Eshiorameh Sebastian reveals a desperate ‘booking’ system in Abuja, where sex workers, acting as their own unsecured creditors, loan their bodies on trustโa gamble where the cost of default is not just financial, but profoundly human.
The popular Nigerian axiom, “money for hand, back for ground,” which insists on instant payment for services rendered, is being rewritten in the shadows of Abuja’s nightlife. Here, for a growing number of women, the oldest profession is operating on one of the oldest financial principles: credit. The transaction is no longer a simple exchange; it has become a precarious line of credit, with a woman’s body as the only collateral.
Under the blinking neon lights of a Wuse 2, a different kind of business happens. For a week, SPEAR NEWS spoke with women who work as sex workers and uncovered a system they call “booking”โa fragile arrangement of trust with regular clients where intimacy is provided now, but payment comes later, at the month’s end or when a salary comes.
This risky lifeline, built on little more than a promise, defines the reality for many. As one woman, Bose, (not original name) a 35-year-old veteran, who was invited by one of our reporters for a drink, explained, “This matter no be by force for cash. For some of our customers, we don dey do am on credit. Na him we dey call โbookingโ. You give them service, you collect your money later. E get as e be, but na so we dey see am for some of our customers wey we trust.”
It is a system born of desperation and a search for stability. For Amina, (not original name) 28, a mother of two, it is simple maths. “My daughterโs school fees are 45,000 naira,” she says, leaning against a wall. “If I only see men who pay cash, some nights I go home with nothing. So I have three regulars. We have an understanding.”
Her best customer is a civil servant. “He pays on the 28th of every month, just before his salary finishes. If my child is sick and I can’t work, I can call him for a small loan. I pay him back laterโฆ with my body. He is my bank. If he ever refuses to pay, that is the day hunger will catch me properly.”
For Chiamaka (not original name), a 21-year-old student, the arrangement is more exclusive but comes with strings that feel like chains. Her client, a wealthy man in the oil industry, “books” her for weekends, pays her rent, and provides a lump sum. “He says because he pays like a husband, I should act like a wife. But he has a real wife in Maitama. So what does that make me? It confuses me, but the money is steady. I need it.”
Not every story of trust, however, has a safe ending. Zainab, 24, learned this the hard way. A client she considered a “brother” owed her 80,000 naira for three weeks of work before he blocked her number. “He didn’t just steal my money; he stole my peace. Now, it is cash only. The pain is too much”, she said.
For others, like Jennifer, the line between business and emotion blurs into a painful knot. Her main client, a banker, treats her well and takes her to nice places. “When he is with me, it feels wrong to ask for money. So I let the debt build up,” she confesses. “My friends say I am a fool. But a part of me thinks, if I am patient, maybe he will leave his wife for me. It is a stupid thought, I know.”
At the most vulnerable end of the scale is Favour, just 19 and newly arrived from Benue. For her, “booking” is not a strategy, but a desperate gamble. “Bros things are hard,” she whispers. “If a man looks responsible and promises to pay, I agree. What choice do I have?”
This entire economy rests on a thread that can be easily broken. There are no written contracts, no legal recourse. It is a system of unsecured personal loans where the cost of default is not financial, but physical, emotional, and profound. As the crimson neon continues to blink over Wuse 2, it illuminates a stark reality: in the shadow of Nigeria’s powerful capital, the price of a little bit of credit can be a woman’s last shred of security.
The entire arrangement is inherently precarious, operating without the security of written contracts or formal agreements.
It is a system of unsecured personal loans where the cost of default is not financial, but physical, emotional, and profound. Legal experts point out that the very nature of these agreements places the workers in an impossible position. Barrister Aisha Mohammed, a lawyer specialising in women’s and human rights, explained, “From a legal standpoint, these women have zero protection. They cannot approach the police to report a client for non-payment for an illegal service. The law sees them as participants in a criminal act, not as creditors seeking to recover a debt. This legal vacuum is what the clients, often knowingly, exploit.”
The risks, however, are not entirely one-sided. A civil lawyer, Tunde Akinsanmi, highlighted the potential legal pitfalls for the clients, however remote. “While a client is unlikely to be prosecuted for breaching this contract, the arrangement opens him up to other dangers,” Akinsanmi stated. “A disgruntled worker could potentially use personal information she has gathered, his workplace, family details, for blackmail. Furthermore, if he were a public official, the existence of such relationships, if exposed, could form the basis of a misconduct investigation, alleging the misuse of public funds or bringing the service into disrepute, even without a direct prostitution charge.”
Human rights advocate, Chioma Eze, focused on the profound social and psychological perils. “This ‘trust’ is a mirage,” Eze argued. “It systematically erodes the woman’s autonomy, blurring the line between a commercial transaction and a personal relationship. This emotional manipulation is a form of psychological control that makes it harder for her to assert boundaries or demand payment, trapping her in a cycle of debt and dependency that is incredibly difficult to escape.”
From an economic perspective, Dr. Ken Ebenezer, a sociologist, described the system as a predatory safety net. He noted, “These women are essentially acting as unregulated micro-finance institutions, lending their most personal asset without any guarantee of return. The interest they earn is merely the avoidance of immediate destitution, but the risk of catastrophic lossโa week or a month’s income vanishingโis immense. This is a testament to a complete failure of formal social and economic structures”.
Ultimately, as the crimson neon continues to blink over Wuse 2, it illuminates a stark reality where the price of a little bit of credit can be a woman’s last shred of security.
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