Nigerians: Olaniyi, a 32-year-old widow and mother of two, has opened up about the traumatic experience she endured on her journey to Libya—an ordeal that began with a promise of a better life in Europe and ended with five brutal months in a Libyan prison before her eventual deportation back to Nigeria. In a detailed interview with AJIBADE OMAPE, she recounted the devastating impact of losing her husband, the desperation that drove her to migrate, and the horrors she faced every step of the way.
Titilopeyemi is from Ibadan in Oyo State and the eldest of four siblings. Her life took a dark turn in 2020 when her husband was involved in a fatal accident. Despite several attempts to save his life, he passed away, leaving her to raise their two young children alone.
“I was running a small business selling drinks—both wholesale and retail—but the hospital expenses drained all I had. After his death, there was no help. Taking care of two children on my own was very hard,” she said.
With the mounting pressures of motherhood and financial instability, Titilopeyemi saw migration as a chance to start anew. She was introduced to a broker who promised her a direct route to Europe. Convinced by the dream of a better life, she decided to make the perilous journey in 2023.
Nigerians losing their minds in Libyan prisons – Returnee
“I didn’t want my children to suffer. That’s why I agreed to go. But the journey was hell,” she recalled.
She spent two grueling weeks traveling by road across the Sahara Desert in the back of a pick-up truck. The overcrowded conditions made the journey unbearable. “We barely had food or water. Some people died along the way. One man even fell off the moving truck due to lack of space,” she said, her voice trembling. “I remember crying and calling my children’s names. I just kept praying to make it alive.”
Instead of reaching Europe, Titilopeyemi found herself stranded in Libya. Upon arrival, her broker, Bola, demanded repayment for the trip. To pay off her debt, she was forced to work as a domestic maid for an Arab man for over a year without pay.
“I worked without rest, and when I fell sick, it was the Arab man—not Bola—who took me to the hospital. I had a leg injury that required stitches. Bola never checked on me again after she got her money,” she said.
Though mistreated, she noted that the Arab man provided her food and clothing during that period. However, she was unable to send any money back home to her mother, who was taking care of her children in Nigeria. “The broker even took the phone I travelled with. I could only speak to my kids using my employer’s phone.”
After settling her debt, Titilopeyemi tried to rebuild. She managed to get a job as a cleaner at a local hospital through a friend’s agent.
“I was the only one cleaning a three-storey hospital building. I worked from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. every day. It wasn’t easy, but I was determined to save money,” she said.
But her new life came crashing down when she was arrested under false pretenses. A fight broke out between neighbors while she was at work, and the police raided her apartment based on a report involving Nigerians. Despite not being involved, she was arrested upon returning home.
“I was innocent, but I spent five months in prison,” she said. “The police would storm apartments, take people’s money, and jail them without cause—especially Nigerians.”
The prison conditions were horrific. Titilopeyemi described how Nigerian detainees were treated worse than others.
“The food was terrible—half-cooked rice with no soup or salt. They respected people from other countries more than us. We were treated like animals,” she recalled.
Her mother’s health further deteriorated during this time, as she suffered a stroke while caring for her grandchildren. Feeling helpless and desperate to return home, Titilopeyemi agreed to deportation.
“I was arrested on July 27, 2024, and deported on January 28, 2025. I can never forget that day. I just wanted to go back to my kids.”
Titilopeyemi’s story is one of resilience, loss, and survival. She now lives with the trauma of her experience, but she hopes that her ordeal can serve as a warning to other Nigerians considering irregular migration.
“If I had known what I was getting into, I would never have gone. I want young women, especially widows like me, to think twice. The promise of Europe isn’t worth your life.”
Her harrowing journey is a stark reminder of the perils migrants face and the urgent need for greater awareness, support systems, and safe migration channels for vulnerable individuals like her.
