TOP WARNING SIGNS YOU’RE ABOUT TO TAKE A BAD LOAN

The sound of sewing machines filled the narrow corridor of Wuse Market, Abuja, as Patience bent over her old Butterfly machine, stitching a client’s gown. Her tailoring shop was barely holding on — rent was due, her mother was sick in Minna, and two customers had just canceled their orders.

“Babe, you dey too think,” her friend and fellow tailor, Ngozi, teased from the next shop. “You go just old before your time. Relax small!”

Patience forced a smile, but her mind was spinning. That was when her phone buzzed.

“Congratulations! You’re eligible for a ₦200,000 instant loan — no collateral, no stress!”

Her heart leapt. “God don answer me!” she whispered. She showed Ngozi the message.

“Na those online loan people be this?” Ngozi frowned. “Better shine your eye oh. Dem no dey forgive person if you delay small.”

But desperation drowned her caution. “Abeg, I no fit wait. I go return am sharp-sharp once business pick up.”

Within minutes, Patience clicked the link, downloaded the app, and the money dropped. She almost cried with relief.

When the ‘Blessing’ Turned to Wahala

Two weeks later, her joy vanished. The ₦200,000 loan had grown to ₦280,000. New charges — processing, service, reminder — all appeared out of nowhere.

“Na so dem dey do,” said Musa, another tailor on the lane. “Dem go talk say interest na small, but dem go add plenty nonsense join am. You don fall mugu.”

When she tried calling the company, nobody answered. The address on the app didn’t exist. And then the real horror began — messages sent to her friends and customers:

“Your contact Patience O. is a criminal debtor. Warn her to pay or face disgrace.”

Her phone didn’t stop ringing. Even her church members began to whisper.

“Patience, na wetin you do these people?” her pastor’s wife asked gently.

Tears filled her eyes. “I no do anything, ma. Na loan I collect for app.”

The Lesson That Saved Her

Months later, she finally cleared the debt — with help from a registered cooperative society at her church. This time, she took her time, read every line of the agreement, and confirmed the cooperative was legally registered. The interest was fair, and the repayment plan made sense.

“Next time,” Ngozi laughed, “if dem say ‘quick loan,’ remember say quick money fit cause quick tears.”

Patience smiled. “Na true talk. I go borrow sense before I borrow money.”

Moral of the story:
Not every loan is a blessing. In Nigeria today, bad loans hide behind flashy promises. Always verify the lender, read the fine print, and never borrow in a panic.

Because as Patience learned in her Wuse Market shop — quick money fit turn long wahala.

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