Not a Good Morning in January

The excitement was overwhelming; finally, I was going to braid my hair after weeks of frustration, combing, and styling it myself. You know how difficult it can be to comb and style natural hair every morning before heading out? I often get tired, and frustrated doing so, hence the overwhelming excitement when my older sister called me to come braid my hair at her place.

It was on a fateful Sunday morning, and I was rushing to get my chores done quickly so I could head to my sister's place for her to braid my hair. Anxiety and excitement were all over my face. I kept humming songs and rushing through my chores, unintentionally bumping into things in my haste.

I was very excited for two main reasons. Firstly, the thought of seeing my sister after months of not meeting her was exhilarating, and she's not just family but also my buddy, confidante, and partner in crime. So, the excitement of spending time together was plain as day. Secondly, I was going to a place with uninterrupted power supply. I mean, what do you expect? I live in an area where power supply is rationed, and we barely get any.

Finally done with chores, I hurriedly ate my breakfast even though I had no appetite. I was filled with happiness, still, I had to force something down my stomach because my mom wouldn't get off my back, overemphasizing the importance of breakfast. After finishing my meal, I had my bath, dressed up, and headed over to my big brother's room for some transactions. Yes, transactions, you heard it right. I needed some money for transport and to get some hair extensions. I wouldn't magically teleport myself there and magically get a hair extension to braid my hair; would I??? hell no, I won't.

But guess what??? That was the beginning of a dark gloom for me. In order to get the money needed for my transport and hair extensions, I asked my brother to help me trade some tokens for cash. He, in turn, gave me his wallet address and a memo to send the tokens to be traded, not without giving me a series of warnings to check the details and make sure all are accurate before sending the tokens. But excitement had gotten the best of me, and I obviously gave no heed to the warnings. I simply sent the tokens after I assumed the wallet details were correct. Yes, I assumed.

Ten minutes after transferring the tokens to his wallet, I asked him to check whether he had received it and do the trading quickly as I needed to head out as soon as possible. However, it hadn't arrived in his wallet, so I assumed again it was network issues delaying the arrival and decided to wait for some more time. Twenty minutes had gone, thirty were about to go, but he still hadn't seen anything in his wallet. At first, I thought he was pulling my leg and kept telling him I was in no mood for such jokes.

I realized he was serious when he showed me his account to confirm that nothing had arrived. I was confused because I received a notification that the transaction I did was successful. I kept thinking about what the problem might be because at that moment, it was pretty obvious it was not network issues. It was then it dawned on me that I might have sent it to the wrong account. To confirm my fears, I decided to check my transaction history and compare the details I sent with the tokens to that of my brother, and truly, I had sent it to the wrong account.

I was dumbfounded. For a moment, my legs failed me; I couldn't move. I stood transfixed, wondering whether I was dreaming or not. My mom's call brought me to my senses, and it was no dream at all. Within 30 minutes, I had lost the amount of seven thousand, six hundred naira to thin air, and you know one major disadvantage of using digital wallets: once you mistakenly send tokens to the wrong address or memo, it is impossible to get it back.

Seven thousand, six hundred naira was no joke. I stood calculating all the things I could have gotten with it and how I could have carefully confirmed the details before hitting the send button, but no matter how much I wished for it to be reversed, the truth remains clearly painted that I had lost the money.

The pain I felt was more severe and shocking than what you'd receive when your boyfriend breaks your heart. I just went to my room, undressed, lay on my bed, and kept staring at empty spaces, hoping for a miracle to happen, but there was none forthcoming.

I kept staring at empty spaces until it was time to attend our Christian meeting. At the Christian meeting, I couldn't pay attention. I felt irritated by everything and everybody around me and kept praying for the meeting to end so I could head home to the comfort of my bed. I simply needed my space.

Once the meeting ended, I kept a straight face and avoided every greeting because I was in no mood for it. But no matter how I avoided everyone and everything around me, the realization still weighed heavily on my mind: I had lost my money, and there was no recovering it.

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