My name is Annabel Ukuwagiri and this is my story. Six years ago I was deported from Italy back to Nigeria; a place I once called home. My experience abroad was not exactly a smooth and blissful one. On the contrary, it was more or less worse than death but I had to survive. For 7 years I traded my body and dignity just so my family could survive and be at least free from a weapon of mass destruction called poverty.

Poverty has so dealt with my family that we lost hope completely in life. There was nowhere to turn to. We lacked every basic needs of human endeavour. Nothing was coming from anywhere. It was as though we never exist. Everyday I wept seeing my siblings and my parents suffering in agony and all I could do was just sit there and hope for a better life.

My father had sold all his valuables just to keep the family going but then how much valuable can a poor father like mine have? I have four siblings of which I am the eldest. My father had come up with cancer in his mid 50s. My mum was getting weaker by the day, too feeble that she didn’t even have enough strength to weep. She kept talking to herself like a mad woman. My sweet mum was almost slow and it was justifiably so because you can’t be a companion of poverty for such a long time and be normal. The poor woman was constantly heartbroken because she then had to endure the torturing responsibility of catering for the family since my father was handicapped. I needed to do something before I lose my family. God where are you? What have we done to deserve all of these moments of grief and pain? I kept asking God but not once did I get an answer. At those points I was convinced that God does not exist. I felt God was just a kind of therapy that gives humans a kind of silly illusion to believe in even though it was never feasible. For me God was just a concept. He wasn’t different from all the other deities.

In October 4, 1993, my father died of cancer. For me, that was a double jeopardy. The man has suffered so much and yet still didn’t escape the sting of death. My mum almost cried herself to death. It was the end of the world for her. I needed to stay strong for my mum but then I was also in pain just as the rest of the family and couldn’t hold it all together for so long. I busted into tears uncontrollably as I saw the state my family was in. The demise of my father didn’t make things easy. It was as if there was never going to be light after the tunnel. At that point it was obvious that I had to make a decision even though it was going to be at my own expense and maybe at my own detriment as well. But at that point, none of that mattered to me. I choose my family over morality and ethic.

Two years after my father died, I was trafficked to Italy where I had to prostitute for a living. Those moments were not funny. I was in pain but I had to do what I had to do essentially because I have a family back home that needed attention. You may be quick to judge and criticize me but looking back at the consolidation of all efforts as it were that created those moments of my life, I would say my motive and the means in which I achieved it was justified. The end actually did justify the means or maybe not entirely but I had no option.


Soon, I made some money and sent it home immediately. As the money continued to come, I was able to pay Mama London, the lady who trafficked me into Italy and introduced me to prostitution. My family soon began to experience relief. My siblings had to go back to school immediately because I didn’t want any of them to end up like me. It was ok for me to be the sacrificial lamb but not any of them. Within the 7 years I was prostituting abroad, I made enough cash to afford a decent accommodation for my family, set up a fantastic trade for my mum and set my siblings back on course. This was my greatest desire and it was achieved. The only clause was that I couldn’t have illegitimately achieved all of those things without a new kind of problem. I had lost myself completely within the 7 years I was prostituting.

For most people who have not been where I was, you may never understand what it means to lose yourself in that way. For years I battled with myself. I couldn’t love or empathize anymore. I didn’t know how love felt like anymore. I could not even pretend about it. I was practically never inspired by anything. At times, I insisted on being inspired but it just didn’t happen. I insisted on showing love and empathy but it seems the faculty to even consider the thought of love was withdrawn from me. I was already 35 years and not married because I was naturally mean to men. Maybe it’s because I had given too many of them my body and more. I had been in 12 relationships with amazing men but none lasted. I was the constant problem in all. The last one was the longest and it lasted for just 4months. Prostitution has really messed me up completely. It took more than what it gave me. One of those days, my family threw a surprise party for me because it was my birthday. I came home that evening and surprisingly saw everyone gathered and happy in a celebration mood. I even forgot it was my birthday. To my own surprise I didn’t feel anything. I was not even excited about it at all. It was then I knew I needed help desperately. That night, I wept profusely and uncontrollably. How could I not be excited about my own birthday party? How could I not even appreciate all those who were instrumental to the party?

One fateful day, I stumbled on a little piece of information on a document that belonged to my father. It was my father’s handwriting and it stated, “Never try to be determined on your own terms because determination can be a tool in the hand of the devil to give you a temporary idea that you are on the right track only to leave you stranded at the middle of the way. Plug into God’s wisdom and shutdown your own understanding then you will find the next level”. This seemed like a big joke to me. How can I plug into a God I do not even believe in? The same God that abandoned us and allowed my father to die or the same God that created my problem. How could my father even believe in such nonsense? Where was God when I went into prostitution? Where was He when we were in pain and sorrow? I kept asking myself these questions with so much confusion. I convinced myself that if this God ever exist then He must be a wicked and careless God. I didn’t just see a reason to believe God exist. That night, I was persuaded to open the bible. It was as if I was under a spell. I succumbed to that persuasion for some reasons I can’t explain and the only part of the bible I could read was the book of Ecclesiastics. I read the complete 12 chapters of the book over and over again and then something happened to me. I felt an unusual relief that I couldn’t understand but my doubt about God’s existence was still very strong. I joined a local assembly but still didn’t give my life to Christ. To me it was a brain wash.
A couple of months later, I eventually gave my life to Christ. Part of what then happened to me was that I felt different. It was like a total transformation took place in me. It was strong enough for me to have noticed. It became easy for me to love and empathize. All I then wanted was to serve God and just be a better person. In the place of service, a gentleman found me. Today I am married to him and we are blessed with 4 wonderful kids. God transformed me from a prostitute and a none loving woman to a virtuous woman. Only God could have done that. This is a first hand experience with God. For those readers who represent other faiths, please understand that I mean no disrespect to your faith. I hope you understand why I had to express my convictions this way. If it was Shango or Orunmila that helped me I would have gladly said that but it was not. It was the same God who I thought was a concept that saved me. GOD IS NOT DEAD. HE SAVED MY LIFE!!! This is my story. This was how God saved me.

http://www.edoborosasere.com/the-agony-of-a-prostitute/