The Mysterious Money

For almost two years, there was a strange number that sent me ₦50,000 every month. I never knew the person. The first time it happened, I thought it was a mistake. I checked my account three times, but the money was there. The narration simply said, “For your upkeep.” I ignored it. The second month, another ₦50,000 came from the same account. This time, I called the number attached to the transfer, but it was switched off. I told my friends about it, and they laughed at me. One of them said, “Guy, don't disturb yourself. If someone wants to bless you, accept the blessing.” I didn't feel comfortable, but honestly, things were hard. I was unemployed at the time, my landlord had already warned me about rent, and sometimes I had to choose between transportation and food. So I started using the money for my basic needs. Every month, without fail, ₦50,000 would enter my account.

After about eight months, I became used to it. I even started expecting the money. If the 15th of the month came and I hadn't received it, I would become worried. I knew it was strange, but I convinced myself that whoever was sending it probably knew me and simply didn't want to reveal their identity. Then one month, the money didn't come. I waited for three days, then one week. Nothing. I tried calling the number again, but it remained unreachable. I was angry. I didn't even understand why I was angry at someone I didn't know. Two months passed without a single transfer. Then, one evening, while I was sitting outside my compound, a man I had never seen before walked towards me and asked, “Are you Emmanuel?” I said yes. He brought out his phone, looked at me for a few seconds and asked, “Do you know a woman named Mrs. Grace?” My heart skipped because that was my mother's name.

I told him yes. He asked me to sit down. Then he told me something that completely changed the way I saw those monthly transfers. The man was my mother's former employer. Years earlier, before I left secondary school, my mother had worked as a cleaner in his office. According to him, she had saved a lot of money with him because she didn't trust keeping it in a bank. One day, she became seriously ill and needed money for treatment. She withdrew almost everything she had saved. Unfortunately, she died a few months later. I already knew my mother had struggled financially before her death, but I didn't know she had left any money behind. The man then showed me an old notebook. Inside it was my mother's handwriting. She had written my name, my school information and a short note saying, “If anything happens to me, please make sure my son doesn't drop out of school.”

The man told me that after my mother died, he found the notebook among some old documents. He had promised her years earlier that if she ever needed help, he would assist her family. Since she was no longer alive, he decided to quietly support me instead. The ₦50,000 he had been sending every month was not random money. It was money he had set aside for my education and survival. Then he told me why he had stopped sending it. He had recently been diagnosed with a serious illness and had been spending most of his money on treatment. I didn't know what to say. I just sat there looking at him.

Before he left, he gave me the notebook and said, “Your mother was one of the most hardworking women I ever met. Don't waste the opportunity she wanted you to have.” That night, I cried for the first time in years. Not because the money had stopped, but because I suddenly realized that someone my mother had helped years ago had remembered her long after everybody else had moved on.

Today, whenever I hear people say, “Nobody cares about anybody anymore,” I remember that man. I never knew his name properly, and he never asked me for anything in return. He simply kept a promise he made to a woman who could no longer remind him of it.

Sometimes, the blessing you are looking for may not come from the person you expect. And sometimes, the good you do today may continue speaking for you long after you are gone.

If you were in my position, would you have kept accepting the ₦50,000 without knowing who was sending it?