Episode 3: The Fight for My Name
That night, sleep refused to come.
My heart pounded, my hands trembled, and every time I closed my eyes, I saw my reputation burning.
By morning, I knew I had only two options:
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Option One: Cry, hide, and let them destroy me completely.
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Option Two: Stand up and fight back, even if it meant standing alone.
I chose the second.
First, I made a list of my immediate priorities:
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Stop the spread: Limit the damage as much as possible.
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Protect myself: Secure my online presence.
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Inform the people that mattered: So they’d hear my side directly.
I started by messaging everyone who had received the fake posters and nude photo.
I didn’t beg.
I didn’t cry.
I calmly explained:
“Hi, I’m aware that some malicious fake messages about me are circulating.
I borrowed money from a predatory loan app, and when I couldn’t repay in two days, they started using blackmail tactics.
Please ignore any edited photos or posts you see. I’m handling the situation. Thanks for understanding.”
I sent it to my boss, my church members, old friends, and family.
Some didn’t reply.
Some sent short “Stay strong” messages.
Some ignored me completely.
But it didn’t matter.
At least they heard my truth directly from me.
Next, I locked down my social media accounts.
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Facebook: Deactivated.
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Instagram: Private.
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LinkedIn: Deactivated temporarily.
I deleted some photos that could be easily stolen or edited.
It felt like erasing parts of my life, but it was necessary.
By afternoon, a new threat arrived.
The loan app agents sent a WhatsApp voice note, speaking in heavily-accented English:
“If you think ignoring us will save you, you’re wrong. Pay ₦80,000 now, or we will finish you. We will send the photos to your office group chat. You think you are stubborn? Wait.“
₦80,000?
How did ₦41,500 become ₦80,000 overnight?
It was clear now:
These people weren’t after repayment.
They were after control.
The more afraid I was, the more they could extort.
Instead of replying, I blocked the number.
But they quickly used new numbers to reach me.
I kept blocking.
It became a game of cat and mouse.
Meanwhile, I decided to search online for people who had suffered similar attacks.
I was shocked at what I found.
There were hundreds of stories — young students, market women, office workers — all trapped by fake loan apps.
Most had paid back after being disgraced.
A few brave ones fought back by exposing the loan apps publicly.
Maybe that’s what I needed to do.
Expose them.
I drafted a long Facebook post narrating everything:
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How the loan app operated.
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How they accessed my contacts.
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How they used threats and fake photos.
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How they demanded more money after payment.
But just as I was about to post it, fear gripped me.
What if they retaliate even harder?
I sat frozen for nearly an hour.
Sweat dripping down my forehead.
Finally, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes — and clicked POST.
Within two hours, the post exploded.
Over 1,000 shares.
Hundreds of comments.
People tagging loan regulatory agencies.
Bloggers picking up the story.
Strangers messaged me, thanking me for speaking out.
Some shared their own horror stories.
That’s when I realized —
I wasn’t alone.
I had an army now.
But the fight wasn’t over yet.
In fact, it was just beginning.
Because the loan app agents didn’t take it lightly.
They escalated — and I wasn’t ready for what came next.
© Valentine Nkemjika
