For Nigerian youths who travelled to Asia expecting employment, the promise of better lives allegedly ended inside heavily guarded compounds where they were forced into online fraud, subjected to violence and threatened with severe punishment when they failed to meet financial targets.
In the concluding part of this investigation, accounts from Nigerians who passed through compounds in Myanmar and Cambodia reveal how an emerging form of human trafficking allegedly operates far beyond the traditional image of victims being physically transported for domestic or sexual exploitation. According to the survivors, recruitment increasingly begins online, with seemingly legitimate employment opportunities eventually leading victims into environments where criminal networks control their movements and compel them to participate in fraud.
The experiences of Offor, Michael and Doyin show different routes into the same system. They were drawn by promises of employment and financial opportunities, only to discover that the jobs they had been offered were connected to fraudulent online operations.
Their accounts include allegations of forced romance scams, fake online shops and cryptocurrency fraud, as well as beatings, confinement, electric shocks and financial penalties. The survivors described environments where meeting prescribed revenue targets was treated as a condition of survival.
For Offor, the work involved operating fake TikTok storefronts designed to persuade people to deposit money for orders that did not exist. He said other sections of the compound operated romance scams and cryptocurrency schemes.
According to his account, some of the offices generated between $500,000 and $1.2 million in a single day, while individual workers were expected to meet monthly targets of about $300,000.
“We were given a target. Every month, you have to bring $300,000. If you did not meet it, they will punish you,” Offor told the correspondent.
The financial demands were accompanied by a system of punishments. He said relatively minor infractions, including falling asleep at a workstation, attracted fines deducted from workers’ wages.
The monthly salary he described was about $800, considerably below the $1,500 income he said had initially been promised during recruitment.
But according to Offor, financial penalties were only one aspect of the control imposed on workers. Those who refused to work or resisted instructions could allegedly be taken to what the detainees called the “Dark Room”.
He described the facility as a cage so short that an adult could not stand upright inside it. Prisoners, he alleged, were chained with their hands above their heads, denied food and periodically removed from the cage to be subjected to electric shocks.
“I am taller than the cage,” Offor said while describing the conditions.
He alleged that detainees were repeatedly removed from the enclosure for punishment in the morning, afternoon and at night. Even illness, he said, did not necessarily result in release from work.
According to his account, workers who became sick could be given intravenous treatment while still being required to continue working. Offor also alleged that detainees feared their lives could be at risk and that some survivors suspected bodies were being used for organ harvesting.
Those claims concerning organ harvesting could not be independently established from the material available for this report.
Offor said he was among 10 Nigerians who collectively refused to continue working at one point. Their resistance, he alleged, resulted in all of them being placed in the Dark Room and subjected to electric shocks individually.
He recalled that the captors repeatedly asked whether the group had changed its mind about working. According to Offor, fear eventually forced the detainees to agree to resume work.
The survivor also recounted the death of a Nigerian from Imo State whom he identified as Obinna. Offor said the two men slept on the same bunk and that Obinna was forced to run continuously around the compound for approximately two hours before dying.
“I slept on the same bunk as him,” Offor said. “He slept below. I slept on top. They did not let us see the body.”
Offor also alleged that a Liberian detainee died inside the Dark Room following sustained beatings. He said neither body was seen by the other detainees and that some prisoners suspected the victims’ organs had been removed.
He further described a river behind the compound where villagers allegedly searched for floating bodies. Those allegations were not independently verified in the information available for this report.
Michael’s four months without a day off
Michael, a 32-year-old trained gas cooker technician from Imo State, described another route into the alleged trafficking operation.
He said he was recruited through Instagram and arrived at the compound in August 2025. Rather than performing the technical work he expected, he was immediately assigned to create fake female identities for romance scams.
Michael said he informed those controlling him that he had never carried out such work. His account is that the response was immediate intimidation, including a threat that he could be killed if he refused.
He subsequently worked from August 4 until December 1, 2025, which he said amounted to four months without a day off.
The punishments, according to Michael, included military-style exercises. He described being ordered to squat for two hours while his legs were elevated on a chair.
“If you shake, they cancel it. You start again,” he said.
The pressure eventually brought Nigerian, Ugandan and Kenyan detainees together in prayer. Michael said the African workers began holding prayer sessions twice each day, at 6pm and midnight.
Five days after the sessions began, he said security personnel were sent to stop them. The detainees refused to abandon the gatherings.
It was around this period, according to Michael, that the prisoners began attempting to contact organisations outside the compound.
They had access to a concealed phone, which was reportedly hidden inside a pillow. Michael explained that the detainees had stitched the pillow shut and would secretly open it whenever they needed to send messages before hiding the device again.
The Nigerians used the phone to contact organisations they believed might be able to help them.
Eventually, Michael said, the National Agency for the Prohibition of Trafficking in Persons, NAPTIP, responded. The agency connected the victims with Eden Myanmar, a non-governmental organisation, and the Nigerian Embassy in Bangkok.
According to Michael, pressure from those involved in the rescue effort eventually contributed to an order by the DKBA militia on December 1, 2025, directing non-Chinese detainees to leave.
Eighty-three people were reportedly placed on military trucks and taken through forest routes towards Thailand.
But leaving the compound did not immediately mean freedom.
Only four of the 83 people were formally classified as trafficking victims by Thai authorities, according to the account. The remaining individuals, including Offor and Michael, were convicted of illegal entry.
They were reportedly given the option of paying a 4,000-baht fine or serving four days in prison. Because most had no money, many chose imprisonment.
They were subsequently transferred to Bangkok’s Immigration Detention Centre, which both men described as worse than the compound they had escaped.
Michael said more than 120 people were held in one room, sleeping on the bare floor. Phone access was limited to twice a month, while detainees were allowed outside for only 30 minutes once a week.
The $5,000 price of freedom
Doyin’s experience began differently but eventually led to another alleged forced-fraud operation.
The 29-year-old university graduate had previously worked at a first-generation bank before moving to Dubai. In August 2024, he said, a contact on Telegram offered him what was described as computer-related employment in Cambodia with a monthly salary of $1,200.
Instead, Doyin said he was taken into a gated compound protected by armed security and housing roughly 300 people.
His assigned task was allegedly to recruit victims into fraudulent investment platforms. Each worker was expected to generate approximately $50,000 every month.
Doyin estimated that the compound could generate as much as $6 million during a cycle.
He said refusing to work could lead to confinement and psychological intimidation. According to his account, people were also pushed to extreme distress inside the compound.
Doyin alleged that some detainees died by suicide and described witnessing one woman jump from a high building.
After approximately 11 months, he said he negotiated his release by borrowing $5,000 from a friend in Nigeria. That money, according to Doyin, was the price demanded for his freedom.
But his journey home still required another dangerous arrangement.
Doyin said he paid a Nigerian fixer in Cambodia $500 to help him cross into Thailand by boat. The journey nearly ended in tragedy when he almost drowned.
Thai soldiers eventually intercepted him. A court then gave him the choice between paying a $120 fine and serving eight months in prison. He paid the fine but was subsequently held at Bangkok’s Immigration Detention Centre.
His description of the facility was bleak. He said approximately 120 people were packed into a single room with only six functioning fans. Detainees slept on the floor, had limited opportunities to go outside and were allowed to make telephone calls only twice a month.
“I was literally crying,” Doyin said. “I was 29 years old, but I was crying like a child.”
When his flight ticket eventually arrived, he said other detainees celebrated with him.
“Imagine, people congratulating you just because you received a flight ticket,” he recalled.
Dispute over alleged airport payment
Doyin also alleged that his difficulties continued after his return to Nigeria.
He said immigration officials at Lagos airport demanded ₦5,000 before releasing his passport.
The Nigeria Immigration Service, however, denied the allegation.
Its spokesperson, Akinsola Akinlabi, questioned why immigration officials would demand money from a Nigerian returning to the country and said returnees are ordinarily processed in the presence of senior officials.
He suggested that Doyin may have encountered another person at the airport rather than an immigration officer.
The conflicting accounts leave the allegation unresolved.
NAPTIP responds to changing recruitment methods
The survivors’ accounts come as Nigerian authorities acknowledge that trafficking networks are adapting their methods.
Vincent Adekoye, Chief Press Officer of NAPTIP, said the agency has established a dedicated Cyber Crime Unit to respond to the changing nature of trafficking.
According to Adekoye, traffickers are adopting new strategies as enforcement agencies increase pressure on established networks.
He explained that NAPTIP’s response involves assessing the security situation in the country or region where victims are located and coordinating with Nigerian diplomatic missions, security agencies and civil society organisations.
The agency also works with the Nigeria Immigration Service when victims lose their travel documents, including arrangements for emergency travel certificates.
Adekoye said NAPTIP works with the International Organization for Migration on voluntary repatriation programmes and claimed that the agency had prevented nearly 600 people from being trafficked through airports and land borders during the previous six months.
He also maintained that NAPTIP was adequately equipped to respond to the problem, citing support from the Presidency and state governors.
According to him, international partners primarily provide technical assistance rather than direct cash support, while the Nigerian government remains responsible for funding and operating the agency.
Another NAPTIP operative, who requested anonymity, said the agency had previously dealt with fake scholarship schemes used to traffic young Nigerians to Libya. According to the operative, similar recruitment methods are now being adapted on a much larger scale in Southeast Asia.
Trafficking now follows the skills of its victims
Imaobong Ladipo-Sanusi, Executive Director of the Women Trafficking and Child Labour Eradication Foundation, said the changing recruitment model represents a significant evolution in human trafficking.
She argued that traffickers increasingly identify what potential victims can do and use those skills to make fraudulent employment offers appear credible.
A person with computer skills, for example, can be targeted with an apparently legitimate technology job, while someone with another talent may be approached through an opportunity designed specifically around that skill.
According to Ladipo-Sanusi, deception remains central to the process.
She also identified economic desperation as one of the strongest factors making young people vulnerable to such offers.
Her warning is that financial hardship can make extraordinary promises appear believable, particularly when recruiters present overseas employment as an opportunity to escape difficult economic conditions at home.
For survivors returning from Asian compounds, however, the consequences can extend well beyond the moment of rescue.
Return does not always mean recovery
Sabiu, who returned to Nigeria through efforts involving the Nigerian Embassy in Vietnam, IOM, NAPTIP and the NIA, said his difficulties continued after his return.
He alleged that he received no financial support, medical treatment or counselling. According to him, the IOM had promised reintegration assistance but later informed him in Abuja that there was “no active case” in his file.
Offor and Michael, who were repatriated in February 2026, similarly said they had received their passports from NAPTIP on February 23 but had not received medical care, financial assistance or a reintegration programme.
Their account highlights a critical distinction between physically removing victims from trafficking environments and helping them rebuild their lives afterwards.
The investigation also encountered another unresolved case involving a Nigerian couple who had travelled with the survivors from CK Hills Hotel in Myanmar.
According to the account provided, the woman tested positive for HIV during a medical examination at the compound, although the couple disputed the result. The pair subsequently disappeared and have not been seen or heard from, according to the information available for this report.
The founder of Eden Myanmar, Lisa Samuelsen, the Nigerian Embassy in Thailand and Obinna’s family could not be reached for comment as of the time of filing.
Doyin, meanwhile, returned to Ibadan without a job and with debt accumulated during his ordeal. He was also arrested by police in January over money he had borrowed to pay the $5,000 demanded for his release.
His experience captures the difficult aftermath of trafficking: even after escaping a compound, a survivor may return home carrying financial obligations, psychological trauma and uncertainty about how to rebuild a normal life.
The accounts of Offor, Michael, Doyin and Sabiu ultimately point to a trafficking model that can begin with nothing more suspicious than a social-media message.
A job advertisement, a promised salary or an overseas opportunity can become the entry point into a system where victims allegedly lose control over their movement, labour and personal safety.
The evolution of these networks means that trafficking is no longer confined to the traditional recruitment channels associated with physical transportation and false promises of domestic employment. Increasingly, the deception can be tailored to the victim’s skills and ambitions before the person even leaves Nigeria.
For Nigerian youths facing economic hardship, the promise of a well-paid overseas job can therefore carry risks that are difficult to identify from a phone screen.
And for those who do become trapped, the survivors’ accounts show that escaping the compound may be only the beginning of the struggle to recover.
Cyber-Slave Camps: Nigerian Trafficking Victims Reveal Brutality, Forced Scams and Cost of Escape in Asia
