Let me take you back to a day that changed my perspective on life, survival, and the often-unspoken dynamics between Nigerian men and women. It was a regular day at MR Biggs—the kind where you go in for jollof rice, chicken, salad, and maybe a snack to soothe your soul. But as I was about to leave, something extraordinary happened.
Stan Nze and Her beautiful Nigerian Wife, Blessing Nze
To my left, I noticed a young woman staring directly at me. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her expression screamed, “Help me!” I hesitated, unsure if I was reading the situation correctly. But before I could overthink it, she walked up to me. Her flat low-cut hair and scruffy appearance told a story of hardship, but her eyes? They told a story of desperation.
“Sir, I need to tell you something,” she said, her voice trembling.
Now, let me pause here. When a stranger approaches you with tears in their eyes, your first instinct is to assume they’re about to ask for money or food. But no, this young lady had a different agenda. She wanted to escape. She had been planning her getaway for months, and somehow, she saw me as her ticket to freedom.
People always asked me for help. Three days ago, at the Barber’s a young boy asked me to help him pay for his haircut. While the barber cautioned him, I went on to pay for him. The same way I had to oblige this young woman who was on the run for her life.
She explained that she was from Ngwa few miles from Aba and had been forced into a life of prostitution by her so-called “aunty.” Every day, she and other girls were subjected to brutal encounters with drunk, violent men. “They have finished me kpatakpata,” she said, using that Igbo phrase that hits you right in the gut. She had no phone, no clothes, and no way out—until that day.
I was flummoxed. What do you even say to that? I gave her some money, took her to the park, and watched as she boarded a bus to Umuahia. I paid the driver myself. Ensured that I communicate with the drive until she reached the park in Aba. Her mother called me later, praying blessings over my life. That was seven years ago, and I haven’t heard from them since. But her story stuck with me.
This encounter got me thinking about the broader issue of prostitution in Nigeria and beyond. We often talk about the number of prostitutes, but what about the men who visit them? Why don’t we include their numbers in the statistics? After all, without demand, there would be no supply. The same narrative occurred in the biblical story of Mary Magdalene. Her client was unknown to this day.
According to a 2011 report by Fondation Scelles, there are about 40 to 42 million prostitutes worldwide, with 80% being women and 20% men. In Nigeria, UNAIDS estimates there are over 100,000 prostitutes. But here’s the kicker: if each of these women sees even 10 men a day (and some handle up to 20), we’re talking about millions of male clients annually. Yet, the shame is always placed on the women, not the men who fuel the industry.
Let’s be real: Nigerian men are some of the biggest spenders when it comes to women. Whether it’s paying dowry, showering runs girls with cash, or even marrying former prostitutes, Nigerian men are not shy about opening their wallets. So why the hypocrisy? Why do we condemn the women while quietly funding their lifestyles?
Nigerian men are a fascinating breed. On one hand, we have the RedPill community shouting from the rooftops about how Nigerian women are “gold diggers.” On the other hand, we have men like Obi Cubana, Cubana Chiefpriest, and Jowizaza throwing money at women like it’s confetti at a wedding. Even pastors like Jerry Eze are out here preaching love and showering their wives with affection.
Let’s not forget the men who date poor women and act like they’re doing them a favor. Meanwhile, these women are out here surviving in a country where poverty is the norm. And yet, Nigerian men still complain about dowry, about women leaving them for richer men, about being “used.” But have you ever stopped to ask yourself: Why do I keep paying if I’m so unhappy?
Are Nigerian women the real MVP, yes. Truth is Nigerian women are resilient, resourceful, and downright amazing. They dominate industries like fashion, agriculture, entertainment, and even tech. They’re making waves in Nollywood, music, and the arts. And let’s not forget the countless women who are raising families, running businesses, and still finding time to look flawless while doing it.
We forget that Nigerian women are amongst the most beautiful globally. Nigerian women are the most beautiful in Africa today. A 23 year old Nigerian, Chidimma Adetsina who competed alongside 125 contestants from other countries was crowned Miss Universe Africa and Oceania 2024. Adetshina, despite the odds against her journey from South Africa, was the First Runner Up at the last concluded Miss Universe. Solid Nigerian women do not give up on you or on their purpose. They are fighters.
Yes, there are bad eggs—just like there are bad men. But for every one “bad” Nigerian woman, there are thousands of good ones. The problem isn’t Nigerian women; it’s the men who haven’t yet met the right ones. If you’re out here complaining about women, maybe it’s time to look in the mirror and ask yourself: Am I the problem?
When you finally meet the right Nigerian woman, you’ll understand why men like Uzor Orukwe and Stan Nze are out here living their best lives. Nigerian women know how to turn a house into a home, a meal into a feast, and a simple day into a celebration. They’re loyal, hardworking, and full of love—if you’re willing to give it in return.
So, to all the Nigerian men out there: stop complaining and start appreciating. And to the women: keep shining, because the world wouldn’t be the same without you.
The story of the young woman I met at MR Biggs is a reminder that behind every statistic, there’s a human story. It’s easy to judge, but it’s harder to understand. Let’s redirect the shame from those who sell sex to those who buy it. Let’s celebrate the strength and resilience of Nigerian women. And let’s remember that kindness and compassion can change lives—one jollof rice and chicken meal at a time.
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