INVESTIGATION: Inside Nigeria’s Ruthless Human Trafficking Mafia

Six out of 10 people who are trafficked to the West are Nigerians. PREMIUM TIMES investigative reporter, Tobore Ovuorie, was motivated by years of research into the plight of trafficked women in the country, as well as the loss of a friend, to go undercover in a multi-billion dollar criminal enterprise.  She emerged, bruised and beaten but thankfully alive, after witnessing orgies, big money deals in jute bags, police-supervised pickpocketing, beatings and even murder.  This is her story.

We are 10 at the boot camp: Adesuwa, Isoken, Lizzy, Mairo, Adamu, Ini, Tessy, Omai, Sammy and I.  We have travelled together in a 14 seater bus from Lagos, hoping to arrive in Italy soon. We are eager to get to the ‘next level’ as it is called: from local prostitution to hopefully earning big bucks abroad. But first, it turns out, we have to pass through ‘training’ in this massive secluded compound guarded by armed military men, far from any other human being, somewhere in the thick bushes outside Ikorodu, a suburb of Lagos.  Our trafficker, Mama Caro, welcomes us in flawless English, telling us how lucky and special we are; then she ushers us to a room where we are to sleep on the floor without any dinner.

I had not expected this. We had exercised, through a risk analysis role play, in advance: my paper PREMIUM TIMES, and our partners on the project, a colleague--Reece Adanwenon-- in the Republic of Benin, and ZAM Chronicle in Amsterdam.  We had put in place contacts, emergency phone numbers, safe houses, emergency money accounts. We had made transport and extraction arrangements. Ms. Reece is waiting in Cotonou, 100 kilometers to the West in neighbouring Benin, to pick me up from an agreed meeting place. But we hadn’t foreseen that there was to be another stop first:  this isolated, guarded camp in the middle of nowhere. It dawns on me that we could be in big trouble.

Our trafficker, Mama Caro, welcomes us in flawless English, telling us how lucky and special we are; then she ushers us to a room where we are to sleep on the floor without any dinner.

Risk analysis and preparation

It had all started in Abuja, with me deciding to expose the human traffic syndicates that caused the death, through Aids, of my friend Ifuoke and countless others. As a health journalist, I had interviewed several returnees from sex traffic who had not only been encouraged to have unprotected sex, but who had also been denied health care or even to return home when they fell ill. They were now suffering from Aids, anal gonorrhea, bowel ruptures and incontinence. In the case of some of them, who hailed from conservative religious backgrounds, doctors in their home towns had denied them any treatment because they had been ‘bad’. I was also aware that powerful politicians and government and army officials, who outwardly professed religious purity, were servicing and protecting the traffickers.  I wanted to break through the hypocrisy and official propaganda and show how, every day, criminals in Nigeria are helped by the powerful to enslave my fellow young citizens. My PREMIUM TIMES colleagues had done undercover work before; they had warned me of the risks, but had agreed to support me in my decision to go through with it. With my colleagues, and with the help of ZAM Chronicle, we then started in earnest.

I wanted to break through the hypocrisy and official propaganda and show how, every day, criminals in Nigeria are helped by the powerful to enslave my fellow young citizens.

Oghogho

I had advertised my wish to get to know a ‘madam’ whilst walking the streets of Lagos, dressed as a call girl.  It worked. I had met Oghogho Irhiogbe, an accomplished, well-groomed graduate in her thirties (though she claimed to be only 26), and a wealthy human trafficker of note.  My lucky hunch to tell her that my name was ‘Oghogho’ too had immediately warmed her to me. She told me I looked like her kid sister and from then on treated me like a favourite.

“Don’t worry about crossing borders and getting caught,” she had told me. “Immigration, customs, police, army and even foreign embassies are part of our network. You only run into trouble with them if you fail to be obedient to us.”  I already knew this to be true. Two of the trafficked sex workers I had interviewed had tried to find help at Nigerian embassies in Madrid and Moscow, only to realise that the very embassy officials from whom they had sought deportation had immediately informed their pimps. They had eventually made it back to Nigeria only after they had developed visible diseases, such as AIDS-related Kaposi sarcoma.

Precious had already made enough money to start building her own house in Enugu, halfway between Abuja and Port Harcourt.

Oghogho Irhiogbe had been luckier. She owned four luxury cars, two houses in Edo State, and was busy completing the building of a third house near the Warri airport in Delta State.  Others I had met through my initial ‘call girl’ exploits were clearly on their way to riches, too. Priye was set to go back to the Netherlands, where she worked before, to become a ‘madam’. Ivie and Precious were quite happy to go back to Italy. Precious had already made enough money to start building her own house in Enugu, halfway between Abuja and Port Harcourt.

Forza Speciale

It is on the windy Sunday evening of October 6 that I make my first contact with the outer ring of this mafia. A big party with VIPs is on the cards; the kind of party an ordinary girl, or rather ‘product’, as we are called by traffickers, is not usually invited to. But I am currently on a fortune ride: Oghogho’s favourite. Additionally, I have been classified as ‘Special Forces’, or ‘Forza Speciale’ as my new contacts say, borrowing the Italian term.  It’s a rule of thumb, I understand, that a syndicate subjects girls to classification through a check on their nude bodies and I, too – in the company of some male and female judges, headed by a trafficker called Auntie Precious – had been checked. I had received the highest classification. “This means that you don’t have to walk the streets. You can be an escort for important clients,” Auntie Precious had told me in a soft, congratulatory tone. The ones of ‘lesser’ classification were referred to as Forza Strada, the Road Force.

The party is held at a gorgeous residence along the Aguiyi Ironsi Way in Maitama, Abuja. This is designed to be a festive end to a great day, in which we went to church, hung out at the choicest places in town, shopped and got dressed in a suite at the Abuja power citadel, meeting point of the elite, the Transcorp Hilton.  

The ‘dividend’ is not from prostitution and trafficking alone, but Oghogho won’t tell me what the other source is.

It is more like an orgy. Male and female strippers entertain guests, drugs abound, alcohol is everywhere in unrestrained flow; there is romping in the open. Also, big bags of money are changing hands. Barely an hour after we arrive, Oghogho receives a big jute bag, which is delivered from another room. As we walk out and she puts the money in the boot of her car, she smiles at me. “Don’t worry; very soon, you’ll get to receive dividend.” This ‘dividend’ is not from prostitution and trafficking alone, but Oghogho won’t tell me what the other source is. “When you come on board fully, you’ll know.”

A retired army colonel from the Abacha era sees to it that we are not disturbed. “He has top connections and sees to a smooth flow of the business,” Oghogho tells me.

Pickpocketing training

How ‘top’ these connections are, I find when I am taken with a group of girls to be trained in pickpocketing. We, a group of ten ‘products’, are placed at various crowded bus stops in the suburb of Ikorodu, where we must ‘practice’ under the guard of two army officers, a policeman as well as a number of male ‘trainers’. The policeman doesn’t even bother to cover his name badge: Babatunde Ajala, it reads.

The general operation is supervised by Mama Caro, popularly called Mama C, a 50-something, light-complexioned, busty woman.  Her deputy is a Madam Eno. Mama C has told us that pickpocketing is a crucial skill for the Forza Speciale: we will need to be able to pick valuables from clients. She adds that the pickings are added to the girls earnings, so we will be able to pay off our debts  – commonly called ‘meeting our targets’ – in a short time.  

When I perform dismally, Eno rains abuses on me.  We are all to stay at the bus stop until I pick an item from somebody. It is already 11 PM.  Tired, hungry and angry with me, Adesuwa, Isoken and the policeman guarding my group pick some extra pockets and hand me the items, so that I can show them to Eno. 

We practice pickpocketing under the guard of two army officers and a policeman

The next day, the bumpy journey to the ‘training camp’ appears endless. My fellow ‘products’ are snoozing and I battle to stay awake, wondering if we are tired or drugged.  I note the bus moving off the main road somewhere around Odogunyan, into thick bushes, almost a forest.  We stop at a compound guarded by armed military men.  As my fellow ‘products’ wake up, it is clear that they think we are still in Lagos.

New names and indenture

The next day starts with strip tease and lap dance training after breakfast, and thereafter poise and etiquette. Five other girls have arrived in the meantime. They are all graduates, leaving for Italy fully aware of what they are to do there.  “If I get caught by local police, I will just tell them I was trafficked against my will,” one of them, Gbemi, says light-heartedly. “I don’t think oyinbo (white man) will believe Mama C if she says that I am there voluntarily.”

I receive a crash course in pedicure and manicure because I am so bad at pickpocketing. “You'll be utilizing these skills at my wellness centre in Italy,” Mama C says, after scolding me for being lazy and testing her patience. “You will be working on only men whilst wearing sexy dresses. That will enable you to attract customers.”

Mama C makes us sign a statement that we have willingly embarked on the journey

Later, Mama C makes everyone sign a statement that they have willingly embarked on the journey and that they are to return certain sums as professional fees to her. No girl is given a copy of what she has signed and the amount varies inexplicably: while Isoken signs up for a debt of US $100,000, I will have only US $70,000 to pay.  We are told that we will receive new passports with false names and even false nationalities in Cotonou. I am to become a Kenyan, Mairo South African, and so on.  “I have boys in the Benin immigration office,” boasts Mama C.

Horror

A just-arrived traditional ‘doctor’ then puts us through rites that involve checking the horoscope of each girl as well as collecting some of her blood, fingernails, hair and pubic hair. He then picks out four of us as ‘problematic’ and says we will bring ‘bad luck’. Either he is really clairvoyant or he is a professional security operative who has run background checks on us, because he is right about at least three of the four. Two of us have had unfortunate earlier experiences involving deportation back to Nigeria and are possibly known to the authorities in Europe.  I am number three.

What happens next is like a horror movie.

As we ‘unlucky’ four, are standing aside, Mama C talks with five well-dressed, classy, influential-looking visitors.  The issue is a ‘package’ that Mama C has promised them and that she hasn’t been able to deliver. The woman points at me, but Mama C refuses and for unexplained reasons Adesuwa and Omai are selected. We all witness, screaming and trying to hide in corners, as they are grabbed and beheaded with machetes in front of us. The ‘package’ that the visitors have come for turns out to be a collection of body parts.  The mafia that holds us is into organ traffic, too.

We all witness Adesuwa and Omai being beheaded in front of us. The ‘package’ that the visitors have come for turns out to be a collection of body parts.

With all of us trembling and crying, I and the other three ‘unsuitable’ ones are herded into a separate room. Mama C comes later to take me to yet another room for questioning. Angry beyond measure, she whips me all night, telling me to yield information on the ‘forces’ protecting me. “You are going nowhere,” she keeps shouting. “I have invested too much in you!”

Clearing the ‘spirit’

The next morning Mama C eats her breakfast while I starve: I have last eaten the previous morning. When she finished, and whilst the ‘approved products’ leave for Cotonou, Benin, to commence their journey to Italy, Mama C takes us four ‘unsuitables’ to visit three new, different ‘doctors’: one in the Agege neighbourhood of Lagos, the second in rural Sango Ota village and the third in remote Abeokuta in Ogun State. She clearly believes in traditional ‘medicine’ and is desperate to find a treatment for the ‘demons’ we are said to carry.

The first two ‘doctors’ agree with the first one that I am bad news, but the third, after roughly cutting off most of my hair, declares me free from the ‘spirit’. The ‘evil spirits’ in the other three girls, meanwhile, have been ‘beaten out of them’ with dry whips. Back at the camp the first ‘doctor’ rages at Mama C for approving me, insisting that the ‘doctor’ who ‘freed me from the spirit’ is a fraud. “This girl will bring about your downfall! You will end up in jail!”  I am all the more convinced that he possesses not supernatural powers, but certain information.  The syndicates are well-connected and someone may have told him that I am not who I say I am. The ‘doctor’ keeps repeating that ‘forces’ are protecting me. But Mama C insists that she is not to lose her investment.  

The ‘doctor’ keeps repeating that ‘forces’ are protecting me. But Mama C insists that she is not to lose her investment.

Meanwhile, new ‘products’ have arrived to pass through the rites that night. The whole camp is again in the grip of fear as chilling screams indicate that some of the new arrivals – two girls and a young man, I learned later – are also murdered.

 “Oghogho, I wonder what actually brought you here. I never expected a girl like you to venture into this,” says one of Mama C’s errand boys, as he enters the room I had again been locked in later that night with a plate of food.  He seems well disposed to me. “You found and returned my Blackberry that I lost during one of the pickpocketing training sessions,” he explains. I had not realised the escort whose phone I found had been this boy; then, he had worn a cap pressed deep into his eyes.  “Other girls would just have kept my phone,” he says. “You don’t belong here.  I keep wondering what level of poverty has made you endanger yourself. You don't deserve this.”

The plate of food is all I need to get my strength back. We are to travel the following morning.

Escape

As we are about to leave, I lose my phone to the army officer. Searching all of us, he has taken Isoken’s phone already and she has pointed at me to divert attention from herself, saying I had a phone too. He takes mine at gunpoint.  I can only thank the heavens that it is dead. I had been upset because it didn’t charge the previous night, but the fact that it won’t switch on is my second lucky break: it has a lot of pictures and conversations I have recorded in the camp. The disadvantage of losing my phone is that I can’t contact our colleague Reece, who is to help me once I get to Cotonou. I also can't communicate with my editors back in Nigeria. 

All along the road leading up to the border, police and customs officers wave and greet Madam Eno and our head of operations, Mr James. Nigerian Immigrations and Customs officers also greet us warmly at the border post itself, whilst enquiring if there is anything in it for them today.

“Welcome, Madam! How have sales been?”

Eno: “Not much.”

“But your batch was allowed entry yesterday, so why claim you haven't been making sales? “

Eno: “We are not the owner of yesterday's batch of girls. We own these ones in this bus.”

 “Haaa!  You want to play a smart one? Not to worry, your boss will sort all this out with us.”

The officers then wave the minibus through without any form of documentation.

The original plan was for me to go with the transport as far as Cotonou, the capital of our neighbouring country Benin. But I don’t want to stretch it any longer. The border is usually very crowded and I plan to escape as soon as we are there. It works. Just after the Seme border post, in front of a crowded, muddy market, I run. Merging with the crowd, I take my top off – I have another top under it – and cover my head with a scarf. The army officer is following me, looking for me. I dive into a store and lose him.

Just after the Seme border post, in front of a crowded, muddy market, I ran.

I travel the twenty kilometres from the border motor park to Cotonou by minibus taxi.  Colleague Reece – alerted by a phone call the driver helps make to her to ensure that she will be there to pay him – will wait for me there.  Upon arrival, I see a woman I recognise from her Facebook photo. “Reece?”  “Tobore!” She cries and holds out her arms to catch me. "I am safe."

  • FATHIA

    Great investigation. Good job.... I bow for Premium TIMES

  • Farouk Musa Isa

    Hey, wait a minute! Is this a fact or fiction?

    • Ade

      it was an experience.

  • Shazy

    Wow! Good work. All thanks to God for keeping you alive.

  • http://www.dailytrust.com Fidelis Mac-Leva

    Reading through Reece Adanwenon’s undercover investigative piece reminds me of the aphorism: Journalism is the art of attempting the impossible. Through her uncommon journalistic bravado, Adanwewon attempted the impossible-even at the risk of her life- just to make it possible for readers to have a first hand accout of the gory associated with the ‘booming’ Human Trafficking business that has become institutionalized in Nigeria. Paradoxically,like the Boko Haram debacle, the Trafficking Cartel has infiltrated the ranks of the military, Customs et-al! This award winning masterpiece serves as a challenge to Journalists in several other investigative endeavours…!

    • Ahmad Salkida

      This is extra - ordinary. Excellent and brave!!!

      • zamchronicle

        Thanks Ahmad. For those who don't know Ahmad, he also works with ZAM. :)

    • okpogoro

      Reee is not the undercover reporter. read the story properly. The reporter is Tobore, while Reece is a Journalist in Cotonou who received her.

  • Oche

    This is Pulitzer winning stuff.

    My God.

  • El_Komo

    I am shaking as I read this. The beheading...wow....how will Tobore live normally after witnessing that?

  • Vogo

    To say you are brave Tobore Ovuorie will be an understatement......wow
    I am truly Grateful to God for your life.....
    Great works, rally great works. I hope the true Human Traffic activists will take it up and truly advocate for change

    • johndodod

      we should not leave it to only the human traffic activist; ALL OF US HAVE SOME PART TO PLAY; BY SIMPLY SHARING THIS ON FACEBOOK; WRITING TO YOUR HOUSE OF REP MEMBER; JOINING A PROTEST MARCH AND KEEPING THIS IN THE NEWS ONE WAY OR THE OTHER; YOU ARE ALSO BEEN A GOOD CITIZEN WHO SAW EVIL AND REFUSED TO TURN THE OTHER WAY

      • Vogo

        I agree with you and maintain that in as much as we all have a role to play in this case, there are primary activists who understands this area and the best advocacy strategy to tackle this issue. To most of us, it will be a secondary cause. I work in the Social sector and knows exactly what I am saying

        • johndodod

          i get fully your point; but most time out little effort might not change the world but it could change one life, turn a situation around; imagine all the Men Of God and Imams reading this story decide to read this out this story in church this sunday or mosque instead of the usual message; it could save one vulnerable life who was to travel next week through Benin Republic; or the house in ikorodu where this idiots hide girls ; someone who knows the location decide to make a report; all this are small ways we all can contribute instead of passing the buck to someone we think has authority who will also pass it along.I might be naive but its better than apathy. if the brave journalist had said lets live this investigation to the police we will never have known how deep the disease has entered Nigerian society.

  • ben6572 .

    No name mentioned, so dear, you just wasted your time chasing shadows...

    • Phoenix

      She stated she got names and they are taking it up with security operatives, she cant come here publicly publishing those names, it could get in the way of the investigations.

  • Lloyd

    Whoa. This is the stuff made of nightmares. Nigeria sounds like the scariest place on Earth. How do these scumbags live with themselves doing this to human beings? Very brave and well written article. I hope some of the "top brass" read how shameful they are to let this shit go on

  • sir Oscie

    Thank God for his mercies and preservation of your LIFE,May his his be praised...

  • PASCHAL

    THIS IS REALLY PATHETIC AND PORTRAYS THE LEVEL OF MAN'S INHUMANITY TO FELLOW CREATURE.I WANT TO THANK THIS YOUNG LADY FOR HER TREMENDOUS COURAGE AND SACRIFICE FOR A BETTER NIGERIA AND SAFETY OF HUMANITY.THANK YOU SOOO MUCH,IT IS A SACRIFICE LIKE NO OTHER.

  • Chidi

    This is touching. I was in shock while reading this. Help us Lord. This endeavour deserves an award but unfortunately Government can only reward criminal effort and not humane efforts as this. My sister Tobore I pray that God will increase you in wisdom, keep and preserve you. And may He take you to greater heights. In case there are issues yet unresolved in your life, may God resolve them. With people like you, Nigeria still has a future

  • sal

    Cheap investigation, where are pictures to support your claims...Ask Emmanuel Maya former Sun Reporter to teach you how to investigate. Too cheap and half-cooked.

    • Blessing

      to you type; education is lacking; am sure you have never investigated any corruption in your area but you are here to teach people how to investigate

    • zamchronicle

      Dear person who does not read the ZAM Chronicle. We publish in-depth investigative stories from Emmanuel Mayah too. Both Tobore Ovuorie and Emmanuel Mayah are members of the ZAM Newsroom Collective. Please try google things a little bit.

  • Abdulkadir Ahmed

    I don't know what to say,but let the government check the securities ,they are our major problems with out them it will be difficult do do this deity work which is crime gains humanities .

  • John-Joseph

    "Six out of 10 people who are trafficked to the West are Nigerians."
    Where is the proof of that? Or did the author just pull that out of her @$$?
    What places make up "the West"? -- I assume she is refering to Europe and America?
    Why are their no quotes from any of the European groups that research human traffiking, here in Europe groups are given millions of euros annually to research such.
    In this whole article their are no pictures, no quotes from independent authoritative sources, or reports from foreign govenments. This article is just narrative of one woman and her mates who claim they spent time as an undercover love-vendors the validity of their claims left to the readers to decide.
    Is this the pinnacle of journalism or is it just another made-up story made to attract readers?

    • Adesola

      So many holes, here! One, there's
      no time-frame here, and so many questions beg for clarification. One
      would have loved to know how long she stayed as to know who had houses
      where. Again, the assertion that both soldiers & policemen
      'supervised' the practice of how to pick pocket at bus stops is another
      story. For girls who are scheduled to go abroad for prostitution, it
      sounds far-fetched that they would be taken to bus stops where anything
      can happen and rubbish their traffickers' efforts. And, apart from the
      fact that nothing is actually new in terms of the ''discovery'' that is
      written here, there are so many generalisations that befuddle. At the
      Abuja party, for instance, how many 'retired army officers' did she
      consort with to the point that she knew all of them were ex-army
      officers? For someone who was whipped all night, the photo we are
      presented with shows a skin that is anything but whipped. You can't
      undergo the kind of whipping we were told here and not have serious
      wilts all over your face and the exposed shoulders. By the way, she met
      Reece on the FB. Check that out and you will be redirected to LinkedIn
      where there's no pix of Reece, but information written in French that
      she works in the Ministry of Info. And for someone who was so
      'traumatised' and was on the run for her life, how was she able to
      recognise Reece in that tumultuous moment? And, isn't it coincidental
      that everything worked perfectly to time-table as planned, and Reece was
      there just when the reporter needed her? And the guardian angel issue
      is another kettle of fish altogether. She was heavily suspected, yet was
      spared the death penalty. And, doesn't it sound surprising that she was
      able to use her phone and also charge it at some point? How often do
      trafficked girls have access to communication with the outside world? By
      the way, where are the photographs (of who & who?) that she took
      (where)? I can go on and on... I hope this is not a tall story, after
      all

  • Bode Adeyinka

    If this is true............Its terrible

  • Sola

    I can't stop laughing at this jumble of lies and fictionalisation in the
    name of journalism. I am not saying these kinds of events do not take
    place in the world of trafficking but, come on! There is no single thing
    in this story that shows that I cannot sit in my room with a laptop and
    concoct the same story! I can cite at least one hundred holes in this
    story!! Jeez!

    • Adesola

      There's
      no time-frame here, and so many questions beg for clarification. One
      would have loved to know how long she stayed as to know who had houses
      where. Again, the assertion that both soldiers & policemen
      'supervised' the practice of how to pick pocket at bus stops is another
      story. For girls who are scheduled to go abroad for prostitution, it
      sounds far-fetched that they would be taken to bus stops where anything
      can happen and rubbish their traffickers' efforts. And, apart from the
      fact that nothing is actually new in terms of the ''discovery'' that is
      written here, there are so many generalisations that befuddle. At the
      Abuja party, for instance, how many 'retired army officers' did she
      consort with to the point that she knew all of them were ex-army
      officers? For someone who was whipped all night, the photo we are
      presented with shows a skin that is anything but whipped. You can't
      undergo the kind of whipping we were told here and not have serious
      wilts all over your face and the exposed shoulders. By the way, she met
      Reece on the FB. Check that out and you will be redirected to LinkedIn
      where there's no pix of Reece, but information written in French that
      she works in the Ministry of Info. And for someone who was so
      'traumatised' and was on the run for her life, how was she able to
      recognise Reece in that tumultuous moment? And, isn't it coincidental
      that everything worked perfectly to time-table as planned, and Reece was
      there just when the reporter needed her? And the guardian angel issue
      is another kettle of fish altogether. She was heavily suspected, yet was
      spared the death penalty. And, doesn't it sound surprising that she was
      able to use her phone and also charge it at some point? How often do
      trafficked girls have access to communication with the outside world? By
      the way, where are the photographs (of who & who?) that she took
      (where)? I can go on and on... I hope this is not a tall story, after
      all

      • Ade

        No need to belly-ache on a story you wished to but sadly couldn't do, just try do something better and we shall applaud you. Criticism is cheap. The world is full of little men and women!

      • Angryman

        All those who query the authenticity of this report shouldn't be here reading
        This is because the story is backed up by Premium Times and ZAM Chronicles as true
        If this could be false, why will you then believe anything on Premium Times

        • zamchronicle

          Go, Angryman!

    • Chika

      In that case madam, why not just seat down and write it since we now know that at least you have a laptop! People like you never attain greatness because the impossibility of human progress is all you invest your talent to gossip about. Just write your own version even if it was fiction she wrote, write your own fiction and let us see! You could be the next Soyinka, Achebe, or Chimamanda, that would still be a great achievement. We are waiting for your work! The world has two sets of achievers: those who do things and create change; and those who gossip at those who do it....clearly you are in the later class, congratulations

      • Sola

        Whao...your anger and vituperation at a normal intellectual criticism is suspicious. But then everybody knows some writers don't welcome anything that recembles a challenge of their 'great' work. Isn't that just great! Anyway, this is online and I am entitled to my opinion. Like it or write a better story next time, ones that don't have so many holes I mean.

  • nour

    I don't believe a word from this fiction story! You tried to portray that you were undercover as a call girl but never even had sex or do those dirty things but yet became hot at the top! who u want to believe all this impossible tale of yours?

    • TheBitterTruth

      So you really wanna know - why not go underground too? Curiosity killed the cat!

  • James

    Hmmmm.... Tobore.... Na wa o. What next? Perhaps some days in Boko Haram den ... and another World Exclusive in PT? God help us!

  • Homo Sapien

    Human trafficking is a partner of international smuggling and the giants pull the strings with pimps and imps to mislead the world to the pits of war and terror.. They convey their literature and goods when the ether turns muddy.

  • irish upclass

    Guys the point here is the story itself. Either fiction or not, sex slavery or human trafficking exists. It's funny how people reacted if this story is fabricated or not, it's funny because you didn't even bother to question how to help women and children who are in this situation right now.
    You ask yourselves brainy, educated and intellectual people.

  • Leke

    After all, what useful information does she have as to fishing out the traffickers. None. after reading such an investigation, an investigative police officer should have been empowered by certain bucket of information to go about busting the trafficking ring. But in this case, everything Mama C, MAMA A, etc. it added no value after all.