Cameroonians Lured, Trapped in Nigeria by Ruthless Traffickers

Cameroonians Lured, Trapped in Nigeria by Ruthless Traffickers

Cameroonians fleeing violence are now caught in a crueler trap.
Over 3,000 people, mostly from Cameroon’s Anglophone regions, have been trafficked into Nigeria under the false promise of safety and opportunity.

These victims—women, children, and young men—left home with hope. But across the border, they walked into the hands of traffickers who now hold them in fear, silence, and shame.

The ongoing war in Cameroon’s North West and South West regions has made life unbearable for thousands. The sounds of gunfire, destruction of homes, and loss of livelihoods have pushed many to risk everything to escape. But traffickers have turned this desperation into business.

In cities and communities in Nigeria, these Cameroonians live in fear, often without identification, legal help, or anyone to trust. Many are forced into domestic work, sex work, or other forms of modern slavery. Their stories remain buried under trauma and silence.

The Justice and Peace Commission of the Catholic Diocese of Kumbo is one of the few groups trying to bring their voices to light.

Lukong Isidore Njodzeven, Deputy Diocesan Coordinator of the Commission, confirmed the disturbing figures: “At least 3,000 Cameroonians have been trafficked into Nigeria,” he said. Many are from war-torn villages and towns across the Anglophone zones.

Yvonne Fonka, GBV Focal Point at the same Commission, spoke out passionately about the gravity of the issue.
“These aren’t just statistics. These are human beings caught in networks of exploitation,” she said.

Fonka has seen too many girls and women return emotionally broken, too ashamed to share their trauma. “When a woman for instance has suffered rape, abuse and all sorts of horrible treatment, sometimes they are too ashamed to speak out,” she explained.

This silence, she added, is not by choice. Victims are scared—not just of their traffickers, but of society.

Fonka painted a grim picture of a system rigged against the voiceless. “It is increasingly hard fighting off the traffickers because many involve highly placed individuals in society,” she revealed.

For many victims, fear of revenge is real. Their traffickers have power, money, and dangerous connections. Even worse, some victims are blamed by their own families when they return home empty-handed.

Families often invest everything to send a child abroad. Land is sold, bank accounts are drained, and debts are piled up. The expectation is simple: bring back money. When that doesn’t happen, victims are seen as failures.

“If your parents have emptied their bank account or sold the family land to enable you to travel, the expectation is that you will come back to alleviate poverty in the family,” Fonka said. “It becomes frustrating when you come back with absolutely nothing.”

Shame then silences them. Many returnees hide their experiences or pretend nothing happened. That silence allows traffickers to continue unchecked.

The trafficking is systematic. Victims are lured with lies—promises of jobs, scholarships, or business support. But once across the border, their phones are taken, and their choices vanish.

Women are often forced into sex work. Boys are made to do dangerous or unpaid labor. Some are even used for criminal activity. Escape is rare, and support is almost nonexistent.

Despite the scale of this tragedy, very few prosecutions have taken place. Many officials turn a blind eye. And with some traffickers holding powerful titles or political ties, justice remains out of reach.

Survivors who manage to escape face a long road to recovery. Most have nowhere to stay, no documents, and no medical or psychological help. NGOs struggle to fill the gap left by governments.

The Kumbo Diocese is among the few faith-based institutions stepping up to help. They offer some shelter, counseling, and reintegration support. But their resources are limited, and the numbers keep growing.

This is not just a story of trafficking. It is the story of broken trust—between citizens and their governments, victims and their communities, hope and reality.

Cameroonians fleeing war now face an even deeper wound—betrayal at the hands of those who promised them a future.

In Nigeria, they are ghosts—living on the edge, forgotten by both nations. They carry invisible scars, speak in whispers, and hold onto the last thread of dignity.

To fight this hidden war, there must be more than outrage. There must be protection, justice, and bold action. Governments in Cameroon and Nigeria must work together to investigate these trafficking rings and punish those involved—no matter their rank or name.

The world must stop turning away. These Cameroonians deserve to be heard, helped, and brought home—not just across borders, but back to dignity.

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