I had a boyfriend who I loved so much, he was there for me when I got admitted into the university, he took up the responsibility of paying my school fee because my parents were too poor to avoid the school fee.
All my love for Henry Akintola (not real name) my banker boyfriend. He was working with in a new generation bank and earning a lot. So he was comfortable and able to pay for my studies.
I am looking forward to marry Henry after graduation but he broke my heart when I was in my second years at the University by getting to marry another girl without telling me.
I lost contact with Henry after he suddenly relocated without letting me know his new address. I was heartbroken and I didn’t know how I was going to survive through my remaining two years in the university. The only option I had was to go into prostitution.
Becoming a prostitute turned out to be pretty easy work for me because I only needed to see clients one or two days a week to cover my expenses in school. In my first few months of working as a prostitute, I was met with enough raised eyebrows, grimaces of disgust and looks of pity to last a lifetime. Sometimes I received lectures about how I was promoting hatred and violence against women and I was accused of being traitor to the feminist cause.
On many occasions, I was asked intrusive questions like “has a client ever hit you?” and what is the most disgusting thing you have ever had to do for a client?. One friend or someone I thought was a friend at a time told everyone in my social circle that there must be something psychologically wrong with me because nobody in her right mind would ever choose to be a prostitute.
She said she had read that people in the sex industry are only there because they have been forced into it, or because they were sexually abused as children and then make warped decisions about their sexuality as adults. Soon the rumour in my extended group of friends was I had been sexually abused as a child and that I was mentally unstable. Everyone in my social circle came to think of me as deranged and messed up. I eventually grew apart from those friends.
When I do muster up enough to tell people about my work, I notice myself glossing over it very quickly and hurriedly the topic of conversation toward my graduate degree instead. I hyped it up and draw attention to it as if to say, “yes, I’m a whore, but I’m also smart and normal, really, I promise”. I find it pretentious and annoying when other people talk excessively about their university education, and I hate it that I have become of those people. However, I feel urgent need to communicate that I’m more than “just a whore”.
In my darkest moment I am desperately overwhelmed with the feelings of despair and fear that I made myself unlovable. Sometimes I think the only way out of this mess is to stop working as a prostitute and leave the sex industry behind. It would be hard to quit, though, because the work is relatively easy, my schedule is flexible and I make twice as much money doing sex work as I could be doing any other job I’m qualified for.
I don’t feel strong enough to cope with society’s condemnation but there is nothing I can’t do about it now. I wish I’d known what I was getting myself into before I jumped into this line of work. But most of all, I wish I’d never become a prostitute in the first place.