TW: This story contains references to suicide and descriptions of violence.
The Blackmailers
Korede’s* muscular frame and deep, coarse voice often command attention, except when he starts crying.
He cried a lot after a video of him naked and being tortured by stick-wielding men was shared on social media. Once again, shame stripped down his voice and demeanor as he recounted his story. He had lost his job and home and had been rejected by friends, who said he embarrassed them.
“I feel shame whenever I remember,” he said.
At 35, Korede can be considered straight-passing — a term used to describe gay people whose sexuality is not immediately apparent from their appearance or behavior.
His ordeal began when he met DJ Rati, a local disc jockey, at a party in Asaba, Delta, south-south Nigeria. Their fondness for each other grew so much that Korede considered him a friend not long after they met.
DJ Rati invited Korede to his home. It was not out of place. Both men had spent time together in Korede’s apartment many times. On the day Korede visited, the DJ’s sister was in the single-room apartment but soon left to give both men privacy. Korede remembered it being a sunny afternoon. He asked to take a quick shower and also requested cold water.
“I didn’t know that he had made arrangements with some of his friends in the street,” Korede recalled. “As I was pulling my clothes… the three boys ran to the house, started beating me with cutlasses and bottles, and videoed me. I was trying to cover myself. They dragged me outside. I was begging, but they refused to listen to me.”
DJ Rati and his friends demanded ₦500,000 (around $331). They called all of Korede’s friends to demand ransom. No one sent money. DJ Rati and his friends let Korede go after hours of ridicule and after they had taken humiliating videos of him. They warned him that those videos would be released online if he failed to send the ₦500,000 ransom.
Korede tried to raise the ransom. He asked his boss for a salary advance. He tried to sell some of his properties, but half a million naira was hard to come by in a country where the minimum wage is less than $50 per month. Two days passed, and he had yet to send the money. Then he started getting calls from friends. The video had been released.
“It was a very terrible experience,” he said. “I wanted to kill myself. I was watching it, and God, I can’t bear this… I’m ashamed. Actually, I’m ashamed.”
He relocated to another community where he hoped no one would recognise him from the video, but his life had been upended.
What Korede described is a classic case of catfishing and blackmailing targeted at queer people. In Nigeria, it is called Kito, a term in the local LGBTQ+ community used to describe the ill luck of falling victim to harassment, blackmail, and physical violence by someone believed to be another gay person.
Although the origin of the word is unclear, the perpetrators of Kito often use dating apps or social media to target their victims. The blackmailers pose as gay men looking to make friends before eventually hurting their victims. They use threats of exposure to force victims to comply with their demands. In many cases, their demands include sexual favours and money. When victims fail to meet these demands, like Korede, they are humiliated.
“These stories are quite rampant,” said Uyaiedu Ikpe-Etim, a Nigerian filmmaker who openly lives as a gay woman in Nigeria. The perpetrators of this crime are emboldened by the Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act (SSMPA), a law that criminalises same-sex relations in Nigeria.
The “anti-gay law” also forbids the registration of organisations that seek to advocate for the rights of LGBTQ people in the country. It was signed into law by former President Goodluck Jonathan in 2014, and offenders can be punished with up to 14 years in prison.
Human Rights Watch said the law had been used to justify widespread discrimination and violence against LGBTQ+ individuals in Nigeria and accused the police of being complicit. Since its enactment, there have been reports of increased violence against LGBT individuals, said Walter Ude, a contributor on the Kito Diaries blog. This blog documents violence against gay people in Nigeria and puts a face on the perpetrators.
“The SSMPA legitimises homophobia; it legitimises attacks on queer people and you find out that some of these acts are also [aided] by police officers,” Ude said.
‘Police is of no use’
When Chinedu*, another victim of Kito, heard his blackmailer had been arrested and taken to the police station, he thought he would get justice for the humiliation he suffered. At the police station, Chinedu said he was shocked at how quickly the police turned against him when the man who had blackmailed him told them it was a “gay affair” and that Chinedu had refused to pay him after having sex with him. He said the police would no longer listen to him or let him dispel the lies his blackmailer was telling them.
Chinedu met his blackmailer, Emmanuel Nwana, on Grindr, a dating platform for members of the LGBTQ+ community. They chatted for a week, then decided to meet for the first time. Chinedu said he was surprised when he met the person behind the Grindr account. The person who had come to meet him was different from the person in the profile picture or the many other photos they had exchanged on the app.
“I did not want to create a scene at my workplace because that was where we met,” he said. “ I made a brief conversation with him and asked that we meet another time because I needed to get back to work. That was where the trouble started. He asked for his transport fare. I gave him ₦3,000 but he said it was not enough. He then demanded ₦500,000 for his service. I was shocked.
“He created a big scene at my office. My boss was very angry. He told me to take some time off and that I would be called back when the matter died down. I was never called back. I lost my job because of that, and I have not been able to get another job.”
Chinedu’s story was corroborated in a police report seen by this reporter at the State Criminal Investigation Department (SCID) in Yaba, a suburb of Lagos.
Nwana had appeared on Kito Diaries more than once. People who had fallen victim to his ploy identified him when his picture was posted on the blog. His phone number and other identifiers, including the names he goes by — Emmanuel and Kalifa were most mentioned — were revealed.
On Truecaller, the caller-identification app, the phone number one of his victims provided was identified as “Kalifa Grndr Lag” but his government name is Emmanuel Nwana, according to police records. At least four people told this reporter that Emmanuel is notorious for targeting gay men on dating apps.
Chinedu, other victims, and gay rights activists who had offered to testify against Nwana at the Yaba police state where he was taken to after he was arrested all abandoned the case when they noticed the officers in charge had turned against them. The policemen were no longer interested in the crime reported but in their sexuality, said James*, a gay-rights activist who works with an organisation that helps get justice for Kito victims.
“All the witnesses ran away,” he said. “I was lucky to escape when the police said they would do a sodomy test on us. They want to check our anus to see if it has been penetrated. Emmanuel was pointing at everyone and calling us his gay sexual partners because he knew the case would turn on us if he said that.”
Kito is a direct result of institutionalised discrimination against the LGBTQ+ community, said Remi Makinde, interim executive director of The Initiative for Equal Rights (TIERs). According to Makinde, who uses the pronouns they/them, this violence persists because perpetrators know queer people are unlikely to report mistreatment based on their sexual orientation, gender identity, and expression.
At least ten people interviewed for this piece said police were complicit in their extortion or that they got no help when they reported to the police. Kola*, a teenage university student, reported to the police a few days after he was released by a gang that lured him to their house and extorted over ₦500,000 from his guardians.
“You’ve heard stories about this kind of stuff, and you feel that people that it happened to are people that are actually careless,” Kola said. He wanted the gang arrested, so he reported to the police, telling them all the facts except his sexuality.
“I told them I have a tracking of my phone, I have a photographic memory of how to get there,” he said, but the police would not budge except he gave them money. “With time, I feel like I know I need to catch them, but there’s no actual agency or a force that would really put in their best for somebody that has nothing to offer to them. …no matter how you’d speak to the police, it’s useless. They will just make it worse.”
The Vigilantes
Joel* lives in Delta, the same state where Korede was catfished, but he routinely visits Lagos, where Nwana holds sway as a notorious blackmailer. He comes to Lagos primarily to attend conferences or to hunt down those who target gay men like him for blackmailing.
It was Joel who coordinated the sting that got Nwana arrested. When this reporter first met Joel, he was in the middle of another case – chasing down a notorious gang that held a man hostage for more than 12 hours and withdrew over ₦4 million (around $2700) from his account.
The man declined to be interviewed for fear of being identified, but he wanted his money back and had heard of Joel’s unconventional means of getting justice for kito victims. Joel’s means typically do not involve the Nigerian police, which is one of the reasons his clients trust him. He works with another security agency, the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC), a paramilitary organisation founded in 1967, who, on the conditions that their fuel costs are covered, provide the boots and muscles needed to arrest the blackmailers when he eventually tracks them down.
Joel had been on the gang’s trail for weeks. Twice, Joel and his security men had gotten close to arresting the kingpin, identified simply as Kelly, but failed. He said he went on Grindr out of boredom weeks after the failed attempts, where he got a message from a familiar account. Joel immediately recognised the person in the profile picture as Edet, one of Kelly’s gang members. He said he had called him on one of the nights of the failed arrests out of frustration and warned him that he was coming for the entire gang.
This reporter heard some of the recorded calls. In one, Edet called Joel’s bluff and dared him to do his worst. He mocked Joel, calling him “Mummy of Lagos,” a consequence of his activism against kito in Lagos.
That night, Joel quickly coordinated with one of his team members, who would be the face of the operation. They hatched a plan: Joel would send the team member’s picture and phone number to Edet on Grindr so that when the conversation moves out of Grindr, it would be the team member, who is not known by Kelly’s gang, chatting with Edet on WhatsApp. When he requested a video call as Joel and his team were confident he would, the team member would be at the other end.
The plan worked. By noon the next day, Edet had agreed to meet this team member at one of the malls in Lagos. As Joel’s team member and Edet walked out of the mall, the security team grabbed Edet.
“Wetin I do nah? Wetin I do nah?” he asked multiple times in Nigerian Pidgin as the officers struggled to get him into their car.
He resisted. He fought viciously to escape from the three officers. He kicked. He threw the yogurt he was drinking at one of the officers. He flexed his muscles so stiffly. Then, there was blood. His face started bleeding. His lips were swollen. Eventually, the officers – armed with one rifle – tamed him and drove him to their station. It was not until this point he realised he had been caught. He confessed to knowing Kelly and claimed Kelly recruited him.
On his phone, he had Joel’s number saved as “Mummy of Lagos.”
This reporter found that Kito victims sometimes turn to citizen activists like Joel since the legal channels are rigged against them. These activists operate like vigilantes. Vengeance and helplessness of the victims fuel their commitment. They explore the same technique the blackmailers use to lure their targets.
They work with the information they gather from Kito victims. Pictures, phone numbers, and the accounts of the blackmailers are important details.
TIERS’ Makinde said this strategy has worked in the past but acknowledged that it is not a “long-term solution.”
Homophobic Nigeria
Tunde Ganiyu, 62, who has been a driver for more than 20 years in Lagos, said he would turn a gay man away from his bus if he could tell he was gay. His reason? The Quran abhors homosexuality. David, 25, thinks gay people are sexually traumatised individuals who should be beaten if they live in a “society where homosexuality is not allowed.” Thomas and Chidera, 21 and 27, say they would not support legalising same-sex relationships because it is against their beliefs. Promise, 28, thinks gay folks are “abnormal” and would be violent toward a gay person.
These views are not rare in Nigeria, a diverse country with over 250 ethnic groups and different faiths.
In a 2019 survey commissioned by TIERS and conducted in 36 states in Nigeria, 60% of participants said they would not accept a gay family member. In 2017, the number was higher: 91% of participants supported the 14-year jail term for same-sex relationships compared to 74% who held the same view in 2019. The statistics show an increase in the general acceptance of homosexuality in the country, but gay rights activists say the pace of change is too slow.
When former President Jonathan signed the anti-gay bill into law in 2014, many Nigerians lauded him for his bravery and for standing against Western influence.
However, queer Nigerians exist despite these harsh realities.
This reporter attended a queer house party where everyone was free and with no inhibitions. The party was colourful and loud. Music and games. Food and alcohol. It was a gathering of typical young people with all their shenanigans, except this party was done in hiding. The planners did not release the venue address until the last minute to protect themselves from potential police raids. They also hired private security to provide muscle against bullies and protect the attendees from harassment.
These sorts of parties – as careful as the planners were – are not insulated from blackmailers looking for who to prey on, the organisers said.
An example of this is in the case of Ono, a self-professed repented blackmailer who said he was part of a kito gang. He met his first victim, Olusegun, at a party. It has been years since his first crime. Now, Ono is seeking forgiveness and hopes to atone for his crime.
James, who escaped the police sodomy test, has an initiative where victims and repentant blackmailers meet one another. The aim of this, James said, is to find closure for the victims and to rehabilitate the blackmailers.
With the persecution, lack of protection from authorities, and dire consequences of being kitoed, moving on is near impossible. Some, like James, see forgiveness and confronting blackmailers as a path to healing.
James, in a similar fashion as Joel, started hunting gay blackmailers seven years ago in Imo State, southeast Nigeria. His mentor committed suicide after being blackmailed because of his sexuality. The incident shaped James’ life as a gay man and fueled his activism. In his crude years in Imo State, James would lure in the blackmailers and beat them up to teach them lessons.
But that changed when he got to Lagos and joined a more structured organisation. This organisation, which has asked not to be identified so they can continue their work, focuses more on rehabilitation. Unlike Joel — the activist who got notorious Nwana and Edet arrested — whose aim is to ensure the blackmailers give back all they extorted, James’ new team preaches restorative justice.
James’ team fixed a date for the reconciliation – as they call it – and invited this reporter to observe. The victim, Olusegun, got to the location first. He was a short, lean young man and could easily pass off as a teenager. When James told him Ono was around and waiting for him in the small room where the reconciliation would happen, he grabbed his bag and rushed through the door, ready to face this man who had tricked him, betrayed his trust, and battered him physically and emotionally.
“Do you know what this guy did to me?” he asked frequently.
James took the bag from him, suspecting he might have a weapon, and led him into the room where Ono was already waiting.
Once the two men saw, Olusegun was overwhelmed by fresh anger. He wanted to get out of the room right that minute.
“Where is my phone,” he asked.
“I want to go,” he told James repeatedly.
At some point, he launched at Ono. He threw his slippers at him. He wanted to fight. He was angry. Then, he started crying.
James tried to pacify him.
“Calm down. Please sit down.”
“What are you telling me?” Olusegun retorted.
“He beats me and beats me again. I want my phone,” he asked again as he made to leave the room.
“Please, I’m sorry about this,” Ono apologised, fighting back tears.
Ono did not get the forgiveness he had hoped for. Olusegun couldn’t forgive him. He couldn’t even stay through the whole process.
Olusegun left James and Ono in the room, sadder than he had come.
TIER’s Makinde frowned at this approach. They said that forgiveness is a personal and internal process and that reconciliation requires two parties to work towards a mutually beneficial outcome. In cases where one party has put the other’s life at risk, attempting reconciliation may not be safe or healthy.
Korede, the kito victim this piece started with, still lives in Delta State. He is between jobs, struggling and fighting to get back his life. He said he resigned from a housekeeping job he got after his naked video was leaked because the hotel owed him three months’ worth of salary. It’s hard to be happy or even do anything, but he is trying to start over.
He called DJ Rati from his new home. He wanted to know why he betrayed him so much.
“He tried to defend himself, but I have forgiven him,” he said.
* Names have been changed to protect identities.
Edited/Reviewed by Caleb Okereke, Samuel Banjoko, PK Cross, Uzoma Ihejirika, Tolu Olasoji and S.I Ohumu.
