What is Makoko and why does sex work exist there?
Makoko is an informal waterfront settlement in Lagos, Nigeria, housing over 100,000 residents in stilt houses above lagoon waters. Sex work thrives here due to extreme poverty, unemployment rates exceeding 80%, and the absence of social safety nets. Most enter sex work as a last resort when fishing/trading incomes fail. Makoko’s isolation and lack of policing create an environment where transactional sex becomes one of few viable incomes. Women support entire families – parents, children, and siblings – through this work. The community’s transient population of fishermen, traders, and port workers sustains demand. Unlike regulated red-light districts, Makoko’s sex trade operates informally through word-of-mouth in floating bars, makeshift rooms, and canoe meetups. Local NGOs estimate 1 in 5 women under 35 engage in survival sex, trading services for as little as ₦500 ($0.60 USD) per encounter when desperate.
How does Makoko’s geography impact sex workers’ safety?
The aquatic environment creates unique dangers: Nighttime client meetings in canoes risk drowning, especially during Lagos’ notorious flash floods. Narrow wooden walkways limit escape routes during violent assaults. Police raids trigger chaotic escapes across unstable structures. Health clinics are inaccessible across waterways after dark, so injuries go untreated. One sex worker described falling through rotten planks mid-transaction: “I chose drowning over shouting – shame follows us more than water.” The lagoon’s pollution also increases infection risks from wounds or unprotected sex.
What’s the relationship between fishing economies and sex work?
Fishing crews (70% of Makoko’s male population) drive cyclical demand. When trawlers return after weeks at sea, workers spend earnings quickly in “floating bars” where sex workers congregate. During lean seasons, transactions shift to fish-for-sex barters – 3kg of tilapia might equal one encounter. This interdependence creates complex power dynamics. Fishermen may protect “regular” sex workers from violence, yet also exploit their vulnerability by paying less during glut seasons. Some sex workers strategically partner with boat owners for stability, though these arrangements often involve coercive control.
What health challenges do Makoko sex workers face?
HIV prevalence among Makoko sex workers is 28.7% – triple Nigeria’s national average according to MSF surveys. Limited clinic access, stigma, and condom costs (often skipped to earn ₦200 extra) fuel transmission. Beyond HIV, chronic pelvic infections from polluted water exposure are universal. Mental health crises go unaddressed: 68% report depression in Women of Power Foundation interviews. Self-medication with cheap gin or tramadol is common, worsening health vulnerabilities. Traditional “healers” exploit this gap, selling ineffective “STI cleanses” for ₦5,000 – a week’s income.
Why don’t sex workers use available health services?
The nearest public clinic requires a ₦400 canoe ride – prohibitive when daily earnings average ₦1,500. Nurses’ judgmental treatment deters many: “They call us ‘water prostitutes’ before examining us,” shared a 24-year-old mother of three. Mobile health vans avoid Makoko’s waterways, leaving only two understaffed NGOs. One offers STI testing but lacks antiretrovirals; the other provides counseling but no contraceptives. Most women prioritize feeding children over ₦600 PrEP doses even when available.
How does criminalization affect Makoko’s sex workers?
Nigeria’s Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act ambiguously criminalizes “immoral earnings,” letting police extort sex workers. Officers demand ₦10,000 bribes or “free service” during raids. Arrests mean children starve if mothers are detained. This illegality prevents collective bargaining for safer conditions. Violence reports go uninvestigated – 92% of assaulted sex workers told NOIPolls they’d never report to police. Criminal records also block exit paths into formal employment. Paradoxically, authorities ignore Makoko’s sex trade while collecting “environmental fees” from brothel operators.
How do cultural beliefs impact stigma?
Local churches preach that sex workers “invite lagoon demons,” blaming them for community misfortunes. Many believe touching a sex worker’s child causes illness, forcing mothers to hide their work. Widowed sex workers face particular scorn, deemed “failed women” for not relying on male relatives. Yet hypocrisy persists: Respected traders secretly patronize sex workers while publicly condemning them. Some sex workers counter stigma through “water church” donations, gaining temporary community acceptance.
What survival strategies do sex workers use?
Micro-cooperatives allow 5-10 women to pool earnings for emergencies, rotating ₦50,000 payouts monthly. “Squad systems” pair new entrants with veterans who negotiate safer terms and share client alerts about violent men. Many specialize in niche markets: Some exclusively serve canoe taxi drivers; others cater to foreign journalists/documentarians. The most successful diversify incomes – running mobile phone charging stalls (₦50 per charge) or selling cooked fish while waiting for clients.
How do sex workers protect their children?
Children are often sent to inland relatives to avoid stigma and lagoon dangers. Those remaining in Makoko attend informal “floating schools” where teachers discreetly waive fees. Sex workers volunteer as school meal cooks to monitor their kids. Mothers teach daughters early: “Never enter a canoe with two men” or “If mama’s client stays past 9pm, sleep at Aunty Ngozi’s.” Tragically, 14% of sex workers surveyed admitted to transactional sex for children’s school fees or malaria treatment.
What organizations support Makoko’s sex workers?
Women of Power Foundation offers literacy classes and microloans for fish-smoking businesses. Their “Floating Clinic” canoe provides discreet STI testing. Slum Health International trains sex workers as peer health educators, paying ₦1,000 per outreach session. These groups face challenges: Community leaders often block programs, claiming they “encourage immorality.” Funding shortages limit impact – one NGO’s ₦500,000 monthly budget covers only 200 women in a community with thousands in need.
What policy changes could improve their lives?
Decriminalization would reduce police abuse and allow health initiatives. Integrating sex workers into Lagos State’s social housing scheme could provide safer workplaces. Mobile court systems could address violence without requiring victims to travel. Critically, Makoko needs formal recognition to access water sanitation projects – reducing disease vectors that exacerbate health crises. As activist Esther Ijewere notes: “When you live where water is your road, your toilet, and your bath, sickness becomes your shadow.”
Can alternative economies reduce sex work dependence?
Successful interventions leverage existing skills: The “Makoko Fish Hub” project trains women in tilapia aquaculture, generating ₦8,000 weekly versus sex work’s erratic ₦3,000-₦12,000. Recycled plastic crafts (sold to eco-tourists) provide safer incomes. Barriers remain: Startup capital is scarce, and market access limited by Makoko’s stigma. As former sex worker turned entrepreneur Chioma Nnadi explains: “Buyers love our fish until they learn it’s from ‘prostitute pond.’ We need acceptance beyond pity.” True reduction requires dismantling the poverty cycle through education and infrastructure – a generational challenge for Makoko’s children.