It was around 11:45 pm when I booked a Bolt ride from Ikeja to my place in Surulere. The driver accepted quickly, and I thought it would be a smooth ride. But halfway through, he suddenly parked by the roadside, claiming his “fuel was finished.” I was shocked—why would a driver accept a trip so late at night without enough fuel?
He asked me to contribute money for fuel if I wanted him to continue. I refused because I had already paid through the app. His tone changed instantly—he became aggressive, telling me to either give him cash or get out. Alone, at midnight, in an unfamiliar area, I felt trapped. Eventually, he dropped me off by the roadside and zoomed away, leaving me stranded.
I had to call a friend for rescue, and it was almost 2 am before I got home. That experience opened my eyes to how unsafe ride-hailing can be when drivers exploit passengers. Since then, I always double-check driver ratings and avoid travelling so late unless absolutely necessary.
- This complaint has 0 upvotes, 0 downvotes, and was last updated 6 months ago by
.
Upload Proof:
No proof uploaded.
Complaint Details
Company Name: bolt driver Ganiu Olasumbo
State: Lagos
Year: 2022-02-18
Date Posted: August 19, 2025
Telephone: 0902*****21
- You must be logged in to reply to this topic.
More topics
PASTOR’s ADEBAYO DECEITS
Pastor Adebayo's rise to fame was meteoric. With a charismatic smile and a silver tongue, he convinced thousands that he was the chosen one, sent to bring prosperity and healing to the masses. His televised sermons were spectacles of emotional manipulation, leaving his followers in tears and awe. They emptied their pockets, donating generously to his ministry, hoping for a miracle. But behind the glitz and glamour of his lavish church, Pastor Adebayo's empire was built on deceit. The "Miracle Oil" he sold was just ordinary olive oil, bottled and branded to exploit the faithful. The "Healing Handkerchiefs" were nothing more than cheap cloth, anointed with water and prayers that meant nothing. Yet, he promised his followers that these items held the power to cure their ailments, bring them wealth, and solve their problems. As the donations poured in, Pastor Adebayo lived a life of opulence. He drove luxury cars,…
16503609735bughtffttotyddpZfrzifizxgyfcfhohg77r8gw cc 2xfueokvguwccieig8 DC cieggueigd if finitely 8fhWelcome to Gboard clipboard, any text you copy will be saved here.Tap on a clip to paste it in the text box.Touch and hold a clip to pin it. Unpinned clips will be deleted after 1 hour.Use the edit icon to pin, add or delete clips.Touch and hold a clip to pin it. Unpinned clips will be deleted after 1 hour.Use the edit icon to pin, add or delete clips.Touch and hold a…
Loan Trap at Microfinance Bank in Benin
In Benin City, I took a ₦100,000 loan from BrightFuture Microfinance Bank to support my small tailoring business. Loan Officer (Mr. Efe): “Don’t worry, Madam, the repayment is easy. Just ₦15,000 monthly for 8 months.” Me: “That sounds fair. I’ll manage.” But after I signed, hidden charges started appearing. SMS alerts showed deductions I never understood. I went back furious: Me: “Mr. Efe, why am I paying ₦20,000 this month instead of ₦15,000?” Efe (shrugging): “Those are processing and insurance fees. It’s in the fine print.” Me: “But you never explained that to me!” Efe: “Madam, once you signed, you agreed. If you default, your shop items will be seized.” I struggled for months, paying almost double the original loan. That experience taught me how microfinance banks prey on people’s desperation.
Electrician Nightmare in Ibadan
In Ibadan, my landlord recommended an electrician named Kunle when my apartment wiring kept tripping. Me: “Kunle, please check everything well. I don’t want fire issues.” Kunle (smiling): “No wahala, oga. I be professional. Just buy the materials.” I spent ₦35,000 on wires and breakers. After two days, the lights came back, but a week later, sparks started flying from the socket. I called him angrily: Me: “Kunle, your work is faulty. My TV almost caught fire!” Kunle: “Ah oga, that one no be my fault. Maybe your appliances dey bad. For me to check am again, you go pay another ₦15,000.” I felt scammed. A so-called professional took my money but left my house even more dangerous. That day, I swore never to hire artisans without verified references again.
Love Scam from Port Harcourt
I met Chika on Facebook. She claimed she was based in Port Harcourt and worked in an oil servicing company. We chatted for weeks, and she sounded real—voice notes, pictures, even video calls. Chika: “Baby, I really like you. But I’m stranded. Can you send me ₦30,000 to sort out my rent?” Me: “Are you sure you’ll pay me back? Money is tight for me right now.” Chika: “Of course, sweetheart. I’ll pay you once my salary drops. Don’t you trust me?” I sent the money. Two days later, she asked again—this time ₦50,000, claiming her mum was sick. When I hesitated, she snapped: Chika: “So you don’t love me enough to help? You’re wicked!” I borrowed to assist her, only for her to block me days later. That’s when I realized she wasn’t real—just another fraudster playing on emotions.
