The Nigerian Prince Joke Is No Longer Funny
I stopped laughing when I realized the joke was on me. And any other Nigerian freelancer that wants to open a PayPal account.
I stopped laughing when I realized the joke was on me. And any other Nigerian freelancer that wants to open a PayPal account.
I had just confirmed my worst fear. Nigeria was not on the list of countries legible to receive payments through Paypal.
I could not help but reflect on the losses incurred because of my nationality. A 22-year-old freelance content writer in Brazil would not need to spend hours wondering how to get paid through PayPal or Stripe. There would be no Google search results confirming her fears that yes, she can’t receive money for her hard work.
Now, in all fairness, Brazil has not gained notoriety for internet swindlers raking in millions from unsuspecting victims. Nor has it been mentioned in sitcoms for an easy laugh.
But my country has. Over and over again. On the news. In movies. Nigerians are either corrupt or running Ponzi schemes.
“And a Nigerian prince sent me an email.”
The thought of a Nigerian royalty promising you millions of dollars in exchange for a few thousand dollars is ridiculous and makes for a harmless joke. But what of the unconscious bias that starts to grow in the minds of viewers?
I used to laugh at these jokes but I didn’t realize the impact until I couldn’t apply for some positions. Until I had to ask someone to pay me through TransferWise while worrying that some form of distrust would rear its ugly head. How do you say, “Oh I can’t use PayPal. Well sure I can open an account but I can’t receive money. Because of regulations against internet fraudsters in my country...”
Yes, it looks as bad as it sounds.
I grew up with government campaigns against corruption and their attempts to protect the country’s reputation while breaking the rules they set in place.
The fight against 419 or internet fraud is real. Or at least that is what the routine harassment by Nigerian security agents of young men in possession of electronic devices or driving nice cars or living in fancy houses is called. It has seeped into our culture. Every young person who receives money from foreigners or works on his laptop is seen as someone violating the law.
In 2020, installing Slack on your phone can get you arrested. Yet work has gone remote. Jobs are becoming digital. The revolution ushering the future of work has stopped at our gates.
Here, we find that politicians are more concerned about stuffing their pockets, unable to see how our country is light years behind, content to enjoy technological advancements in other countries but unwilling to support indigenous innovation. Spurred on by this behavior and ignorance, the security agents find it easy to victimize digital workers or anyone with a laptop.
But this rant/essay/impromptu blog post is not about the state of corruption in my country. I write this to ask this question; why is a freelancer ready to do honest work lumped together with a swindler who spams people’s emails? Why do Nigerian remote workers have to resort to using VPNs to hide their real locations? And why do I have to ask my cousin in London to let me use his PayPal account to get paid?
All hands point to “the Nigerian prince”. The countless schemes and internet fraud operations that have made people scared to do business with Nigerians. I consistently worry about clients refusing to work with me because of where I am from.
The thought of being put at a disadvantage because of where you come from is paralyzing.
Lost opportunities and dusty petitions
“I applied to a job online that would allow me earn a full-time income by Nigerian standards (about $1000 a month). I qualified for this job after a rigorous screening process but when it was time to setup my work info, I found out that the company makes payments only via paypal.…The internet presents willing Nigerians with opportunity. The opportunity to earn their living legitimately online. However Paypal — the ‘industry standard’ for online payments makes this opportunity inaccessible to Nigerians in most cases.” — Rukky Kofi.
Rukky Kofi is just one of the Nigerians that have lost opportunities because of strict regulations to reduce internet fraud. Her change.org petition is closed now, dust settling on it. It is scary. Being qualified and ready to work but being denied because you are Nigerian.
Losing opportunities because of the country I was born in hits harder every time. From the new US immigration regulations to the glare of the empty space between Netherlands and Norway in lists where I am to choose a country. The temptation is there every time to claim another country as my own as many others do. But the horror stories of money being stuck in PayPal accounts when something goes wrong makes me reconsider and exit the page. The door is closed, this is not for you.
This shroud is not only cloaking us. It is now worn by anyone from white men in their dark basements equipped with a computer tricking people out of their money to other scammers of African descendant who have never stepped a foot in this country. Every one is Nigerian and they are all swindlers.
I doubt that my essay will change anything but as the world opens up and workers are hired from all over the globe shouldn’t we be having conversations about opening up PayPal or Stripe or Xoom to people who do not identify as Nigerian princes?
I want to feel human. Which is a lot to ask when you live in a third world country. I understand that PayPal and other payment platforms are trying to keep internet fraud to a minimum. But what will happen when Nigeria’s booming population goes online to join the job market? Or when the gig economy becomes the mainstay of my generation?
Of course, we can suggest other payment methods. But there are simply no assurances that a client will agree to use TransferWise over PayPal. Let’s face it. People trust these platforms more. And not all of us want to part with these opportunities.
It feels like a door is closed to us and there is no way to get in. No legal way anyway. So please don’t suggest VPNs and false locations.
So I write this, still in pain that I can’t open a Stripe account and get on Medium’s paid membership program. I do hope we find another way. A way to shut out the Nigerian princes out and let in the Nigerian freelancer.
If you know any legal ways of receiving money through Paypal In Nigeria, please share it with me in comment section.
Update: I found this interesting post that shows that many Nigerian prince emails don’t originate from Nigeria
