The 3-part series is as narrated by the author, from a personal experience.
NAIROBI, Kenya – It was in 2019 when my life took an unexpected turn, all thanks to a seemingly lucrative opportunity presented to me by a friend.
I vividly remember the excitement I had when I stepped into the modest 1-bedroom house of a renowned forex trader in Chuka, Tharaka Nithi County.
We were welcomed with sodas and snacks by his mistress, a casual hospitality that masked the danger ahead.
What I didn’t know was that this encounter would lead me down a path of deceit and financial ruin.
The trader had a reputation for success and a lifestyle that suggested he had mastered the art of making money.
With awards from top forex trading companies in Kenya adorning his walls and tales of his trading prowess filling the room, I was convinced that I was on the brink of unlocking untold wealth.
As a fourth-year Economics student at Chuka University, I was no stranger to the world of forex trading. I had studied it in theory and dabbled a bit, but I lacked real market experience.
This guy seemed like the key to unlocking that potential. Eager to start, I agreed to embark on a six-month training journey with the trader at $50 per month.
His promise of six months of intensive training seemed like a long time for someone as eager as I was to make money.
My impatience and greed, fueled by my already decent earnings from academic writing, pushed me towards a quicker path.
The trader presented me with three options: he could trade for me while I learned, I could deposit money and trade using signals from him, or I could wait for the full six months of training and start making money.
Driven by the desire for quick riches, I chose the second option—trade while buying signals from him.
“Aaaih mbona tungoje six months, na tuko na master hapa?” I jokingly asked.
I didn’t realize that this was precisely what they intended. I had walked right into their trap.
I deposited $700 into my trading account and within days, my account balance soared, and I found myself basking in the illusion of financial success.
“Bro wacha nikushow, hii unapata hapa ni kiasi. Ungekuwa na account kubwa, tunachapa ata 200k a week,” the guy informed me.
Without hesitation, I withdrew $3800 from my bank account and added it to my trading account to maximize my profits.
The following Monday, my account balance stood at $5130. I began trading early at 6:00 AM, filled with hope and determination to become wealthy enough to support those I cared about.
I didn’t know that the foundation upon which my dreams were built was crumbling beneath me.
But by 11:00 AM, things started to unravel. The market behaved erratically, and my profits began turning into losses.
The trader and the friend warned me against closing my active trades as it would result in losses which was not our aim—they urged me to stay resilient, claiming that true success in forex trading required a “hardcore” mentality.
“Boss forex inataka ukae ngumu. Ukiwa kasoftie huwezi tengeneza pesa,” the friend urged me.
By 3:00 PM, my account was demanding more money to boost my margin level and sustain the trades.
Ignoring the warning signs, I blindly followed their advice to add more money, convinced that fortune awaited just beyond the horizon. But the horizon grew ever distant as my debts piled higher, swallowing me whole in a vortex of despair.
“Hii pesa unaweka kuboost margin, bado ni yako. Market ikirudi normal utawithdraw zote mpaka profits,” the guy assured me.
Desperation led me to borrow from everyone I knew—my brother, mother, father, fiancée, and friends. If I had in-laws at the time, they too would have been caught in my frantic attempts to keep the trades afloat.
What had started as a promising venture turned into a nightmare. My finances were exhausted, and I was left with a mountain of debt, stress, and a sobering lesson about greed and the dangers of quick riches.
The trader’s flashy lifestyle had been a mirage, and my eagerness to follow it had blinded me to the risks.
Desperate to salvage what remained of my finances, I sought justice, only to be met with indifference and contempt.
The authorities dismissed my losses as inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. In their eyes, I was just another victim of a system designed to prey on the vulnerable.
“Kijana unaibiwa mamillioni na wenzako na huna chai ya serikali? Hii kesi yako ni ngumu,” one of the investigating officers said.
Though the wounds healed with time, the scars inflicted by betrayal remain in my soul, a constant reminder of the price of misplaced trust. As wahenga said, “Kikulacho ki nguoni mwako.”
