I have always wondered how Ahmed managed to afford his expensive gadgets.

His mother sells akara by the roadside just to keep the family afloat. I know her well enough to be certain that she could never buy an iPhone 17, designer clothes, or the latest wristwatches for her son.

Yet Ahmed walks around with all of them.

Good Lord, my guy is really enjoying life.

Deep down, I know something is not right. I cannot prove it, but the signs are too obvious to ignore. Every time I ask him about it, he denies everything with a casual shrug.

What surprises me even more is his mother’s silence. She seems strangely indifferent to her son’s sudden wealth. As a parent, shouldn’t she be asking questions?

Ahmed and I are roommates. More than that, we have been friends for as long as I can remember. We go way back. Because of that, I know him well—almost down to his bank statements.

Which is why his sudden transformation makes no sense.

One moment he was just like the rest of us, managing the little we had. The next moment, he had “blown.” No warning, no explanation.

Well… maybe there were signs.

Ahmed was always awake late into the night, long after everyone else had gone to bed. His eyes glued to his phone, fingers constantly moving across the screen. I assumed he was studying or watching movies.

Until one evening he walked into our room carrying several shopping bags, a wide grin stretching across his face.

I asked him the obvious question.

“Where did all these things come from?”

He laughed and said, “Na God o.”

That was it.

Eventually, I stopped asking questions. Instead, I simply enjoyed the small perks that came with being the roommate of a “big boy.”

Until things began to change.

Ahmed started acting like he was my alpha and omega, as though I owed him some kind of loyalty or submission because of his money. He expected admiration. Respect. Even obedience.

But I drew the line.

Slowly, I stopped accepting gifts from him. I did not want anything tying me to whatever he was involved in.

Perhaps he expected me to join him eventually. Even though he never directly told me what he did, he knew that I knew something was wrong. Sometimes it felt like his attitude was designed to pressure me—to frustrate me into crossing the line with him.

But not me.

I am a child of God.

The only son of my mother.

I cannot put my hands into something I know is wrong.

Still, I often wonder where this intense pressure to become rich overnight comes from, especially among people our age.

Everywhere I look, young guys suddenly have money lots of it. Yet when you ask where it comes from, the answers are always vague, evasive, or wrapped in jokes.

“Na God.”

“Na hustle.”

“Na connection.”

No one explains anything clearly.

Even more disturbing is how normal it has begun to feel. These conversations now happen openly, as if questionable wealth has become something to admire rather than question.

But to me, it can never be normal.

No matter how common it becomes.

The pressure to follow the same path will never get to me.

I still believe in hard work.

I still believe in integrity.

This so called “hustle culture” that glorifies quick money without accountability is slowly eating away at our values. Parents, siblings, friends, and society all have a role to play in correcting it.

Sometimes I look at Ahmed and wonder how long this life will last.

Because fast money rarely comes without consequences.

And when those consequences finally arrive, they do not knock politely.

They break the door down.

Our generation must remember that success built on deception is only temporary. The thrill of quick wealth fades quickly, but wealth gotten through hardwork can last a lifetime.

This growing moral decadence must stop.

Before it consumes us all.