11/09/2025
I was selling my eggs in school for 200k.
At least I wasn't sleeping with any man or waiting for any man to send me money.
It was my eggs in my ovaries, my property, that I sold monthly.
I was really cashing out, no capping.
Most of my roommates who always admired my dressing and how good I looked kept pressing me to show them the way. And of course, I introduced them to what I was doing.
Who no like better thing, kwanu?
So every month we would march down to the hospital, and have our eggs scooped out from our v@ginas. They joined me and became ballers.
The happiness in life is to rise by lifting others, and I was glad I was doing the same. I told myself I was teaching women how to rise above financial crisis.
But not long after I finished my university day—note, I started selling my eggs since my 100 level days, but in my 500 level, something happened.
One evening, me and my roommates went to an exotic restaurant. As we were eating, my eyes caught a woman carrying a baby. The shock nearly threw me off balance. The child looked exactly like me.
“Babe, see that baby,” I whispered, tugging my roommate’s hand.
She turned, looked carefully, and even gasped. “Omo, this baby resemble you no be small.”
I felt my stomach turn. “How e go be? Abi…?”
She quickly cut me off, laughing to calm my nerves. “Forget that thing abeg. People dey resemble themselves for this life. Don’t think it too much.”
I brushed it aside. At least I wanted to believe her.
Few years down the line, I was out of school and married to a medical doctor, a fine young man who just established his hospital in town. Life was looking sweet until reality set in.
We had been married for over five years. No child.
I prayed earnestly. Each night I would cry on my pillow, whispering, “Lord, please, let it not be what I’m thinking. Don’t let it be my past haunting me.”
I doubled my church activities, fasting and sowing seeds. But my husband, being a doctor, gently held my hands one night and said,
“Natasha, we will keep praying. But let’s also run tests. We need to know if there’s any problem.”
I froze. My heart started beating faster. I knew. Deep down, I knew. For five years I sold my eggs. What if something went wrong in the process?
The day of the hospital visit came. After several tests, he asked me to sit in his office. I will never forget the way he looked into my eyes that day. His gaze was heavy, like a man whose heart was breaking.
“Natasha,” he said slowly, “I want nothing but the truth. Were you selling your eggs before?”
My lips trembled. For a moment I wanted to lie, but guilt sat heavy on my chest. I gently nodded.
He shot up from his chair, hitting the desk with his palm. “Eeehhh! So na so I take my hand go carry iron condemn?”
Tears rushed to my eyes. “I’m not an iron condemn,” I whispered, trying to stay strong.
But he wasn’t done. His eyes were misty, his voice rising with pain.
“Why, Natasha? Why? See how you’ve condemned your womb because of greed. You have developed Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (OHSS), your ovaries are damaged, and you may never be able to carry a child.”
I broke down, crying. “I didn’t know… I thought I was just hustling…”
He shook his head bitterly. “You’re wicked, Natasha. You knew all along what you did in the past, yet you dragged me into all this. I drank bitter herbs, I took men booster drugs with you, and all along you knew!”
He picked his car keys. His final words stabbed my chest like knives.
“Natasha, I’m done with this marriage.”
And that was it. He divorced me and within a year, he remarried. Today, he has a set of twins.
Me? My womb is empty. Anytime I go out, I keep seeing children who look like me scattered everywhere, yet my body can no longer carry even one.
I am reaping the fruits of my greed.
If you want money, go and work for your money. You must not sell your eggs.
Why would you sell your egg just to get money? You have hands, you have legs, you have strength.
