In 2013, a quirky new business came into our quaint factory town of Kolonko, swiftly capturing the town's attention. This business was none other than the "Billionaire's Lifestyle Scheme," or B.L.S for short. Their pitch? A guaranteed 100% return to depositors after a mere six weeks and the wait time is reduced based on the number of recruits you brought in and how much they deposited. At first, folks were sceptical, but once the first lucky customers started cashing in, it was like a gold rush. Even my friends' parents jumped on the bandwagon, and my mom was itching to join in too. But with my brother's hospital bill, groceries, and utility expenses, there was simply no spare cash for such.
The early days of B.L.S brought some serious tension to our household. If you so much as sneezed the wrong way, my mother would launch into a berating session, reminding you that your carelessness was the reason she couldn't partake in the B.L.S bonanza. We genuinely tiptoed around her during this time.
The initial B.L.S. customers quickly transformed into enthusiastic ambassadors. They were running multiple accounts under B.L.S., even taking out loans to finance their accounts. They encouraged their recruits to follow suit, preaching the mantra "no risk, no reward." They would respond to sceptics by labelling them as poverty-stricken and claiming that B.L.S. staff were former investment bankers who operated from a real office, assuring the safety of everyone's funds.
One of B.L.S.'s most zealous advocates was our local church pastor. He was the top dog in the B.L.S. hierarchy, bringing in a whopping 150 recruits. He'd take the pulpit on Sundays and, with divine conviction, declare, "I see someone here right now, God is telling me you should invest in B.L.S., that's where you will buy your first car!" He'd devote an extra 30 minutes of his Sunday service to preach about B.L.S., its inner workings, security, and merits. One Sunday, he even invited us to a special B.L.S. sermon.
In those heady days, life became increasingly difficult for non-B.L.S. members. B.L.S. members were snatching up cars, and properties, getting hitched, and laughing all the way to the bank. This continued for six months, and then cracks began to appear. Payment delays stretched from 6 to 9 weeks. However, the pastor and his B.L.S. advisors kept reassuring their flock that everything was A-okay. Some members eventually received their payouts, but they were mostly meagre.
The following week, our town awoke to a chorus of despair. B.L.S. members flocked to the B.L.S. office, only to find it deserted—no soul in sight. They ransacked the building in desperation but found nothing but scraps of paper. The B.L.S. staff's hotel was no different; it had been vacated in a hurry. The pastor was floored by this revelation. People wailed from dawn to dusk, and rumours flew that the pastor had deposited six months' worth of church offerings and tithes into B.L.S. He even took out loans on the church's behalf. Angry and determined, people marched to the DSS office in the capital, only to be asked for ₦150,000 just to begin tracing the B.L.S. culprits—no guarantees provided.
The subsequent weeks were sombre, with an air of despair palpable all around. All the toys and luxuries acquired with B.L.S. cash were discreetly sold off, with many folks revealing they had borrowed money to buy those items, counting on B.L.S. to repay the loans. The pastor had to sell his car and numerous possessions. He was now mocked as the "Prophet of Bal," " yahoo pastor," "419 ministries," the "Servant of Doom," or "Doomnamis." Some even hinted that he might have been in cahoots with B.L.S. staff. Respect and integrity evaporated in Kolonko. Nobody attended his church, and he and his family endured months of hardship before eventually leaving town.
For weeks and months after the B.L.S. debacle, the town of Kolonko bore the scars of its wild financial escapade. People who had once been close friends found themselves embroiled in arguments and blame games. Bitterness ran deep, as those who had profited from B.L.S. faced accusations of betrayal from those left empty-handed.
The once-vibrant town, filled with dreams of prosperity, now had a sombre atmosphere. The cars and houses bought with B.L.S. returns were put up for sale, often at a fraction of their original cost. People realized that they had taken out loans to buy these items, believing that B.L.S. would be their golden ticket. As the loans loomed over them, it became painfully clear that there would be no quick fix.
The pastor, once a respected figure in the community, became a symbol of shattered hopes and misplaced trust. The "Prophet of Ball" jokes persisted, and he struggled to regain his congregation's trust. Many members of his church felt betrayed, as he had encouraged them to invest in B.L.S., even using the pulpit to promote the scheme
While some individuals managed to recover a portion of their investments through legal action, the majority were left in financial ruin. The collapse of B.L.S. had a profound and lasting impact on Kolonko. Families lost their savings, relationships were strained, and the town's reputation was tarnished.
In the aftermath, lessons were learned the hard way. People became more cautious about get-rich-quick schemes and the promises of easy wealth. The scars of the B.L.S. experience remained, a constant reminder that when something seems too good to be true, it often is.
As the months passed, the town gradually began to heal. New businesses emerged, and the community rallied to support one another. The resilience of the people of Kolonko was evident as they worked together to rebuild their lives and their town.
The rise and fall of the Billionaire's Lifestyle Scheme served as a cautionary tale, not only for the town but for anyone tempted by promises of quick riches. It was a story of hope, trust, betrayal, and ultimately, the resilience of a community determined to recover and move forward.
In the end, Kolonko learned the hard way that true wealth is not found in schemes and shortcuts, but in the strength of its people and the bonds that held them together, even in the face of adversity. The scars of the B.L.S. era would forever be etched in their memories, a reminder to approach financial opportunities with caution and scepticism.