts.
I started attending their parties and frequenting their recreation spots. It was very expensive. Between aso ebi, jewellery, and attending events, I spent hundreds of thousands of naira trying to fit in. The worst part was that they never fully accepted me.
Eventually, my husband refused to keep funding the lifestyle I needed to maintain the image, so I stopped trying.
The only reason I regret it is that it didn’t pay off. One of my friends who was on the fringes like me managed to get into the inner circle, and she’s been doing well ever since. I envy her sometimes, but I’ve accepted that I can’t force these things.
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