‘On Black Sisters Street’ Showcases the Nuances of Sexual Trafficking

Written by Precious Uzoma-Nwosu

Edited by Veronica Vivi

Illustrated by Noella Abba

While growing up, there were rules set by my father that were never to be compromised on, and
among them was not spending holidays with another family aside from our own. I was greatly
disturbed by this boundary, as my friends often share tales of their visits to their relatives’ houses
after the school breaks. As I became wiser, I realized that my father felt his children would be
safe from sexual exploitation, including sexual trafficking, if we stayed within his watch.
Therefore, it was home, school (although boarding), church, and places that were supervised by
him or my mother – he did not want to leave any loopholes.

His fears were rightly placed as according to a scientific analysis by the World Health
Organization (WHO), approximately 35% of women globally, have experienced physical or
sexual violence. So, he was just a father striving to shield his children, especially his four
daughters from such violence, sexual trafficking included. However, while his apprehensions are
valid, the issue is more nuanced. Social conditioning (namely unemployment and poverty), and
failed governments, come into play in sexual trafficking, irrespective of whether attentive parents
or not.

Great help in shedding light on these nuances include Nigerian movies such as Itohan, Muna,
and Oloture, where the main characters were either survivors, victims, or secret investigators.
Additionally, books, especially by Black women who have in-depth knowledge of these topics,
also revealed the layers of the details of sexual assault, its psychological impact, and its
infringement on women’s rights. A notable example is On Black Sisters Street, a work by Chika
Unigwe, an Afro-Belgian writer who is a recipient of multiple awards for her writing, and who
holds a Ph.D. from the University of Leiden. The book narrates the chilling tale of four women
sex workers (Sisi, Ama, Efe, and Joyce), thrown together by Dele (a pimp) and fate in an
apartment in the red-light district of Antwerp, from the shores of Africa (Nigeria), bringing with
them an invisible bag saddled with stories only unpacked when Sisi is murdered.

Europe, among other countries, has been identified as a hot spot for the sex industry. According
to the European Parliament, in 2017–2018, over 14,000 identified victims of trafficking were
reported by EU nations, with 72% being women and girls. Women and girls belonging to this
72% were also from other countries, as a BBC interview with a Nigerian victim of sex
trafficking depicts Copenhagen’s Vesterbro (red light district), where she was unsuspectedly
trafficked, as a hub for prostitution for traffickers serves as an example.

With Nigerian sex workers letting her into their lives and a grant from Het Vlaams Fonds Voor
de Letteren, Chika also reveals Belgium, the setting of On Black Sister Street, as a trafficking
territory in Europe, showing streets where Black women in sexy lingerie are displayed in a glass
box like accessories to attract customers. Using Belgium as backdrop, Chika explores in depth
the themes of sexual trafficking and slavery, revealing different angles to her readers.

Firstly, human traffickers and pimps do not often present themselves to the victims as they truly
are. Their camouflage can be likened to the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing: they offer
promises of a better life (opportunities victims could not access in their home countries), fake job
offers, deceptive romance, and education from sugar-coated lips that could make even cautious
parents fail to see right through them. According to Sofia Papadopulos (2020:2021), migration
and trafficking both find their root causes in the context of origin: it is commonly agreed upon
the principle that people migrate (whether legally or not) for seeking better conditions of living.

However, with Dele’s guileful mannerisms, it was obvious to the girls what was expected of
them: prostitution. He, nevertheless, sold this idea with the promise of a better life for those
wanting to improve their living conditions. Therefore, for unemployed Sisi, the arrangement
seemed fair: travel outside, work with her body, pay Dele with the money she acquired from it,
save some for herself, and live the life of luxury she has always wanted. Unfortunately, a
shocking truth awaited Sisi, as she realized that she would not be granted asylum and be
considered persona non grata in Europe. Under these circumstances, she could not work on her
terms – her body was no longer hers and she was open to sexual exploitation and harassment
from customers. Dele’s games were well-played. Further, through Ama’s story, we derive that
family neglect and mistreatment could also be a factor in sexual trafficking. Ama’s driving force
to go to a foreign land was to prove to her family – her father (Brother Cyril) who sexually
molested her for years, and her mother who chose marriage over her daughter – that she could
lead a successful life without them.

While it is easy from the comfort of our homes to scoff and ask victims, “Why then didn’t you
try to leave such a situation?”, On Black Sisters Street informs the reader that victims face
significant difficulties in case they desire to leave, as their passports and documents are often
confiscated from them upon arrival. They are, therefore, forced into sex slavery by the debt of
accommodation and travel, which is to be paid in installments, and normally take a couple of
years to complete. Moreover, those who took direct action to regain their freedom, such as Sisi,
place themselves at risk of getting their lives cut short by their pimps and organization, which
hardly leaves a feasible way out. Readers also discover that those who engage in this system of
exploitation are not just uneducated individuals unaware of its risks and repercussions, but also
literate ones like Madam. Despite knowing the harm and trauma sexual trafficking causes to
young women, they do not care and only focus on making profits and being in power.

Finally, through my supervisor, when I intended to utilize On Black Sisters Street for my thesis, I
discovered that the text has been studied by multiple academics in their research on the sexual
exploitation of women. I am delighted that On Black Sisters Street has been acknowledged
within the academic community as it deserves all the recognition it can get. While I encountered
this text for the first time during my college years, I strongly believe it should be included in
high school literature curricula to educate young minds. This education fosters self-assurance
and the ability to speak out against trafficking, thereby contributing to its prevention. Perhaps, if
Dele had revealed the harsh realities awaiting the young ladies once they arrived in Europe, they might have reconsidered their decision. In addition, such inclusion in curricula could spark an
interest in young individuals to advocate for policies and programs aimed at combating sexual
trafficking and providing support to survivors in college or as a career pursuit later in life.
Overall, it is imperative to educate both young girls and boys about sexual trafficking beyond the
surface-level knowledge they might acquire from the streets or friends. This education is vital for
their safety, well-being, and the broader battle against this appalling crime.

References and Works Cited

European Parliament (2021, February 11). ‘Stopping Human Trafficking: MEPS Call for More Action’. News of the European Parliament.

Deirdre, F. (2022, April). ‘Sex Work and the City: Liminal Lives in Chika Unigwe’s On Black Sisters Street. Journal of Migration and Culture Studies, 13(1), 47-60.

Papadopoulos, S. (2021). ‘Human Trafficking for Sexual Exploitation Purposes: A gender-based approach to the Nigerian – Italian route’. Institute for International Law of Peace and Armed Conflict-Ruhr University Bochum.

Pressly, L. (2021, October, 23). ‘Trafficked to Europe for Sex: A Survivor’s Escape Story. BBC News.

Unigwe, C. (2009). On Black Sisters Street. Random House.

WHO (2013), “Global and regional estimates of violence against women: prevalence and health effects of intimate partner violence and non-partner sexual violence: Executive summary”, WHO, op. cit.

Precious Uzoma-Nwosu is a culture, content and creative writer who specialises in topics relevant to women and covers other thought-provoking and intriguing stories that matter. Precious has written for reputable magazines like AMAKA Studio, Resonate, Voice Box, Culture Custodian, Adventures From, Document Women, Gay.Uk, etc. and is also a book reviewer. You can reach her on Twitter @adannaya.

Illustrator – Noella Abba, Instagram: @symphonianoella

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I May Destroy You, Atlanta and Get Out: Afro-Surrealism and the everyday horror of Blackness

Written by Laura Hackshaw

Edited by Veronica Vivi

Illustrated by Daley North

This is a show tune
But the show hasn’t been written for it, yet

Hound dogs on my trail
School children sitting in jail

Black cat cross my path
I think every day’s gonna be my last

Lord have mercy on this land of mine
We all gonna get it in due time
I don’t belong here
I don’t belong there
I’ve even stopped believing in prayer

– Mississippi Goddamn by Nina Simone

‘‘Afro-Surrealism is drifting into contemporary culture on a rowboat with no oars…to hunt down clues for the cure.’’

– D. Scot Miller – Afrosurreal Manifesto: Black is the New Black a 21^st Century Manifesto (2009)

*This essay contains spoiler alerts for several TV shows and films

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Learning the Multiplicity of Being with Akwaeke Emezi

Written by Amuna Wagner

Edited by Veronica Vivi

Illustrated by Olamide Florence Adeoye aka Sharp Txngue

Do you believe in spirits? And does it matter whether you do? Akwaeke Emezi taught me that to Black people this question is essential for collective survival the day I stumbled upon Freshwater (2018) in my partner’s bookshelf. The novel pulled me into the life of Ada, the child of a Nigerian father and Tamil mother who suffers the pain of being a spirit trapped in flesh. An ọgbanje, to be exact. Ada is born a screaming baby “with one foot on the other side” (back cover), only a half-step ahead of madness. When she moves to the United States for college and her boyfriend sexually assaults her, spirits that have been living inside her emerge and assume increasing autonomy: the feminine Asughara, masculine Saint Vincent, and a collective “We” of brothersisters. Ada continues life as a fractured, multiple being, navigating her several selves’ desires and darkness.

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Centring Pleasure Activism with adrienne maree brown

Written by Amuna Wagner

Edited by Veronica Vivi

Illustrated by Olamide Florence Adeoye aka Sharp Txngue

“How do we make social justice the most pleasurable human experience?” (back cover) asks adrienne maree brown in her phenomenal book Pleasure Activism: The Politics of Feeling Good (2019). Guided by its opening chapter, Audre Lorde’s “Uses of the Erotic: Erotic As Power” (27-37), the anthology explores a world that centres pleasure and care for ourselves and others. The book doubles as a collection of radical theories and a study guide of hands-on practice. I was living in Cairo in 2021 when I stumbled across a class on pleasurable feminisms; a group of people gathered weekly to intimately study the book, intrigued by brown’s question: “How can we awaken within ourselves desires that make it impossible to settle for anything less than a fulfilling life?” (back cover). Over the course of three months, Pleasure Activism: The Politics of Feeling Good reordered my world view and became my road map on how to live a consciously political life without guilt.

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Octavia Butler is in Defence of Failure: Kindred’s Black Grief as a New Dawn

Written by Alma Simba

Edited by Katya Zabelski

Illustrated by Sage Anifowoshe

I come to Dana through Saidiya. And Saidiya comes to Dana in relation to Venus. We all convene under a sky of grief particular to black women. Of the crushing weight of history. I pick up from where Saidiya leaves off. The archive, the futility, the resignation to language and history never being enough. Of failure as the new sky. But maybe also the new dawn.

I come across Kindred by Octavia Butler in a reference by Saidiya Hartman’s 2008 article, “Venus in Two Acts.” In the article, Hartman explores how the history of domination must be accepted by black people to try and untangle it. The article functions as a continuation of her earlier book, Lose Your Mother, where she charts the journey of the middle passage, loss, and connection to history. In “Venus in Two Acts,” Hartman continues this historical reconstruction and methodological struggle when she writes of a young girl who was murdered on a slave ship with little further information cited in the records. In both, Hartman highlights the difficulty in deciphering the blankness and violence in black historical narratives, while discussing the different options in the weighted obstacle of writing black history.

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Sisters of the Yam and (Re)politicising Mental Health with African Feminisms

Written by Michelle Udoh

Edited by Temitope Lasade-Anderson

Illustrated by F. Seck

I think of mental health as the world’s lingua franca. I hear it spoken in the kitchen when female relatives season their meat with salt, Maggi, and tales of patriarchal violence. Its cadences caress the mouth of my elders as they gather and recount harrowing memories of the Biafran War. My friends and I speak it quite fluently as well: we use it to gist and articulate the many pains and joys that come with adulthood. The fascination that I have with this language, one that entwines our psychosocial wellbeing with our lived realities, is the reason I chose to study Neuroscience for my undergraduate degree.

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What’s the price of feeling seen? Dido Belle and historical representations of Blackness

Written by Kimberley Aparisio

Edited by Katya Zabelski

Illustrated by Holly Summerson

In the summer of 2021, I wandered into Kenwood House, a stately home situated in the middle of Hampstead Heath, North London. Therein, I encountered this image.

Princess Henrietta of Lorraine, attended by a page (1634) by Van Dyck

The portrait provoked thoughts about the infantilisation of black men and the reinforcement of spurious inferiority through images and media. I continued to make my way through the gallery, where I came upon the only other historical portrait of a black person.

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Elena Ferrante and ‘writing against’ a male literary tradition

“Women’s self-discovery process cannot be adapted to a man’s model.” [1]

Written by Stefania Frustagli

Edited by Veronica Vivi

Illustrated by Maia Abayomi

In the early stages of her writing life, Elena Ferrante considered her female nature a hindrance to her creative expression. “For a woman who has something to say,” she asked herself, “does it really take a miracle to dissolve the margins within which nature has enclosed her and show herself in her own words to the world?” [2]. In her lecture, Ferrante discusses how much the male literary tradition has shaped, restrained women’s writing, and how she tries to overcome this. Ferrante also mentions this theme in an interview where she states, “Nobody (…) is the true name, perhaps, of any woman who writes, since she writes from within an essentially male tradition.” [3].

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Flo, Not My Job & Rejecting the Idea of the ‘Strong Black Woman’

Written by Anita Mowete

Edited by Veronica Vivi

Illustrated by Florence Aina

Black women are often expected to put their heart and soul in relationships, even if it is to their own detriment. However, just because you can, does not mean you should.

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Unlearning British Biphobic Bias with “The Bi-ble”

Gemma Avens

Edited by Ketaki Zodgekar

Illustration by @worthdrawingwell

Unsurprisingly, most of the authors in The Bi-ble wrote of feeling silenced and isolated around their bisexuality, convinced that their struggles were unique to them. In fact, similar feelings are what led me to find the anthology — and tear through it at breakneck speed. The Bi-ble discusses the authors’ experiences of bisexuality in Britain: of marginalisation, exploring their sexuality, and reclaiming their identity — finding power and joy in the process. The collection is an extremely valuable academic resource and one of very few books about bisexuality in Britain — bisexuality, here, being romantic or sexual attraction to multiple genders.

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