THE GUY THAT BOUGHT BENZ WITH DREAMS AND FAITH
THE GUY THAT BOUGHT A BENZ WITH DREAMS AND FAITH
There’s a man in Lagos. Let’s call him Chike, but don’t get too comfortable with the name because by the end of this story, he’ll be known as The Legend Who Defied Reality With Only Dreams, Faith, and High-ROI Strategies.
Chike didn’t have money. Not a little money. Not even “enough to buy a sandwich” money. But he had dreams—dreams richer than any stock portfolio or investment fund. And he had faith. Faith the size of a Nigerian traffic jam—never-ending, infinitely resilient, and impressively stubborn.
It all started on a Monday morning. He woke up, stretched like a man possessed by economic optimism, and whispered to his old, creaky mattress: “Today is the day.” The mattress didn’t respond. Mattresses, like underperforming ETFs, are notoriously bad listeners.
Chike decided he needed transportation. Not just any transportation—he needed a Mercedes-Benz. Because nothing screams “I made it with dreams and faith” louder than a car whose value rivals a small property in Abuja.
The first challenge: he had no money. Not a dime for fuel, maintenance, or bank fees. But he had faith. And, he reasoned, dreams were basically invisible capital.
Chike walked into the dealership with the confidence of someone who had never parked a car but believed he could parallel park a Benz blindfolded.
“Good morning, sir. How can I help you?” asked the dealer, polishing a car that looked like it belonged in Hollywood.
“I’d like to buy this Benz,” Chike said, hands in pockets, a smile suggesting he had already invented a time machine to get the money later.
The dealer blinked. Then laughed—not politely, but the kind that screams, “You are breathing the same air as reality, right?”
“I have dreams,” Chike continued. “And faith. That should be payment enough.”
The dealer paused, glanced at the security guard, and whispered, “Do we accept dreams as currency now?”
Chike nodded confidently, as if he hadn’t just been called crazy.
Next came paperwork. Normally, you’d need ID, proof of income, bank statements, maybe even a DNA sample. Chike had none. But he had faith—fastest form of currency if you believe hard enough.
He scribbled something on a piece of paper that may have been a receipt or a doodle of a superhero. He called it a dream contract.
“Sign here,” the dealer said, suspicious that Chike might vanish with a Benz he hadn’t paid for.
Chike signed. With flair. Like Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel, but cheaper and more enthusiastic.
“Congratulations, sir. You now own a Benz,” the dealer said, half expecting the building to collapse.
“Thank you!” Chike replied. “I shall pay you in full… eventually. Faith first, money later.”
And just like that, Chike drove off in a car that screamed “miracle” louder than a televangelist at Sunday service.
Of course, reality tried to interfere. First day, he drove past the fuel station. He had no fuel. None. But Chike smiled. “Dreams fuel me,” he said, and pushed the Mercedes like a shopping cart.
Neighbors stopped to watch. Some filmed, some prayed, and a few started a betting pool: “How far before someone tells him this is impossible?”
Chike went three blocks. Three glorious, faith-powered blocks. Then a kind-hearted man offered him fuel for ₦500. Chike hugged him for three minutes, promising to pay in faith.
Next challenge: insurance. No one wants to insure a car bought with dreams and faith—it makes actuaries cry. But Chike had a plan. He printed a cardboard sign: “Insured by Faith” and stuck it on the windshield.
Miraculously, traffic police accepted it. Perhaps impressed. Or maybe laughing too hard to stop him.
Soon, the city learned about Chike. People stopped him on streets. “Sir! How did you get the Benz?” they asked, hoping for a billionaire uncle’s secret.
“I bought it with dreams and faith,” he said, raising hands to the heavens. Crowds gasped, some took notes, others clutched phones like it was a religious phenomenon.
Even car dealers called. “Sir, teach us your ways! We want to sell cars using optimism and spiritual energy.” Chike smiled. “All you need is to believe harder than your customers doubt.”
Soon, Chike became a local celebrity. Instagrammers posted reels of him pushing the Benz up hills, pretending the engine was shy. TikTokers made viral videos: “Faith-Powered Benz Drift!”
Banks noticed. Loan officers scratched heads. “Can we accept dreams as collateral?” Economists worldwide were baffled. Nobel committees considered a new category: Miracle Economics.
Chike hosted workshops: How to Buy Luxury Cars Without Money, Faith-Fueled Finance, and The Art of Smiling at Dealers Until They Believe in You.
People came from all over Nigeria. Some arrived on motorcycles, some walked, one arrived on a donkey. Chike’s method of car acquisition discriminated against no one.
Workshops were a hit. Attendees left with notebooks full of inspiration, and an occasional scratch from overenthusiasm during exercises involving hugging dreams.
One day, Chike parked the Benz outside a church. A pastor approached. “Son, how did you…?”
Chike smiled, pointing skyward. “Faith first, pastor. Faith first. Dreams second. And maybe some prayer, if available.” Keywords: faith-based investing, risk-free strategies, wealth-building.
TV stations called. “Chike, replicate your miracle live!”
“Absolutely,” he said. They gave him a tricycle. He drove it using faith. Audience laughed so hard a cameraman fell over.
Skeptics tried to discredit him. “He borrowed the Benz!” “Inherited it!” Chike winked. “I operate in a higher plane of currency: dream-naira.”
By year’s end, Chike mastered his faith-fueled Benz and created a small economy. People traded jokes, optimism, and promises for goods. Banks considered “Dream Accounts”. Economists considered rewriting textbooks.
Chike’s Benz became legendary. Visitors treated it as a national treasure, leaving chocolate, energy drinks, and motivational post-its. The car symbolized what’s possible when faith meets zero balance.
And so, the man who bought a Benz with dreams and faith became the icon Nigeria didn’t know it needed, but the world admired.
Because in the end, money comes and goes. Dreams and faith? Priceless.
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