Linda

My name is Linda, I'm 48 years old, I live in Canada, and I lost $25,000 over six months because of a fake petroleum engineer supposedly working on an offshore oil rig in Nigeria. My story is sadly common: it's one of the most widely used scam scenarios, and I fell for it completely.

The Beginning on Instagram

"Mark Stevens" followed me on Instagram and started liking my photos regularly. His profile showed a handsome man in his fifties, in work clothes on what looked like an oil rig. Sunset photos over the ocean, selfies in a hard hat, inspirational quotes about life. He had a few hundred followers — not too many to be suspicious, not too few to seem fake.

He sent me a first message complimenting a photo of my dog. The conversation developed naturally. Mark described himself as a British engineer specialized in oil extraction, under contract with a company in Nigeria. He worked "in rotation": three months on the rig, one month onshore. He was in the middle of his rotation, isolated at sea, and terribly bored.

The Long-Distance Relationship

For two months, Mark was the perfect partner. Messages morning and evening, photos of his daily life on the platform — images stolen from real offshore workers' accounts, I later learned. He sent me recipes he was trying in the "rig canteen," told me about his workdays, shared his dreams of retiring in Canada.

Video calls never worked. "The satellite bandwidth is too weak on the rig — we only get voice calls and messages." He sometimes called me, his voice gentle with a British accent — perhaps a real British accomplice, or a well-crafted recording. In the background, I heard machinery and wind. That was enough to convince me.

The Money Requests

In the third month, Mark announced he wanted to leave the rig early to come join me in Canada. But breaking his contract meant an "early departure penalty" of $8,000. His bank accounts in England were "frozen for the duration of the contract" — company policy, he said. I had no reason to doubt.

I sent the $8,000. Then there were "personal equipment repatriation fees" — $5,000. Then a "security deposit for the Canadian visa" — $4,000. Then a "problem with Nigerian customs" blocking his passport — $3,000. And finally, an "emergency plane ticket" from Lagos — $5,000.

The Discovery

Mark was supposed to arrive at Toronto airport on a Thursday at 2 PM. I had bought flowers, prepared a special dinner, told my friends. The flight landed, but Mark wasn't on it. He texted me: a "last-minute problem" at Lagos customs. He needed another $5,000.

That's when something broke inside me. I realized that this pattern — a new problem after every payment — would never end. I did a reverse image search on Google. Mark's photos belonged to a real Scottish petroleum engineer who had no connection to Nigeria. His LinkedIn profile showed he worked in the North Sea, not in Africa.

I lost $25,000 and six months of my life. The money represented part of what I was saving for my son's education. The guilt of having stolen that money from him — because that's how it feels — still eats at me today.

What This Story Teaches Us

• The oil rig scenario is a proven classic. It combines every element favorable to the scammer: a prestigious, well-paid profession, geographic isolation that justifies the absence of video, and an exotic setting that makes unusual fees seem "plausible."
• Offshore workers' photos are massively stolen and reused. Thousands of photos of real engineers circulate through scam networks. A reverse image search (Google Images, TinEye) can often trace the real source.
• The "bad connection" excuse is systematic. Whether it's an oil rig, a war zone, a ship at sea, or a remote construction site: if someone can send you messages and photos but never do a video call, it is a major red flag.
• A missed meeting is a critical moment. If the person doesn't show up for the planned meeting and immediately asks for more money, that is the definitive confirmation of a scam. Pay nothing more and cut all contact.