by Golden Madu and Daniel Nkado
Content warning: This article contains descriptions of physical violence, sexual assault, extortion, and homophobic hate crimes.
“He seemed so genuine. We even had sex twice. But the third time, he brought others. They beat me, robbed me, and threatened to expose me. I couldn’t tell anyone, not even my family…”
— Amachree, survivor of a Kito attack in Port Harcourt, Rivers State, Nigeria.
What exactly is ‘Kito’?
In Nigeria, where same-sex relationships are criminalised and queer identity attracts intense stigma, a silent but deadly epidemic is prevalent—Kito!
Kito is the deliberate luring, blackmail, extortion, robbery, and sometimes violent assault of queer people (gay, bisexual, trans, etc.), most often carried out by perpetrators who pose as potential partners on dating apps such as Grindr, Tinder, and Badoo or on social media platforms like Facebook and Instagram.
A 2016 Human Rights Watch report documented widespread blackmail and violence against gay and bisexual men after the passage of the Same-Sex Marriage (Prohibition) Act (SSMPA) of 2013. Community surveys cited in related reporting showed that up to 73% of respondents had received threats of exposure and 31% had actually been extorted. (Human Rights Watch, 2016)4.
The SSMPA — signed into law in January 2014— bans same-sex marriage, “amorous relationships,” and support for LGBTQ+ organisations, with penalties of up to 14 years in prison. In practice, the law has silenced victims: reporting a Kito crime often means risking arrest or outing yourself.
These attacks are rarely random. Many are highly organised, with perpetrators (sometimes queer themselves) exploiting the knowledge that victims have almost no safe recourse (dnbstories.com, 2024)3.
Survivor Stories: Amachree, Chikwe, and Taye
This exposé by DNB Stories Africa documents the experiences of three Nigerian gay men—Amachree, Chikwe, and Taye—each of whom had fallen victim to Kito violence.
1. Amachree: Betrayed by a “Lover”
Amachree thought he had finally found someone trustworthy on the Badoo dating App. After two consensual encounters, he let his guard down.
He told DNB Stories Africa:
“We even had sex twice. I thought I could trust him.”
But on their third meeting, the illusion shattered. The man arrived with two accomplices. Within moments, Amachree was ambushed—beaten, robbed, and threatened with being outed to his family.
Reporting the assault felt impossible. How do you seek justice in a system that criminalises your very existence?
He explained:
“Who would I tell? The police? My family? They’d blame me.”
His silence was not weakness—it was survival. The physical injuries healed, but the betrayal could not.
2. Chikwe: Catfished, Stripped, Recorded and Ransomed
Loneliness led Chikwe, a 19-year-old medical student at Imo State University, to find solace in a Tinder match. Tragically, he only recognised the red flags too late. The person he believed was a genuine romantic interest had catfished him, using a fake profile as a ‘kito’ trap.
Upon arrival at the meeting place, he was ambushed. His attackers stripped him, filmed him, and forced him to give up his phone password, subsequently emptying his bank account. Their brutality intensified when they called his parents, demanding a ₦1 million ransom for his freedom.
In his words:
“They stripped me naked, filmed me, and emptied my account. Then they called my parents, demanding ₦1 million.”
His family managed to scrape together ₦700,000 for his release. However, the ordeal was far from over. The attackers went ahead and leaked the humiliating video online, transforming his personal trauma into a public spectacle.
Chikwe recounted:
“It wasn’t just robbery. They wanted to punish me. The next day, the video was everywhere.”
Now every whisper on campus feels like judgment. His violation lives both inside him and around him, haunting even the quiet spots he used to sneak off to for solace.
3. Taye: Lured by a Job
After several months of unsuccessful job applications, Taye was relieved when a man on Facebook claimed he had an opportunity for him. Their chats gradually became flirtatious, and Taye—hoping for both employment and connection—opened up about his sexuality.
He explained:
“I wasn’t even going there for sex. I just wanted a job. But I liked him, so I opened up and told him I am gay too.”
Taye insisted on meeting in a public place, but the man declined. Trusting desperation over instinct, Taye agreed to meet at his house.
The moment he stepped in, everything turned dark—literally. The lights were off, the air thick, and two men sat silently in the corner.
He added:
“Before I could turn around, they pounced on me.”
They took his phone and documents and emptied every kobo in his wallet. One of the men threatened to expose his sexuality if he reported the assault. Terrified of both their threat and police harassment, Taye stayed silent—another victim erased by fear— the devastating reality of living in a country where the laws that should protect you instead deepen your harm.
How Nigeria’s Laws Enable Kito Attacks
The persistence of Kito attacks in Nigeria is rooted in the toxic intersection of law and social stigma. The Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act (SSMPA) does more than outlaw same-sex relationships; it actively silences victims, creating an environment where perpetrators can operate with brutal impunity.
In major urban centres such as Lagos, Port Harcourt, and Abuja, Kito gangs have become increasingly organised and audacious. The threat is often fatal, tragically exemplified, alongside many others, by the recent death of Hillary Todson in October 2025, who was reported to have been thrown from a tall building by a Kito gang (Barros, 2025)1.
A 2023 BBC Africa Eye investigation exposed a chilling twist: a suspected Kito attacker, caught during a police sting, was released because the victims, terrified of being outed, refused to testify in open court (BBC, 2023)2.
This outcome starkly illustrates how the very law intended to penalise homosexuality ends up protecting criminals. As Amnesty observers noted, LGBTQ+ Nigerians are painfully trapped in a perpetual dilemma between criminalisation and violence.
Safety Strategies for Queer Nigerians
In a country where reporting a crime could mean self-incrimination, safety and discretion are paramount. If you’ve been a victim of Kito, there are ways to protect yourself and also seek help.
Personal safety tips before going on a date
- Avoid unverified meetups: insist on public, well‑lit places and bring a trusted friend with you when possible.
- Share your meet-up details (location, profile, return time) with a trusted friend or family member.
- Arrange a preplanned check‑in message or call with someone you trust before leaving. If they didn’t see your message or call at the agreed time, they should call or alert others.
- Keep distance from isolated exits: at venues, position yourself near the exits or other people until safety is confirmed.
- Leave important documents (ID, passport) at home when going on dates. Leave your main wallet at home and carry your other wallet.
- Wear clothing and footwear that make running easier.
- If robbed, try contacting your bank as soon as it is safe to do so. Inform your bank without disclosing your sexual identity if it increases the risk.
Digital app safety and precautions
- Insist on video call verification and block unknown or shady contacts quickly.
- Use two-factor verification method—e.g., chat on Grindr, verify on Instagram.
- Avoid sharing sensitive info too early—sexuality, finances, address.
- Prefer end‑to‑end encrypted messaging (e.g., Signal, Snapchat or other widely used secure apps) for sensitive conversations. Don’t open up about your sexuality on platforms like Facebook.
- Create a burner number and account for dating apps and use a secondary SIM for new contacts; keep your main number for trusted circles only.
Evidence preservation without increasing risk
- If safe, document what happened: brief notes (date, time, names/usernames), screenshots, and copied chat logs. Store them encrypted or with a trusted confidant.
- Remove visible identifiers from saved files and stash backups off your primary device (encrypted cloud or an encrypted external drive held by someone you trust).
- Avoid posting evidence publicly or in spaces where it could be weaponised against you.
- Keep evidence intact (for whenever you may need it) BUT avoid going to the police unless accompanied by a legal advocate familiar with Nigeria’s LGBTQ+ laws.
Emotional safety and support after a kito incident
- Reach out to a trusted friend, chosen family, or a local community organisation experienced with LGBTQ+ crises; they can help with shelter, finances, and referrals.
- Take small, practical steps toward routine and grounding after an incident: sleep, nutrition, brief walks, and staying in contact with empathetic people.
- Don’t call or share anything with a friend who will go straight to judging you, especially when the attack is still fresh. If you have to, share your story with your circle at your time.
- Look for legal aid groups and human rights organisations that offer confidential advice on the risks of formal reporting and safe alternatives.
- Prioritise services that explicitly state confidentiality and survivor‑centred, trauma‑informed care.
- If you continue to feel unsafe, consider going to stay with a trusted friend for the time being while you make plans to relocate.
These steps cannot eliminate danger, but they can reduce vulnerability.
The Urgent Call for Protection
For Amachree, Chikwe, and Taye, the danger wasn’t that they were queer but that people hunted them for it. It is clear how the Nigerian anti-gay law makes these attacks worse.
In Chikwe’s words:
“We want to live and love like anyone else…without fear that a simple ‘hi’ on an app could end in disaster.”
Criminalising same-sex relationships has given Kito gangs a potent weapon: the threat of exposure. This legal risk, combined with intense social stigma and a justifiable mistrust of law enforcement, traps victims in silence. Attackers exploit this fear to extort, coerce, and silence victims, operating with near-total impunity.
Until Nigeria changes laws that give criminals protection and embraces genuine inclusion, violence will keep thriving. And what will happen when gangs can no longer sustain themselves by preying on young, vulnerable gay people?
References
- Barros, L. D. (2025, October 28). Nigeria: Queer man’s brutal murder highlights rampant “kito” crisis. https://www.mambaonline.com/2025/10/28/nigeria-queer-mans-brutal-murder-highlights-rampant-kito-crisis/
- BBC. (2023, May 12). Nigeria LGBT: The moment the police catch a ‘kito’ https://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-africa-65572952
- dnbstories.com. (2024) The Harsh Reality of Being Gay in Nigeria – DNB Stories Africa, DNB Stories Africa. Available at: https://dnbstories.com/2024/05/harsh-reality-of-being-gay-in-nigeria.html
- Human Rights Watch. (2016, October 20). Tell me where I can be safe: The impact of Nigeria’s Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act. https://www.hrw.org/report/2016/10/20/tell-me-where-i-can-be-safe/impact-nigerias-same-sex-marriage-prohibition-act
