The soft hum of a standing fan filled Amaka’s small bedroom. Outside, Lagos slept. Inside, only the glow of her phone lit the room. Her thumbs, as usual, were wide awake and ready for action.
“Na wa o. Everyone’s getting rich or getting iPhones, and I’m here managing this cracked screen,” she muttered to herself, half-amused, half-resigned.
She kept scrolling. Then paused. Scrolled again. Then froze.
Her eyes widened as though NEPA had just restored power. Right there on her timeline was a tweet that felt like destiny itself.
“iPhone 15 Pro MAX Giveaway!!! Just retweet, comment ‘done’, and follow our page. 1,000 units to be won. Winners announced TONIGHT!”
She gasped and sat up like she had just remembered rice on the fire.
“iPhone 15? For free? In this economy?” she whispered.
Without hesitation, her fingers sprang into action. She moved like a soldier on a mission or a P.O.S. agent during fuel scarcity. She liked the post, retweeted, commented “Done,” and followed the page.
Seconds later, she was on WhatsApp, sending a voice note to her best friend, Kamsi.
“Babe! Don’t dull. iPhone giveaway is live. Winners are dropping tonight!”
Kamsi’s reply came quickly.
“Amaka, wait. The handle is @apple_nigeria_001? With an underscore? No blue tick? And the bio says ‘Apple Company, Ikorodu’?”
Amaka rolled her eyes and replied, “Why are you always like this? Not everything has to be verified. Let me enjoy my chance.”
Kamsi simply sighed and typed one word.
“Okay.”
But Amaka wasn’t done. She posted the tweet on her Instagram story with the caption:
“God won’t pass me by this time.”
She dropped it in her class group chat. She even slid into her crush’s DMs.
“Hey… you might want to check this out.”
The next morning, birds chirped. Sunlight poured into her room. Amaka grabbed her phone, still on Twitter. She searched for the page.
It was gone.
Deleted. Like evidence after chop-and-clean-mouth.
Her face sank. “No… No no no. This can’t be real.”
She scrolled again, hopeful. Nothing.
The only apple in her room was a wrinkled one in the fridge.
The real gist
Fake news doesn’t always come wrapped in political lies or dramatic documentaries. Sometimes, it shows up as generous giveaways, suspicious voice notes or blurry screenshots with no sources.
It spreads fast.
It flatters our feelings.
It fuels our fears.
And most dangerously, it feels like the truth.
But here’s what Kamsi knew, and what Amaka eventually learned.
Not everything viral is vital. Not everything trending is true.
Want to be like Kamsi? Here’s how
- Check the source. If it’s from uncle_sule_newsroom, be guided.
- Don’t trust screenshots. They’re easy to fake. Always cross-check.
- Use tools like Google Lens. It’s free and smarter than vibes.
- Ask yourself: Who gains if I believe this? Sometimes, it’s just someone chasing clout or causing chaos.
- Pause before you post. Not every link deserves your forward button.
Why you should care
Fake news ruins reputations.
It misleads elections.
It spreads fear.
It divides communities.
And yes, it makes people like Amaka look… well, like Amaka.
But the power to stop it is in your hands.
You don’t need a journalism degree.
Just your brain, your data and a pinch of common sense.
So next time you see that “urgent update” in the family group chat, or that “leaked video” from an account with five followers, ask yourself one simple question.
Would Kamsi believe this?
Because while Amaka’s phone stayed the same, her eyes?
They finally opened.
This message has been fact-checked by your sense.
