The Warped Logic of a Fraudster

I recently read an article by one of my favorite Nigerian writers, Josie Elewa, a sharp critique of how our obsession with wealth has driven today’s youth into Yahooism and Whoreism. It was a brutal takedown, exposing how many of our so-called role models “shashe’d” their way to the top. Names weren’t spared—Chief of Staff Femi Gbajabiamila, Ogun State Governor Dapo Abiodun, and even the Ooni of Ife all had receipts laid out against them.

But what really caught my attention was the reference to a classic Nigerianism: “When I was poor, you didn’t ask for the source of my poverty. Now that I’m rich, you want to know the source of my wealth.”

It’s a brilliant line—witty, cutting, and deeply Nigerian. I chuckled when I read it, but in hindsight, I shouldn’t have. Every time I’ve heard these words—on a football field, in casual conversations, or anywhere young people gather—I’ve noticed the reaction. It always lands like a mic-drop moment, a final word against envy and hypocrisy.

But scratch the surface, and you will find one of the most warped, intellectually dishonest, and dangerous lines of reasoning to ever pass for wisdom in Nigeria.

This phrase is often used to deflect scrutiny from people who have acquired sudden, inexplicable wealth. It is a clever but deeply flawed argument that distorts basic logic, morality, and societal norms. If taken seriously, it suggests that all wealth is legitimate simply because poverty existed before it. This is the kind of thinking that enables corruption, fuels societal decay, and allows fraudsters to parade themselves as role models.

The saying implies that just as no one questioned the circumstances of a person’s poverty, no one should question the circumstances of their wealth. But this is a false equivalence. Poverty does not require an explanation, wealth often does.

If someone is poor, the reasons are usually obvious: lack of opportunity, systemic failures, unemployment, bad luck, poor choices, or even sheer misfortune. No one investigates poverty because it is self-explanatory. On the other hand, wealth, especially when acquired rapidly and without a clear track record, raises legitimate questions. If a man goes from hawking sachet water to driving a Rolls-Royce overnight, skepticism is not envy; it is common sense.

Nigeria has a well-documented problem with sudden affluence. The country ranked 150 out of 180 on Transparency International’s 2023 Corruption Perceptions Index, making it one of the most corrupt nations in the world. According to a 2020 report by PricewaterhouseCoopers, illicit financial flows out of Nigeria account for an estimated $18 billion annually. This is money stolen from public coffers, funneled through shady businesses, or laundered abroad, yet the people benefiting from it often defend themselves with this very Nigerianism.

We all know Hushpuppi, the Instagram-famous fraudster who flaunted private jets, luxury cars, and designer clothes. When people questioned his wealth, his response was classic: “Haters will always ask for the source of your success.” As it turned out, his wealth was sourced from cyber fraud, scamming thousands of people worldwide. He wasn’t a victim of envy, he was a criminal deflecting scrutiny.

There was a time in Nigeria when money had to be explained, my grandmother once told me and Akinyemi when we visited her in Osogbo. A rich man had to prove himself, whether through business, hard work, or innovation. Today, that standard has been eroded. The rise of political godfathers, oil bunkering, internet fraud, and government looting has normalized the idea that riches do not need a backstory. In many places, a man who returns to his village with a convoy of SUVs is celebrated, not questioned. If an obscure civil servant suddenly builds a mansion, people assume he has “been blessed.”

I once saw a poll (couldn’t quite remember where now) where more than 65% of young people surveyed said they would engage in internet fraud if given the opportunity. When asked why, many pointed to role models who had risen from nothing to flamboyant wealth without ever explaining how. The Nigerianism in question reinforces this mindset. It makes questioning wealth look like bad behavior, rather than the civic duty it truly is.

This Nigerianism does more than just provide a convenient excuse for those with dirty money; it actively discourages accountability. In a country where corruption, fraud, and political looting are rampant, it emboldens wrongdoers while silencing concerned citizens.

This is something that makes the pursuit of wealth a free-for-all, where how you make money no longer matters, discourages honest hard work, because people see shortcuts being celebrated, and normalizes criminality, allowing fraudsters, corrupt politicians, and money launderers to claim victimhood.

The truth is simple: in any functional society, wealth must be questioned. People have the right to know whether money was made through sweat or stolen from their bank accounts. Asking about wealth is not about jealousy; it is about justice.

The next time someone uses this warped phrase to dodge accountability, a simple response will do: If your wealth is clean, why are you afraid of questions?