WhatsApp Virtual Ajo: How Women Trust Strangers with Their Money
By Kehinde Adeleye
The first time I heard about online contribution groups was during the height of the japa surge, the wave of mass emigration from Nigeria to other countries. A coordinator had taken money from a WhatsApp contribution group and japa-ed, leaving dozens of women stranded and unpaid.
In another case, a woman who picked number one on the payout list collected the first bulk contribution and vanished abroad, leaving the rest of the group confused and helpless.
Yet despite these stories, online thrift circles are growing fast. Across WhatsApp, Telegram, and even Facebook, thousands of women are pooling money in informal digital savings groups. They contribute fixed amounts periodically and take turns collecting a lump sum.
In an economy where cash is tight, inflation is high, and bank loans are either inaccessible or unaffordable, this has quietly become a lifeline.
If you have ever seen a WhatsApp status or broadcast saying 2k to pack 50k, 10k monthly to pack 200k, or 5k every three days to pack 80k, then you have already encountered this world whether you realized it or not. These are not giveaways or pyramid schemes. They are the new face of ajo, digital, decentralized, and deeply rooted in trust.
The concept itself is not new, traditionally known as ajo, esusu, or thrift, these rotating savings schemes have been a staple in Nigerian markets, social clubs, and communities for generations, especially among women.
What has changed is the structure. Instead of gathering physically at a market or monthly meeting, today’s contributors are often total strangers, connected only by their phones and a promise. In many cases, they have never met in person.
Some groups are referral only. You cannot join unless someone inside vouches for you. That layer of social accountability is meant to prevent fraud. Still, things go wrong, especially when people take their turn early and then default on subsequent payments, leaving others hanging.
Every group has a coordinator. They act as the manager, referee, and debt collector, assigning payout turns, collecting contributions, and chasing down defaulters. For their work, coordinators usually take a cut from each cash out. It might sound steep, but most members accept it.
The bigger issue is the pressure, once a member has collected, there is little incentive for them to keep paying, and many do not.
To recover money, some coordinators resort to shouting, shaming, and even threats. In some WhatsApp groups, defaulting has led to leaked voice notes, house visits, public embarrassment, and even violence.
Despite the drama, the system still works for many at least. In fact, it is often safer and more accessible than formal financial options. With interest free payouts and no credit checks, online thrift circles offer what banks and loan apps often cannot, quick access to bulk money with flexible terms.
The groups also create community. Most are built around shared identities, women in the same church, profession, school alumni group, or just friends of friends. The emotional accountability matters. People tend to pay when they feel seen or when they know the consequences of defaulting are loud and public.
Even working class and middle class women join multiple circles at once, using them for targeted goals like rent, school fees, or business capital.
Some women say they have used the system to pay their child’s school fees, buy appliances, or meet emergency needs. For many, it is the only realistic way to achieve certain financial goals without sinking into debt.
Still, the risks are real, and there is no safety net. If someone collects and disappears, there is no regulation, no customer support line. The group either absorbs the loss or collapses entirely.
Some groups now require ID cards, pictures, work information, or emergency contacts before assigning payout slots. Others blacklist defaulters and circulate their names across different thrift communities, a kind of informal credit history enforced by word of mouth and screenshots.
The emotional tone in these groups can swing from warm and supportive to hostile and volatile. When things go well, there is celebration. But when someone defaults, everything changes. Trust collapses. Accusations fly. Screenshots are shared. And the sisterhood turns to suspicion.
In a country where financial systems often fail, women are finding their own way, blending tradition with technology, community with risk, and turning informal trust into tangible support.
