She stole her sister’s visa to marry a rich man abroad, but the plane took her…

Welcome to our channel.  Today, we invite you to discover a brand new story.  Make yourself comfortable.  It is said that what belongs to you will never slip through your fingers, and what does not belong to you will burn your hands if you try to hold onto it by force.  This is the story of two sisters with identical faces but opposite minds.

  This is the story of how greed bought itself a first-class ticket to shame.  In the bustling city of Ibado lived the Fijabi twins, identical but not in every way. First, there was Olami Posi.  Olami Posi was the kind of girl who treated the caretaker with the same respect she gave to the owner.  She was a nurse at the general hospital, hardworking and gentle.

  Mom, you have a headache .  Father, touch my mother.  Take away this pain.  Give him some rest.  Mom !  Drink this pepper soup, it will make you sweat and by tomorrow, this malaria will be so scared it will run away . It smelled wonderfully good.  She was the pride of her parents.  Then there was Olam.  If Oamiposi was fresh water, Hlamide was kerosene waiting for a match.

  Olamid believed that work was reserved for cursed people.  She spent her days on Instagram and TikTok following celebrities and shouting “God and great” over every private jet photo.   She was a beauty queen without a kingdom.  While Miposia wore her nurse’s uniform with dignity, she wore clothes that gave the elderly high blood pressure.

  They were identical.  If they remained still and closed their mouths, it was impossible to tell who was who.  But as soon as she spoke, the difference was obvious.  Oamiposie spoke wisely.  Oamide spoke arrogantly. The trouble started when Dr. Fei met Olamiposi online. Dr. Fei was a Nigerien veterinarian based abroad.

  He was a calm and humble man who was looking for a wife with a kind heart.  He didn’t want a woman who only loved his money.  He wanted a partner.  He and Olamiposi had been talking for 6 months.  He video-called each other every night.  Oamiposie fell in love with his kindness and Fébé fell in love with his simplicity.

  Oamide, of course, was jealous.  I don’t know what you’re doing with this man. Video calls here, video calls there for 6 months, not even a phone. He’s a doctor abroad and he’s video calling you while you’re wearing this tattered loincloth. It’s comfortable.  If it were me , I would have already asked him for an iPhone 15.

 Oamide!  Fei is a good man.  We’re talking about the future, not about phones. The future cannot be bought with a wig.  You’re wasting a golden ticket.  But Olamid didn’t know how golden the ticket was until the package arrived.  It was a Tuesday afternoon when the DHL van wandered off in front of their dealership.  The delivery man handed a thick envelope to Oamiposi.  THANKS.

   It was nothing. It’s from London.  Yes, go ahead, open it. Oamide watched like a falcon while the mipos opened it. Inside, there was a passport with a brand new visa, an airline ticket and a letter.  He did it.  Fei organized everything.  We’re getting married next month.  The flight is scheduled for this Saturday. Saturday is in two days.

  He paid for everything.  Spouse visa.  Ouamide, do you know how much it costs?  You are going to the United Kingdom.  He lives in a very quiet place.  He says it’s peaceful.  I can’t wait to be his wife.  Oamide looked at the passport.  The photo was of oliposie, but since they were identical twins, she looked exactly like Oamide.

  A dark and malevolent thought took root in the midee’s mind.  Why would Olami, who has no sense of fashion, go and enjoy the Queen’s land? The friend would just go there to cook soup.  I’m the one who’s made for the easy life.  I’m the one who knows how to dress for winter fashion.  I’m the one who deserves the dollars and pounds sterling.

Congratulations, my sister.  We need to celebrate this.  I’ll take care of dinner.  Don’t worry. You need to rest before your trip. Thank you sister, that’s very kind. If only she knew that this kindness was a trap.  That evening, Oamide ordered Rijolof since she didn’t cook for herself.  She also ordered the mosie’s favorite drink , zobo, nice and cold with lots of ice.

  But in the glass of miposia, Olamid had crushed four omniferous powers that she had bought at the pharmacy.  Bois, my sister, to your new life abroad, to our family.  When I get there, I’ll make sure to bring you along.  You won’t bring anyone over because you’re not going anywhere .  30 minutes later, Oamiposi collapsed on the sofa, snoring heavily.

  Oamide acted quickly.  She dragged her sister into the storage room at the back of the house, a room they rarely used, filled with old and dusty boxes.  She lay down on a mat at the lamiposi and locked the heavy padlock from the outside.  Then the transformation began.  Oamide has gone.  Olamios’s room.  She packed the suitcase that Lamiposie had prepared.

  She took the passport.  She took the ticket. She even took the engagement ring that Féit sent.  She looked at herself in the mirror.  She cleaned off her heavy makeup.  She tied her hair into a simple bun, just like Olamiposi. She put on Olamiosie’s modest dress. Oamide said, “Mirror, mirror! Magic mirror on the wall! Who’s the new girl? Who’s the new girl, Mrs.

 Fémie? It’s me, it’s me!” She told their parents early the next morning that Oamide had gone to visit a tent in the neighboring village to calm her thoughts because she was jealous. The parents, used to Oamide’s whims, believed the lie. They hugged the fake friend and blessed her journey. ” Go in peace, my daughter.

 Say hi to Féi for us. I will, Mama. I’m going to enjoy Fé.” At the international airport, the girl, Olam, was nervous. When the immigration officer looked at the passport, her heart pounded in her ribs. The officer asked, “Yes!” said Oamide, looking down shyly, imitating her sister. The officer began, “Have a good trip.” Oamide wanted to shout with joy.

She had made it through. She walked to the gate as if the place belonged to her.  She took a selfie but didn’t post it yet. She didn’t want anyone to be able to locate her before she was safe in white man’s country. She looked at the boarding pass. The destination code was H. HL. Maybe it was short for a city near London, or maybe Helsinki.

 It’s in Europe. Europe? It’s Europe. As long as there’s snow and dollars, I’m happy. She boarded the plane. It was a long flight with a layover in Frankfurt, Germany. Oamide drank the complimentary wine. She ate the airplane food like a queen. She dreamed about the shopping she would do.

 She planned how she would tell Fé that she had changed a little, that she was now more outgoing and fashionable. He would just have to accept it. In Frankfurt, she had a three-hour layover. She found the gate for her connecting flight. The screen displayed  Destination: Elsink Vanta. She boarded the second plane. This one was smaller.

 As it flew north, the clouds below turned white. Oamide smiled. Snow, the sign, the sign of wealth. But when the pilot announced their descent, Oamide peered out the window. It was white, very white. But there were no skyscrapers. There was no London. There were only trees as far as the eye could see and snow.

 Elsink, she whispered, savoring the name like an expensive wine. The land of milk and honey and honey. But the moment the airport’s automatic doors were about to slide open, the honey turned to gall. The cold didn’t just brush against her . It slapped her. Oamide clutched her handbag. Her teeth instantly began a rhythmic dance all their own.

 She entered the arrivals hall, pushing her trolley with the elegance of a duchess, expecting a chauffeur.  in a tuxedo, holding a sign with his stolen name. Instead, she saw him, Dr. Féi. He wasn’t wearing the Armanie suit she’d imagined. He wasn’t standing next to a Mercedes-Class. Ghémi was dressed like an Eskimo who’d just wrestled a bear.

 He wore a parka so thick it doubled his size, heavy pants that resembled a tarp, and boots. Boots that had clearly seen life’s battles. “Olami!” Fé shouted, his face lighting up with a genuine, blinding joy. He rushed forward . Oamide froze. She wanted to turn around and run into the plane. But Fémi wrapped her in a bear hug.

 He smelled of pine wood, cold air, and something musky, something like a goat, but stronger. “Darling, you’re here. But why are you trembling? Ah, I told you to bring…”  A thicker coat. The temperature is -1 today. -15. Where’s the car? Turn on the heater, please. The truck is outside. Welcome to Finland, my love. The truck was a battered, sturdy pickup.

 Oamid climbed into the raised passenger seat, his heart pounding in his stomach. As he drove away from the airport, they plunged into a forest that seemed to have no hunger. 30 minutes passed, 1 hour, 2 hours. Femi, where are the shops, the malls? Restaurants. Oh, the city is for tourists. We’re going home. The farm is in Lapland, further north.

 It’s peaceful. Just us, the reindeer, and the squirrels. Reindeer Farm. Yes, I told you, didn’t I? When we talked last month, you said you were looking forward to helping me with the Badevéo setup. You said the noise of the city…  gave me headaches. Yes, yes, I’m just jet-lagged. When they finally arrived at the cabin, Holamide realized that the people from her village had followed her to Europe without visas. The cabin was made of logs.

It was beautiful, yes, like a picture on a calendar, but it was isolated. There were no neighbors, no moods, just silence, a heavy, deafening silence. Inside, it was warm thanks to a roaring fireplace, but the furniture was simple. No velvet sofa, no flat-screen TV covering the wall, just books, wooden chairs, and rugs made of animal potty.

I have a surprise. Thank goodness. Finally, here’s the diamond necklace. One of them, Luna is pregnant and needs to give birth to Basamedi. I know how much you love dogs. You can help me with the puppies’ birth. It will be our first bonding activity. Holamide stared at him. She looked at his manicured nails.

  that she had paid 20,000 Nera to have her posed. Queen Athel courtship activity. That night, Holamide did not sleep on a bed of roses. Féi was a devout Christian. So they slept in separate rooms. Saturday arrived, and Holamide stood in a cold barn, holding a flashlight while Féi walked over to a sleeping dog. The smell was unbearable.

When Féi asked her to hold a bloody towel, she screamed and dropped it. Féi stopped what she was doing and looked at her. “Holamide, you’re a nurse, you see blood every day. Why are you acting like a princess?” ” It’s the altitude. I’m dizzy.” Féi finished putting on the Bassol, casting worried glances at her fiancée.

 The following days were not a honeymoon. They were more like a period of adjustment at a rehabilitation center. Hamide, the queen of Ibadan, the  Slein, the Duchess of Instagram, was reduced to a farmhand. At 4 a.m., the alarm clock blared like a banyan tree. Fémy was already up for devotion. He knocked on her door.

 “Morning devotion,” he announced. Oamid groaned, pulling the duvet back over her head. “We can pray on Zoom.” Fémy pulled back the covers. They prayed together. They prayed together on the floor. On their knees. Oamid knelt, her knees digging into the hardwood. While Fémy prayed with a thunderous fire, binding the spirits of air and earth, Oamid dozed off.

 She only woke when Fémy shouted, “Bring it in!” Then came the chores. Shoveling snow wasn’t exercise, it was torture. The expensive wig , the good-looking one she’d stolen from her sister’s suitcase, froze in Rigid stalactite. But the final straw was the kitchen incident. It was a Thursday evening. Fé came home from the cold, rubbing his hands together.

 “My love, I’ve been craving your cooking so much. I haven’t had a real Nigerian meal in two years. Please make me your special aquide soup. The one you told me your grandmother taught you the recipe for. Hamide panica.” The only thing she knew how to cook was boiling water for noodles, and even that she sometimes burned. But she couldn’t say no.

 Not when she was so deeply mired in the lie. “No, baby,” she said, her voice trembling. She checked the pantry. Féil had filled it with ingredients he ordered online at exorbitant prices. She saw the bag of aquide melon seeds, dried fish, crayfish, and spinach. Since there were no bitter leaves, she stared at the pots.

 “How difficult can it be?” she whispered. “It’s just soup, but everything inside and boils. Everything inside and boils.” And that’s exactly what she did. She didn’t fry the palm oil. She didn’t soak the dried fish to tenderize it. She threw the raw aigui seeds into a pot of cold water, added the rock-hard fish .

 She poured in the unwashed crayfish , threw in two whole onions because she was too lazy to chop them, and covered the pot. She turned the heat up high and went into the living room to paint her nails. Thirty minutes later, a strange smell wafted through the cabin. It didn’t smell like needles. “Dinner is served.” “Dinner is served,” Holamide announced, bringing the bowl to the table.

 Femi  He sat down, ready to eat. He looked into the bowl. The soup was pale and thin. Clumps of raw needles floated on the surface like islands in a flooded river. The dried fish stared at him hard and unyielding. The oil had separated, forming an angry red layer above the water. Fé slowly lowered his hand. He looked at the soup, then at the lamide.

What is this? It’s deconstructed needle. That’s how the chefs in Paris prepare it. It preserves the vitamins. Fy took a piece of dried fish. He tried to break it. It slammed against the plate like a stone. Oh! You told me you cooked for the entire hospital ward during the holidays. You told me cooking was therapeutic.

 I’m adjusting to Finnish water. Why are you complaining? Do you know how hard I’ve been working in front of this stove? Fémie  He stood up. The warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by the clinical, stifling gaze of a surgeon. You can’t cook. You’re terrified of blood. You almost fainted when I cut my finger yesterday.

 You don’t know the words to the hymns we sang on video calls. You sleep through prayers. He circled the table, his boots clattering dully on the wood, and stopped right behind her. And yesterday, I saw a butterfly tattoo on your ankle. Oam Posi doesn’t have any tattoos. She told me her body is the temple of the Lord. She hates needles.

Oamide stood up, her heart pounding . People change, Fémie. People change. I did it to surprise you. I did it to surprise you. Who are you? Who are you? Fy asked. The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Just as he opened his mouth to lie to  Again, Féi’s phone on the table beeped. Then it rang again and again.

 A rapid succession of notifications. Femy picked up the phone. He read the screen. His expression didn’t change, but his knuckles turned white as he stared at the device. It seemed the real Olami Posie had finally found a network strong enough to send an email. Olami’s legs buckled. She slumped back in the chair.

 Femy turned the screen toward her. It was a photo. A photo of her friend Posi holding a newspaper with today’s date, standing in an internet cafe in Ibadan. The caption read : “I am here.”  The woman who is with you is my twin sister.  She locked me up .  She’s an imposter. Fémie looked at Holamide with a mixture of disgust and pity.

  You locked your sister in a storage room for a visa.  It wasn’t like that .  I just wanted a better life.  Look at me, Femy.  I am beautiful.  I’m prettier than her. I can learn to be a nurse.  I can learn to love reindeer.  Please don’t send me back .  My friends are going to make fun of me.  Do you think it’s a question of beauty?  Do you think it’s a cooking issue?  You thought you were stealing a golden ticket, but this is what you’ve gotten yourself into.

  You didn’t know the whole story.   Do you know why I live here?  Do you know why I’m in the middle of nowhere ?  Because you’re a veterinarian. Because I’m hiding, I come from the Adido family of the kid.  Oamie must have been breathless.  The Adidas family were billionaires.  They owned shipping companies and half of Victoria Island.

  I hated that superficial life. I hated women who only wanted me for my last name. I hated the Sleens who couldn’t hold a conversation about anything other than wigs and trips to Dubai.  So, I came here to find peace, to find a woman who would love the veterinarian and not the billionaire heir.  Oamide wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

  I tested Oamie Posi for 6 months.  She passed every test.  She loved me for myself.  And it took you three days to show me that you are everything I ran away from. Femi, please, I can change.  I promise.  You’re right.  You’re going to change.  You’re going to change locations.   Are you calling the police?  Please, Nigerian prisons are awful, but Finnish prisons, I’d freeze.

  I’m not calling the police, that’s too easy.  I’m referring you back to the very people you were trying to impress. The return journey was a blur of misery.  Félyy did not accompany him to the airport.  He hired a silent and imposing taxi driver to take him.  He bought her a ticket, but not a direct flight.  It was a flight with three stopovers and long waits, a punishment for her.

  Two days later, Olamid arrived at the girl’s airport .  She looked like a madwoman. She was wearing the thick winter coat because she had no other clothes, sweating profusely in the Nigerian heat.  Her makeup was smeared. She didn’t have money for a taxi. She had to beg a truck driver to take her to Ibadan as she walked down the street leading to their concession.

Sweat dripped from her like rain. The women at the local market saw her first.  Oh, isn’t it?  Why is she wearing a duvet in this heat?  I thought she had gone to London to marry Prince Charles.  The mockery followed her like a shadow.  “Welcome from abroad,” shouted a motorcyclist.

  “Where’s the snow? Did you bring it back in your pocket?”  Amid kept his head down, the heat burning his skin, shame burning in his soul. When she entered the concession, she saw them.  Her parents were sitting on the veranda, looking stern, and sitting between them, radiant, was auamiposi.  Elle était vêtue d’une simple combinaison en Ankara, mais elle avait l’air d’une reine.

  Next to the friend sat a man in an impeccable suit.  He looked rich.  He was holding a briefcase.  Olamide collapsed onto the dusty ground, the various cloak suffocating him: “Mother, father, my sister, don’t call me your sister. A sister doesn’t drug her own blood. A sister does n’t lock her twin in darkness. It was the devil, I’m sorry.

” The man in the suit stood up.  Hamide, I am Master Tindé, the cousin and legal representative of Doctor Féi.  I have been instructed to file a complaint for kidnapping, identity theft, and fraud.  No, Dad begs them.  You wanted an easy life.  In prison, they will give you free food and accommodation.

  Isn’t that easy ?  Olami approached the lawyer and placed his hand on his arm.  Master, wait, wait.  Then she faced her sister, who was crying and sweating.  La ressemblance était frappante mais la différence était claire.  One was gold, the other was lead plated with gold.  I will ask Fé not to file a complaint. THANKS.  THANKS.  Posy.

  On one condition: you will work.  You will reimburse each cobo of the plane ticket that Féi wasted on you.  You will work in the hospital laundry washing sheets and uniforms until the debt is paid.  Oamide looked at her soft hands.  The laundry service, but I’m an influencer. Oamessa defeated.  I will wash it.  I will wash it. Three weeks later, a luxurious black SUV drove into the dealership.

  The neighborhood held its breath.  Dr. Fem exited.  He wasn’t wearing his parka. He was wearing an expensive white caftan.  Il ressemblait à l’héritier milliardaire qu’il était vraiment.  He passed by the laundry area where he was sweating, rubbing a dripping wet towel.  She raised her eyes, her gaze filled with regret.  Fé didn’t even stop.

  He didn’t see her.  For him, she was just part of the scenery.  He walked towards Olami Posi who was waiting for him on the doorstep.  I ‘m sorry it took so long. I had to resign from the clinic.  I am moving back to Nigeria.  I was offered a position at a research center in Abuja.  Oamie Posi and the sun seemed to shine brighter.

Welcome home.  Welcome home.  Olami, Posi and Fé were married in a grand ceremony.  Oamide was there, but she was not in the wedding procession.  She was in the back, serving food to the guests.  Et chaque fois que quelqu’un lui demandait “Oh Lamide, quand pars-tu à l’étranger ?”  She shook her head and said, ” Sister, forget this foreigner nonsense.

 Nigeria is mild, there’s no snow in Ibadan. If you like this content, subscribe to the channel.”