‘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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Hope is a Nigerian citizen in ‘Of This Our Country’

Written by Oluwaseun Famoofo

Edited by Veronica Vivi

Illustrated by Grace Kaluba

I still remember the days my parents and their friends would sit in the living room, ardently discussing the politics of the land. I used to be scared someone would knock on their doors and arrest them for even daring to speak. Freedom of speech in Nigeria is an illusion, and so is the right to vote. To be a patriot or to not be, I have spent my life asking myself this question. But I ache for this country, a country where a lot of citizens keep saying their daily “what-ifs.”: what if we were never colonized, what if the amalgamation did not happen, what if we all united? Reading “Of this our Country” reminded me of “There was a country,” by Chinua Achebe – the Nigeria he grew up in is so different from that which has been handed to us, the new generation of Nigerians.

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A UTOPIAN CURRICULUM PART FIVE: SUPERMAN

Written by Ibtisam Ahmed

Edited by Maria Elena Carpintero Torres-Quevedo

Illustration by Iara Silva

Before I delve into this part of the Utopian Curriculum series, I must offer some thanks. First and foremost, to the incredible team at Project Myopia for their patience and compassion for me as an individual. The past several years have been difficult for so many of us and it is encouraging to see a publication actually embody the ethos of care and utopianism that we collectively agreed to explore when this series was first pitched. It is rare and makes all the difference. Second, specifically to Maria Elena Carpintero Torres-Quevodo for your feedback and nurturing editing. It has been a real joy being asked to delve deeper into my thoughts in a way that was constructive and empowering. Third, to Iara Silva for your incredible artwork. Arresting visual media is a wonderful way to express complex thoughts – all the more relevant for this particular essay given the graphic nature of the source material.

And finally, to you dear reader, for sticking with this endeavour. It feels serendipitous offering my gratitude halfway through this curriculum, especially as so much has changed since it was first pitched. Part of this change is the actual source material itself. When I first included Superman as an example of utopia, it was a more generic take on the character and his history. But Superman has evolved since then and it is the specific take on his latest iteration – an openly queer child of a refugee with intentionally inclusive politics – that I will be exploring here.

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The otherness of South Asian Art in British academia

Apoorva Singh

Edited by Ketaki Zodgekar

Chila Kumari Burman was a member of the British Black Arts movement in the 1980s and one of the first South Asian women to make political art in the UK (Buck, 2020). Her work was most recently exhibited by Tate Britain in 2020, where her piece remembering a brave new world, filled with imagery of iconic Hindu deities and South Asian aesthetics, was the gallery’s winter commission. South Asian feminist perspectives on post-colonial Britain are centred in Burman’s work, which spans multiple media, from printmaking and painting, to installation and film. In my exploration of Chila Kumari Burman, I started to wonder: How do we read and understand her artwork? Is it post-colonial, South Asian, feminist or British? How should we define the artwork’s aesthetic and cultural underpinnings?

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A UTOPIAN CURRICULUM PART FOUR: VOGUING

PART FOUR: VOGUING

By Ibtisam Ahmed

Edited by Maria Elena Carpintero Torres-Quevedo

Illustration by Iara Silva

As I continue to write this Utopian Curriculum series, it feels important to address questions raised from previous essays. In online conversations and email exchanges around parts two (Black Panther) and three (Sultana’s Dream), a particular point raised was whether something can be truly utopian if it is only positive and ideal for a specific demographic. It is apt, then, to dedicate part four to the art form of voguing.

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The Visionary Films of Med Hondo

Illustration and article by François Giraud

Edited by Ketaki Zodgekar

Although he worked at the margins of the film industry for half a century, pioneer French-Mauritanian filmmaker Med Hondo (1936-2019) is not an obscure artist. As recently as 2020, the German publisher Archive Books compiled almost fifty years of interviews with Med Hondo, which shows the interest that his transnational and anticolonial cinema continues to elicit, decades after many of his films were released. In 1970, his first long feature film Soleil Ô—which powerfully denounces racism in French society and the exploitation and discrimination of African emigrants in Paris—received exposure at Cannes Festival and was awarded a Golden Leopard at the Locarno International Festival. Some of his later films, such as Sarraounia (1986) and Black Light (Lumière noire, 1994), have been studied in academic journals specialising in African and postcolonial studies.

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A UTOPIAN CURRICULUM PART THREE: SULTANA’S DREAM

**PART THREE: SULTANA’S DREAM (1905)**

By Ibtisam Ahmed

Edited by Maria Elena Carpintero Torres-Quevedo

Illustration by Iara Silva

Welcome to the new year and welcome back to the Project Myopia Utopian Curriculum series. So far, I set up a broad overview of the discipline and the series in the first post, and then looked at the anti-colonial Afrofuturism of Black Panther in the second. In part three, I will be exploring Sultana’s Dream and how it uses satire and humour to highlight how oppressed communities can create a specific vision of liberation and utopia.

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