The Story That Reaffirmed My Purpose as a Storyteller

Photographer: Ohmyjoyy – Distorted Face: An image of a young girl sitting on a white plastic stool at New Benin Market.

One of our first stories of the year is not an easy one to tell—but it is necessary.

Before we go any further, I want to acknowledge my initial hesitation in sharing this. I have always been mindful of how Africa is portrayed in global media—often reduced to narratives of poverty and hardship. But Africa is vast and diverse, and some stories, no matter how difficult, must be told. This is one of them.

Last May, I traveled to Nigeria. While I cherished the chance to reconnect with family and immerse myself in my roots, I was deeply shaken by some of the realities I encountered.

Most of my time was spent in Benin City, Edo State—the southwestern region where my parents spent part of their childhood. Having left Nigeria at 14, returning 22 years later was an emotional journey of rediscovery and readjustment.

One experience that left an indelible mark on me was witnessing young girls working in shops and market stalls.

During our stay in Benin City, my sister—who is also my photographer—and I visited New Benin Market. As we observed the bustling scene, my sister pointed out a troubling pattern: young girls sitting idly in front of stalls, their presence more than just a coincidence. Intrigued and unsettled, we looked deeper into their circumstances. What we uncovered was both heartbreaking and unforgettable.

A market woman revealed that many of these girls had been sold by their families—driven by sheer desperation and poverty.

📽️ Prefer to watch instead of reading the full blog? Here’s the link to the video:

The concept of domestic servants—or "house help"—is deeply ingrained in Nigerian culture. Traditionally, when families faced financial hardship, they might send a child to live with a wealthier relative. In exchange for household chores, the child would receive care and an education.

But what we saw in the markets was something entirely different. These children weren’t placed in homes to be nurtured or educated. Instead, they were sent to work in the markets during school hours—not to expand their minds, but to enrich the women they labored for.

I watched as these children sat in the marketplace when they should have been in school—one staring blankly into the distance, another sleeping on a wooden bench, another climbing to retrieve goods for customers.

One woman explained that many of these children weren’t originally from Edo State, meaning they didn’t speak the local language. This further isolated them, making their circumstances even more difficult.

As painful as it was to witness, I refrained from passing judgment. Survival is a daily struggle for many in Nigeria, where the average person lives on less than a dollar a day. The soaring cost of food and basic necessities has forced many into impossible choices.

Some told me that, in certain cases, these girls had better lives with their new families than they would have had with their birth families. While that may be true, I did not have the opportunity to hear it from the girls themselves. That uncertainty lingers, and it’s a story I need to explore further.

When I returned to the U.S., I searched for coverage of this issue in mainstream media. To my surprise, I found little to nothing.

So, where do we go from here?

I am planning to return to Nigeria to document the full story.

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