A black Lexus RX 350 screeched to a halt in Adebayo Area of Ado-Ekiti, the Ekiti State capital. Its tinted windows slid down and six ladies in skimpy dresses rushed forward. After a brief negotiation, two of them ‘jumped’ into the car’s back seat, and it sped off.
For the passersby, it was just another fleeting moment. But for those familiar with Ado-Ekiti at nightfall, it was another window into a world where prostitution no longer hides in the shadow but flourishes in the open.
From Adebayo to Ajilosun, Bank Road to NTA Road, and into the brothels of Odo-Ado, Isato-Isale and Oke Bola, young ladies stand at the centre of prostitution that now defines Ado-Ekiti’s nightlife.
Ladies in early twenties emerge from the shadow corners with short dresses and stand in clusters waiting for clients. They lean on parked cars, shift weight from one leg to another, and scan the road with sharp eyes.
Each headlight beam is a possible transaction. Their main clients are internet fraudsters, the so-called Yahoo boys, who dominate the city’s nightlife with flashy cars, music and reckless spending.
Female students of tertiary institutions struggling to make ends meet or seduced by the lure of fast money, also join the trade. Some of the ladies operate discreetly, arranging meetings through WhatsApp groups. Others work through bar owners, hotel managers or informal networks of pimps who take a cut of their fees.
Rates range between N20,000 for short time to N100,000 for trips outside the state.
Between 9pm and 10pm, Adebayo one of the busiest nightlife hubs, bursts into spectacle. Convoys of exotic cars pull up outside hotels and lounges and men in expensive gold chains and wristwatches storm in as they order for bottles of Azul and Hennessy.
Sex workers, popularly called ‘Olosho’, swarm their tables like bees.
On the streets, the trade is visible. Young women in high-heeled shoes negotiate loudly on phone calls or disappear into cars with clients.
In brothels, the transactions are more structured. In one brothel at Odo-Ado, this reporter observed more than a dozen women sitting on plastic chairs, waiting for patronage. The negotiation process was brisk. A man would arrive, point to his choice, whisper a few words, and disappear into a small room with her.
At roadside lounges, the scene is similar. The smell of grilled suya mixes with that of cigarette smoke as men sip bottles of red wine and beer and DJ spun different Afrobeats tracks.
Beyond the open bar, women linger by hotel gates, their short dresses shimmering under fluorescent light. A smile becomes an advert and a wave is an invitation.
By morning, the same women retreat into normal lives. On the streets, they were indistinguishable from students rushing to lectures, traders arranging their wares, or apprentices heading to the workshop.
But when night falls again, they return to the streets aggressively searching for ‘daily bread’.
Our correspondent went undercover not only to the streets but also into hotels with three different sex workers on three different nights.
Each encounter was staged, not for sex, but for conversation, giving them the chance to tell their stories. The young ladies attempted to seduce the reporter, mistaking the purpose of the meeting. One sat on the reporter’s lap, another tugged at his shirt with smiles. But in each case, the urge was resisted even though their fees were paid in full..
The first encounter was at a hotel in Adebayo area. A 21-year-old Sussy (not her real name) from Auchi, Edo State was quick to settle into the room and ask for her fee. When told the arrangement was only for conversation, she looked puzzled, then sat on the edge of the bed and relaxed.
A 300-level student of Ekiti State University (EKSU), she said it was financial hardship that forced her into the trade. She said she turned to prostitution after her father lost his job and her mother’s petty business could no longer sustain the family and meet the demands of tuition, hostel rent, and books.
She explained that she first ventured into what she called ‘runs’ in her first year, when family support dwindled to almost nothing.
‘I was not comfortable at first,’ she said, tracing a circle on the tabletop with her finger. ‘But My friend told me how she managed.
‘One night, I tried it and it really helped. Now it has become a routine’, she added.
Sussy, at one point, drew closer to the reporter and eased herself onto his lap before she was gently asked to return to her seat. She obeyed without protest, but the gesture carried the heaviness of routine. She gave a half-smile, almost bitter, and shrugged.
She admitted thst most of her clients are Yahoo Boys (internet fraudsters). ‘Ordinary students cannot afford us. They spend freely, even pay for trips outside the state,’ she said.
For Sussy, prostitution is less a choice and more about survival borne out of the arithmetic of hardship and the urgency of need.
In front of KSSD Hotel along NTA Road, Ado-Ekiti, another young lady in her early twenties, caught the reporter’s attention. Slender with a golden ankle chain and scarlet lipstick, Kaffy stood under a street light. Approached by the reporter, she wasted no time on pleasantries. ‘Short time is N20,000; full night, N40,000. No reduction,’ she said with a tone of finality.
She agreed to a short-time arrangement and followed the reporter to a nearby hotel. Inside the small room, she laughed when asked if stigma ever bothered her.
‘Stigma doesn’t feed anyone,’ she said, revealing that she had a child to care for. ‘The father is not there, but the child must eat,’ she said.
‘Yahoo Boys pay well, though they can be rough. Sometimes they want two or three girls at once. We take the risk because the money is there.’
As the conversation continued, Kaffy tugged at the reporters’ long sleeves before she was told that the night was only for conversation. She shook her head and gave a smile.
‘You’re different. Most men say that and change their minds later,’ she said.
Her fee was paid in full via transfer and she left with a mix of gratitude and disbelief.
At a brothel in Isato-Isale, rainbow bulbs flickered above the entrance. Inside, the narrow hallways reeked alcohol and cigarette smoke. Women lounged in doorways, waiting for potential clients.
At the brothel, this reporter met a young lady who introduced herself as Sandra, saying she had worked there for seven years. She insisted the conversation must take place inside her room for her to talk.
Inside her small room, the air was warm. A tired electric ceiling fan barely stirred the curtains. A single bed lay in a corner with a mosquito net tied to one side. Sandra poured a gin into two small glass cups and offered one to the reporter, which he politely turned down.
She explained that going into prostitution was not a sudden decision but an outcome outcome of pressures that left her with no choice.
According to her, her mother’s roadside stall barely brought in enough to survive, and when she gave birth, the weight of responsibility grew heavier. The child’s father, she said, disappeared soon after, leaving her with no support.
She added that sex work presented itself as the only option that could produce money that matched her responsibilities.
‘You think of other things but hunger doesn’t wait. School fees don’t wait. A child crying at night for food doesn’t wait’, she said.
On another night at Cozy Lounge along Ado-Iworoko Road, two young ladies sat side by side. They sipped a sachet alcohol carefully in order not to ‘dull the moment’ or their senses. The music from speakers rattled the bottles before them, reducing conversation to quick whispers and nods.
A moment later, a pot-bellied man in his fifties eased into the empty chair beside them. He leaned close and spoke into their ears over the noise. The discussion was brief and punctuated by laughter from the two women. Minutes later, they left their chairs, tugging at their dresses as they followed him.
At PDF Arena Lounge beside First Bank in Adebayo Area, a young lady named Ifedolapo stirs the ice in her glass. Slim and neatly braided, her voice is soft.
‘This is not the life I want. I am only managing. My dream is to own a boutique. If I can save enough, I will stop,’ she said.
At a popular brothel in Oke Bola, beside Ifa Chapel, a woman in her forties, who introduced herself as Mama T, disclosed that she had been in the ‘runs business’ for nearly a decade; a path she said was never her choice but became a necessity after her marriage collapsed.
‘I am a mother of three and my children must eat, school fees must be paid. That is why I continued.
‘I have been to Lagos, Ibadan, Port Harcourt and Akure for this business. Everywhere it’s the same story. Men are looking for pleasure, women are only looking for ways to survive.’
She admitted the work is dangerous. ‘It is not an easy life. Sometimes you meet a good client who will pay well. Other times, you face insults and violence. But at the end of the day, you return because the children depend on you. There is no other choice.’
Our correspondent observed that by 2am, the frenzy began to wane. Some women hung outside lounges and hotels, their eyes heavy with fatigue. For those who could secure clients, it was a night wasted. For others, the money paid for the services they rendered meant a cashout for survival.