Money Confessions: When Friendship Costs You More Than You Bargained For

We met on the first day of design school both fresh-faced and eager to dive into the world of interior design. I would have never guessed that the girl– Njeri(not her real name) sitting beside me in class, her laughter bright and infectious, would become my best friend. From the get-go, we just clicked. Our conversations flowed like we’d known each other for years, not hours. By the end of that first week, I was convinced I’d found my bestie.

A Friendship Built on Shared Dreams

We went through campus craze together—the late nights spent poring over design boards for exams, all-nighters cramming for that one nightmare unit, and dancing until dawn at the best gigs in town. We shared secrets, dreams, heartbreaks, and aspirations. 

During holidays, I found myself more often at her home in Ngong than back in my village. That place was something out of a magazine. I remember the first time I stepped foot there, staring wide-eyed at the massive stone mansion. It was sprawling, with manicured lawns, a fountain in the courtyard, and rooms that seemed to stretch forever.

Raised in ushago, a simple girl like me had never seen such grandeur. To them, it was just home. To me, it was a palace.

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Njeri didn’t just open her home to me—she opened her heart. Our bond was so tight that we visited my family in the village several times during the four years in school. She handled the modest surroundings with grace, even helping Mama in the kitchen and playing with my younger siblings. 

It seemed our friendship was the kind that would last forever.

Building a Business Together and The Turning Point

When we graduated, we didn’t even need to have a long discussion about what came next. We had always known we’d stick together and start a company of our own.
We were determined to create something beautiful—a business built on our shared passion for design. Njeri’s graduation gift from her dad—a brand-new Toyota Vitz was a boost. With her car, we could easily navigate site visits and client meetings. How fantastic!

The first year, we took on a few small projects to kick us off. We struggled like most startups do, but it was bearable with my bestie by my side.
It wasn’t until the second year that I began noticing things that left a sour taste in my mouth. Njeri would miss deadlines, show up late to meetings with weak excuses, and sometimes, not show up at all. But I let it slide—after all, she was my friend, and I had faith in her.
By the third year, the dynamics had shifted significantly. I felt the weight of everything falling on my shoulders. The deadlines, the client pitches, the endless meetings—I was doing it all. I was even using company funds to fuel the car, yet many days I would end up taking a matatu for site visits because she wouldn’t show up. “Stuck in traffic,” she would say. Or, “I had to deal with a family emergency.” I convinced myself it was just a rough patch. She would bounce back.

Then we landed our biggest client yet—a luxury hotel looking to revamp its interiors. This was a make-or-break deal. But to get started, we needed capital to source materials, make custom furniture, and pay upfront costs.

I asked Njeri if she could help raise the funds. “Sorry, I’m in a tight spot right now,” she said. I was in a tight spot too, but this was our big break! My heart sank. 

Desperate to not let the opportunity slip through our fingers, I called my sister and explained the situation. She believed in me enough to loan me Ksh. 250k. I was so sure of our success that I even promised her interest to sweeten the deal.

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The Betrayal

I was running on fumes—attending meetings, coordinating deliveries, ensuring everything was up to standard while my partner contributed nothing but more excuses. It was exhausting trying to juggle everything, but I kept my eyes on the prize.

Then, disaster struck!

I had a doctor’s appointment on the day of the first big delivery. I asked Njeri to go receive the furniture and supervise the setup until I got there. “Of course, I got you,” she assured me.

When I left the doctor’s office, my phone was buzzing non-stop. It was the client. “Where are you?” “Nothing has been delivered.” My chest tightened. I tried calling Njeri, but she didn’t pick up. The panic rising in me felt like a tightening noose. I rushed to the site, hoping it was all a misunderstanding, but it wasn’t.

Our tardiness and lack of communication had inconvenienced them so much they were threatening to sue. My heart pounded as I tried to resolve the mess, but it was beyond salvaging. Our reputation was ruined.

Njeri finally called back hours later. Her tone was casual, indifferent. “Sorry, something came up.” That was it. No apology. No remorse. I was crushed.

I later found out that Njeri had taken a job behind my back. She had been juggling our business with this new role, and that’s why our projects were no longer a priority to her. Yet, she still wanted an equal share of our profits. I couldn’t believe it. My best friend, my business partner, had thrown me under the bus.

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Moving Forward 

I was left with a company in ruins, a broken friendship, and a massive debt to my sister. The hotel contract was cancelled, and I had no way to repay the loan. We’d custom-made furniture for the hotel’s lobby, dining area, and lounges—pieces that now had no home. I tried selling them off at a loss, but that barely covered the production costs.
Losing the company was devastating, but it was the loss of my best friend that hit me hardest. The person I thought would always have my back had turned around and stabbed me in it. I cut off all ties with her. My heart ached with the pain of betrayal and regret.

It took months to slowly pay back my sister’s loan and even longer to rebuild my career. I had to start from scratch, alone this time. It wasn’t easy, but I did it. I learned to lean on myself and be more cautious about who I trust.

 I’m wiser now. Stronger. But it’s a hard-earned strength that came at the cost of a friendship, a business, and nearly my family.

I’ve moved on—rebuilt on my own, but I’ll never forget how close I came to losing everything because of misplaced trust. Some lessons, it seems, you can only learn the hard way; sometimes, the people we think are our anchors turn out to be the ones who sink our ships.