By Consumers Assembly Editorial Board
In the fast-paced world of Nigerian fintech, OPay has long positioned itself as the “king of speed.” For millions, it is the go-to for instant transfers, low fees, and a user interface that makes traditional banking look like a relic of the colonial era. But as we have observed at Consumers Assembly, that very speed has become a double-edged sword. While it facilitates commerce, it has also created a frictionless highway for fraudsters to siphon the hard-earned savings of ordinary Nigerians.
The cries for help are no longer whispers; they are a deafening roar. In our offices, we have received a relentless stream of complaints from victims who watched their accounts emptied in seconds, only to be met with a brick wall of “investigation” that yields no results. The pattern is consistent, the pain is visceral, and the silence from the brand is becoming an indictment of its corporate soul.
Research and anecdotal evidence suggest a troubling trend: OPay is increasingly becoming the preferred destination for “cleaning” stolen funds. When a victim’s commercial bank account is compromised, the first stop for the stolen loot is often an OPay wallet. Why? Because until very recently, the barriers to entry were dangerously low.
For years, the platform’s “Tier 1” accounts could be opened with little more than a phone number and a name. This created a massive loophole where fraudsters could hijack the identities of high-profile individuals or unsuspecting neighbors to create “ghost accounts.” We recall the chilling experience of an elderly citizen whose phone was stolen; within hours, over ₦100,000 was siphoned from her friends through OPay accounts created in her own name, without her BVN or NIN ever being linked.
This is the “clean money” trap. Fraudsters move funds into these loosely verified OPay accounts, break them into smaller bits, and then withdraw them through POS agents before the victim can even finish typing a complaint to their traditional bank.
Perhaps the most “annoying” aspect, as many victims put it, is the aftermath. When a customer walks into a partner bank or reaches out to OPay’s digital support after a fraud incident, they are rarely given a “cogent” explanation. Instead of transparency, they get a merry-go-round of automated tickets and vague promises that “the matter is being looked into.”
We have seen cases where victims provided every shred of evidence, decline slips, debit alerts, and the recipient’s OPay account details, only to wait weeks without a refund or even a confirmation that the fraudulent account has been frozen. In the world of digital finance, trust is the only currency that matters. When a brand fails to protect its users or provide a clear path to justice, that trust does not just crack, it erodes.
While OPay has recently scrambled to launch products like “XtraCova” to reimburse verified unauthorized transactions and introduced “Night Guard” to limit late-night transfers, these feel like band-aids on a gushing wound. The proactive measures should have been the foundation, not an afterthought.
The Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) has recently tightened the noose, mandating “liveness checks” and 24-hour transaction caps on new mobile app activations as of March 2026. This is a step in the right direction, but it is not enough.
Consumers Assembly is officially calling on the CBN to take the following drastic actions:
Strict Liability for Verification Gaps: If a fraudulent account is opened due to a failure in OPay’s “Know Your Customer” (KYC) process, OPay should be held legally and financially liable to refund the victim in full within 48 hours.
The “Operational License” Ultimatum: The CBN must set a clear deadline for OPay to demonstrate a significant reduction in fraud-related complaints. If the platform continues to be the primary conduit for money laundering and theft, it should face the suspension of its operational license.
Nigeria’s digital economy cannot be built on a foundation of theft. Speed is a luxury, but security is a right. To OPay: your customers are not just numbers on a dashboard; they are laborers, petty traders, and professionals whose lives are being upended by your “loopholes.”
Fix it, or get out of the kitchen. The trust of Nigerians is not for sale, and our patience has officially run out.
