Two weeks ago, I was in a park in Burkina Faso waiting for my bus; as I had already booked a ticket which bus was slated to leave by 10 a.m, but due to the unavailability of the bus, we finally left by 6 pm. That 8 hours wait was enough for me to feel the harsh reality of sex trafficking and how the pitiable Nigerian socio-economic difficulties have orchestrated the “Japa syndrome”, irrespective of the level of development of the country they wish to relocate to, Nigerians really just want to leave their country!
The story of a pregnant 17-year-old victim of sex trafficking
Before now, I have written a paid article 2 months prior to this experience for a UK-based student. And 3 months back, I read a BBC recount of the story of a victim of sex trafficking in the UK and how she finally met a man that became her husband. In all my encounters with this topic, I have felt no particular connection with this theme, rather I handled it like research work. But this was about to change when a young girl putting on an orange polo and wrapper around her waist walked past me in the most downtrodden demeanor.
A couple of minutes before my first sight of her, I met two Nigerians also in the park, waiting for the same bus as me, a guy of about 30 years and a young lady of 20 years (which I confirmed later as we established a friendship). They both narrated how their journey had been hectic i.e from Mali down to Burkina Faso, and they were here as trans-loaded passengers. I took a break from the convo and went to get something to eat. When I returned, he told me there was an issue on the ground. He narrated how a teenager had complained to them of her plight and that there was the need for a donation so we can afford to pay for a transportation ticket for her to get her back home. She was just 17 and already pregnant. I could see the protuberances already, or so I think, because of the awareness of her circumstance. She was just 17!
She happened to have been deceived by a lady that stayed in her neighborhood in Abuja that there was a good job opportunity in Mali and she could make 200 dollars in a week by working as a nanny. Whether she took permission from her parents or not, I didn’t care to ask. She was assisted to escape from Mali down to Burkina Faso by a good Samaritan who promised to help her from Burkina Faso to Nigeria, apparently, he grew wary of the favor for reasons unknown to us.
I was briefed on the risk of escaping from the love-vendor that owns the trafficked girls. It was a grave experience if one was caught on the run. The girls in the village where they work (prostitutes) will gather and beat the living hell out of her and she will be fined by the love-vendor. Again, the travel documents of the victim are ceased upon arrival so she can’t travel across borders. But thankfully, she was able to escape from Mali.
I was very interested to see that we left with her, and as the hours progressed, many Nigerians were in the park for the same bus we were waiting for. A general contribution went around and we paid for a bus ticket for her. Without papers, we were saddled with the responsibility of transporting an unidentified person through the borders of Burkina, Togo and Nigeria. There was the suggestion of contacting the Nigerian embassy on the issue, but I was not ready for the whole read tapes of their office, I understood that it was mainly a suggestion of people who were not interested to contribute financially, and since we have already been assured by the transport company of coverage through the border, we went for the risky line.
On the journey, I had a more intimate conversation with the first Nigerian girl I met, and she explained that the situation was more common than I think. She told me that every lady on the bus is a prostitute from Mali and other neighboring countries. That was when I froze. I asked how she knew, then she said they all know themselves (not meaning that they knew each other before, but rather they could tell each other who work as a prostitute). Then I asked what you mean by “you all know yourselves” (obviously insinuating my inquisitiveness of her involvement).
She narrated how a friend of hers was told by her aunty of an opportunity in Mali and how she could make 200 dollars monthly by working as a nanny. When her friend talked to her about it, she pleaded with her friend to ask her aunty about any other vacancy, so they could go together. They both just concluded secondary school and were hoping to make some money before uni.
She narrated how they both plotted their first escaped and how they ran for hours in a watery mud area, falling and rising with several bruises. They caught them and were about to give them the beating of their lives when her madam pardoned them.
She explained that the victims (same as her) had to work a sum of 1.5 million CFA ( which is about 1.5 million Naira too) for the madam. With their regular short-time sex price of 5000 CFA, it meant that the victim would have a total of 3000 short times to come up with a 1.5 million CFA and this calculation excludes the cost of feeding and clothing.
It turned out that after about a month as a sex worker, her friend found a route and escaped without her. She was finned to pay half of her friend’s dept, making her total balance 2,250,000 million. She was determined to clear all dept, and she finished payment by a record time of 6 months (I choose not to imagine or calculate the number of short-times a day raised that amount)
I didn’t care to ask why she didn’t return back to Nigeria immediately after clearing her debt, some things are better deduced. To be forced to have sex until you become strong enough to accept the profession and make enough to be free has already become a part of their lives, even to the extent of now joining to beat an escapee. It goes far to explain how our orientation can be changed with situations and long-enough time.
She told me many of the abusive experiences that I will obviously elude you. She told me about the experience of a victim who came with her 13 year old daughter along with her, not knowing the gore that she will experience. You really don’t want to ask “what about the 13 year old”
The journey wasn’t easy, but we crossed all borders and waved goodbye in Cotonou, close to the border of Nigeria.