The Twilight Hustle: How Multilevel Marketing Schemes NEOLIFE/GNLD Are Preying on Nigeria’s Desperate Youth

 

A humid Friday night had just begun to stretch its legs over the restless streets of Lagos. Outside a bustling club on the Island, the night air shimmered with perfume, sweat, and the low hum of Afrobeats from inside. Among the polished cars and flashy youth, a different kind of figure emerged — worn-out slippers dragging on the tarmac, a torn blouse clinging to a gaunt frame, and eyes dulled by exhaustion and something deeper — resignation.

“Bros, you’re looking good o,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She looked no older than 23. Her hair was unkempt, legs dusty as if she had walked for hours. Something about her presence was jarring, like a glitch in the glamorous simulation of Lagos nightlife. Curious and a little unsettled, the man she addressed struck up a conversation. What followed was a sobering descent into the darker underbelly of a business model that many have brushed off as merely "ambitious."

She was a member — or rather, a victim — of GNLD, now rebranded as Neolife. Like thousands of others across Nigeria, she had been drawn in by the promise of wealth, independence, and the illusion of a “business opportunity.” What she didn’t realize then, and what too many still fail to understand, is that these organizations thrive not on the strength of their products but on the desperation of their recruits.

GNLD (Golden Neo-Life Diamite) and its offshoot Neolife operate a multi-level marketing (MLM) scheme, a structure that relies heavily on recruitment. At face value, they sell wellness and nutrition products. Dig deeper, however, and you find a system that rewards top-level players while those at the bottom — typically unemployed or underemployed youths — are left with debt, disappointment, and sometimes, ruined reputations.

She had been recruited via WhatsApp. It started with a message from a friend she hadn't heard from in a while: “Hey babe, there’s this business opportunity I think you'll love!” A few days later, she was in a room full of motivational speakers who used language that mirrored religious sermons. “You are the CEO of your life! Financial freedom is yours to take!” There was music, clapping, and a strong sense of community — until the registration fee came up.

₦80,000. A fortune to someone who hadn’t earned that much in three months.

She borrowed, lied, and hustled to get the money. But the promised clients never came. Instead, she was told to "bring more people in" to grow her network. And so began a cycle of recruiting others into the same trap, trying to recoup her losses while dragging more hopefuls into the pit with her.

These organizations are not illegal, at least not in the traditional sense. They often register as legitimate businesses, operate in plain sight, and cleverly avoid terminology that would classify them as pyramid schemes. This legal gray area allows them to continue unchecked while hiding behind jargon like “network marketing” or “entrepreneurial mentorship.”

But the emotional and economic damage they cause is all too real.

Social media is rife with testimonies of youth whose lives were derailed by these schemes. Some have sold their phones, laptops, and even lied to family members to raise capital. Others, lured from smaller towns to Lagos or Abuja, find themselves homeless and ashamed after realizing they’ve been duped.

And still, the government remains silent.

No comprehensive regulatory action has been taken. No task force has been set up to investigate the psychological manipulation and financial deception at play. Ministries of Youth and Employment continue to turn a blind eye as one of the most vulnerable segments of the population is siphoned of its hope, energy, and dignity.

These MLMs often operate in the same psychological space as cults. They isolate members from skeptics, frame criticism as jealousy, and celebrate shallow successes loudly while ignoring the sea of failures. The girl outside the club wasn’t just hungry; she was emotionally drained and clinging to the last thread of a dream sold to her by men in suits holding up bottles of vitamin supplements.

Young people are not lazy. They are eager, talented, and desperate for a way out of the economic stagnation that traps them. They deserve better than to be preyed upon under the guise of entrepreneurship.

It is time to call things by their real names. These are not businesses — they are systems of exploitation. And until they are dismantled or heavily regulated, we will continue to see more dusty legs and broken dreams wandering the city under flickering streetlights.

*written by DGT!