Exploring the lives of Nigerian sex workers

In the vibrant city of Port Harcourt, a sprawling metropolis in Nigeria’s oil-rich Niger Delta, there’s a world that remains hidden in plain sight. At night, behind the glittering lights of upscale clubs and fast-paced city life, young women are being lured into the dangerous world of sex work. Call it, lives of Nigerian sex workers!

This isn’t a story about choice. It’s a story about survival, manipulation, and exploitation.

“I didn’t choose this life,” says 29-year-old  Ada (not her real name), from the east. “But here, the options are slim.” Ada has been in the business for over five years. She explains that poverty, lack of education, and a broken family pushed her into the trade.

“Back in my village, there was nothing. I couldn’t even afford school fees. Coming to PH was my escape,” Ada shares. “It’s not glamorous. It’s just survival.”

Many of the women didn’t dream of becoming sex workers. Some were drawn in by promises of opportunity, safety, and success. The promises quickly turned into traps. Behind the bright smiles and extravagant promises made by traffickers, there’s a darker reality that is often ignored.

False hope

There is also Amina (not her real name), a 22-year-old woman from the northern region of Nigeria. Like many others, Amina came from a rural village with limited opportunities. She was bright, hopeful, and eager to make a living.

One day, a woman who seemed like a successful businesswoman approached her in her village. She went by the name “Grace.” The woman offered Amina a chance to come to Port Harcourt for a well-paying job in hospitality. “She told me she could make me a manager in a hotel. She promised me a better life,” Amina recalls. “My family was so happy for me.”

Amina was excited, believing that she had finally found a way to escape her poor circumstances. But when she arrived in Port Harcourt, everything changed. Instead of the promised hotel job, someone ushered Amina into a house with several other girls. The woman who promised her success had disappeared.

“After two days, I was told I had to work as an ‘escort.’ At first, I didn’t understand what it meant. They said I would meet rich men and entertain them for money. That’s when I realized I had been tricked,” she says, her voice filled with quiet anger.

The truth behind the lies

Unfortunately, Ada and Amina’s stories are not unique. The same tactics—promises of better jobs and a bright future—are used to lure many young girls into lives of Nigerian sex workers. The traffickers operate through word-of-mouth, fake job advertisements, and even social media platforms. “They promise you a big job and huge salary. But they don’t tell you what the job actually is,” says Nkechi (also not her real name), another young woman who fell victim to a similar scam.

Once in the trade, Amina quickly learned that it wasn’t just about working as an escort—it was about survival at all costs. The girls are often kept in controlled environments. Their movements restricted, and they are threatened with violence if they attempt to leave. “They would threaten us with our families. They said they would kill my mother if I tried to escape,” Amina recalls.

Social workers and human rights activists working with survivors confirm that threats of violence are a common tactic used by traffickers. “The emotional manipulation is just as powerful as the physical abuse,” says Chima, a staff with the Women Empowerment Initiative in Port Harcourt. “They make the girls believe that their families will be hurt or that they will be unable to survive without them.”

In addition to physical threats, many sex workers are financially dependent on their captors. The traffickers take all the money earned by the women, often giving them little or nothing in return. “They would say, ‘This is for your safety,’ and take everything you earned. Sometimes, we didn’t even get enough to buy food,” says Nkechi, another survivor.

Exploiting the vulnerable lives of Nigerian sex workers

It’s a dangerous job. Sex workers in Nigeria often lack access to proper healthcare. They also face violence both from clients and law enforcement. “There’s the health risk, especially with HIV and STIs. And then, there’s the danger from clients,” Ada adds.

The tactics used to exploit young girls are varied. But the underlying motive remains the same: profit at the expense of young women’s dignity and safety. Beyond the fake job offers, traffickers also rely on the power of influence and societal norms to reel in their victims.

One method is grooming. This is an age-old tactic where a trafficker builds a relationship with the victim, gaining her trust over time. “I met a woman in church,” says Onome, a 19-year-old from Edo. “She seemed kind, like someone who cared about me. She offered to help me get a job in Port Harcourt, and I thought she was doing me a favour.”

Onome was a teenager looking to escape her small town and improve her life. But, as soon as she arrived, she did not see the dream job. Instead, the woman pushed her into the sex trade. “I couldn’t believe it. I felt like my whole world had collapsed,” she says, wiping her eyes. “It’s hard to explain how they make you feel like there’s no way out.”

 Hope amidst darkness for Nigerian sex workers

Getting out of the sex trade is never easy. Many women feel trapped, either by the fear of violence or the lack of alternative options. But there are survivors who have found a way out and are now helping others.

Jennifer, a 28-year-old woman once managed to flee her traffickers. Now, she works with a local NGO focused on rescuing and rehabilitating young women from the sex trade. “When I left, it wasn’t just the fear of my life. It was the shame. It took a long time for me to accept that I didn’t deserve what happened to me,” she says. “Now, I want to be part of the solution. I want to help others.”

Social workers like Chima are also working to provide a support system for survivors, offering counselling, legal aid, and rehabilitation programs. “The road to recovery is long, but it’s possible,” Chima says. “These women need a safe space to heal. They need to know that they are not alone.”

Despite efforts from NGOs and social workers, the government’s response has been slow. Meanwhile, the sex trade continues to thrive in certain parts of Nigeria. “There’s been some progress, but not enough,” says an official from the Ministry of Women Affairs. “We are working to combat human trafficking, but there’s a need for better law enforcement and more resources for rehabilitation.”

They need protection, too

The Nigerian government has enacted laws aimed at protecting women and girls from trafficking. But proper enforcement is lacking. Many sex workers are still afraid to report their traffickers, fearing arrest or further exploitation. However, the growing awareness of human trafficking in Nigeria has led to some positive changes. Increased public education, stricter penalties for traffickers, and support networks for survivors have helped bring attention to the issue.

Some human rights experts believe government should legalise the job. “Sex work should be recognized as a legitimate form of labour,” says Ebino Tamsy, a human rights advocate. “These women are not criminals. They need healthcare, protection, and the freedom to work without fear of arrest or violence.”

The Nigerian government has yet to decriminalize sex work, and it remains illegal under Nigerian law. Many sex workers fear arrest or harassment from the police, further deepening their vulnerability. Yet, the fight for their rights is gaining traction. Some advocacy groups are joining the call for better legal protections, access to healthcare, and an end to discrimination.

The stories of Amina, Ada, Onome, and many others are a wake-up call. Someday, hopefully, the narrative will change. For now, like Amina says, “People often judge us, but they don’t know the full story.” “We didn’t ask for this life. But we are trying to make it better.”

With more awareness, advocacy, and community support, there is hope that the society will one day views the lives of Nigerian sex workers  through a lens of compassion, not judgment. As Nkechi puts it, “We are survivors, not criminals. We deserve better.”