A recent announcement by Nigeria’s Federal Government to bring commercial sex workers—colloquially referred to as ‘runs girls’—into the tax net has stirred a spirited debate across social media and policy circles nationwide. The proposed move, which would formalise the taxation of earnings from sex work beginning January 2026, has shed light on wider questions about the country’s legal, cultural, and socio-economic landscape.
Some citizens see the government’s initiative as a pragmatic step towards widening the tax base and gaining regulatory oversight over an industry that has long operated in secrecy. Others, however, are raising critical questions about the government’s moral and legal stance: How can a state seek to tax proceeds from activities it officially outlaws?
During an engagement session at the Redeemed Christian Church of God, City of David, Lagos, Taiwo Oyedele, chairman of the Presidential Committee on Fiscal Policy and Tax Reforms, explained that under incoming tax regulations, all income, regardless of how it is earned, will be subject to tax obligations. “If somebody is doing runs girls (sex work), they go and look for men to sleep with. You know that’s a service. They will pay tax on it,” Oyedele stated, underscoring that the law asks only whether there is income from providing a good or service—not whether the activity itself is legal.
While Oyedele was firm on the principle, he left key operational questions unanswered—such as how sex workers will be identified, registered, or required to comply with tax laws. Critics argue this legal grey area exposes sex workers to dual risks: being compelled to pay taxes without the protection that comes from legal recognition, and remaining vulnerable to arrest and harassment by security agencies.
This tension was highlighted by netizen Wale Kazeem, who pointed out, “You want to tax illegal business and arrest them after collecting tax from them.” His statement echoes past incidents, such as the 2019 mass arrests of more than 100 women identified as suspected sex workers in Abuja, and a 2017 operation in Kano State that saw 840 suspects detained by a coalition of law enforcement and local agencies.
Ralph Agama, an Abuja-based lawyer, underscored the complex legal backdrop: “There is no legal framework in Nigeria sanctioning sex work, and courts have repeatedly upheld the industry’s illegality, citing moral, religious, and cultural grounds,” he told The Guardian. He pointed to a recent Federal High Court judgment dismissing efforts to legalise commercial sex work, adding that the move to tax sex workers without legalising their trade reveals a fundamental contradiction in government policy.
According to Agama, such inconsistency undermines the legal system and raises fairness concerns, since individuals are being criminalised for acts from which the authorities also seek to generate public revenue. “Until legislation is in place that clearly defines the status of sex work in Nigeria, any attempt to bring it under taxation is bound to be both exploitative and, quite possibly, unconstitutional,” he cautioned.
He also touched on the wider social debates, especially the influence of strong religious and cultural values in Nigeria—a multi-ethnic, multi-faith society where laws often reflect prevailing moral outlooks. Agama argued that legalising sex work would likely encounter stiff resistance from established religious institutions and could spark tensions within communities over the perceived erosion of morality.
However, Agama acknowledged the ongoing discourse among human rights groups and advocates who argue for legal recognition, citing the need to protect the safety, dignity, and health of sex workers—who often face violence, extortion, and have little legal recourse. While he maintained that Nigeria’s moral and cultural fabric must not be ignored, Agama also called for solutions that balance legal clarity with compassion and protection of vulnerable groups. “If there is no instrument legalising it, on what basis and what criteria are you taxing them? How do you even justify their income?” he asked.
Other onlookers have extended the argument further, suggesting that the government’s stance might pave the way for taxing other criminal activities such as internet fraud, drug trafficking, kidnapping, or armed robbery. On social platform X, Samuel Dominic (@ProductivityVA) remarked, “Taxing what you won’t legalise is hypocrisy in fine print,” while another user, Great (@geenitee), wrote, “If you’re taxing something illegal, then indirectly you are encouraging the individual involved in it to continue in the illegality.”
A comparative look at international practices reveals that over 30 countries, including the Netherlands, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and New Zealand, have legalised and regulated commercial sex work. In these jurisdictions, sex workers are formally registered, pay taxes, and in some cases have access to health care and labour protections. In other countries such as Italy, Spain, France, Belgium, and Canada, sex work is legal but only partially regulated. The model in Bangladesh stands out as one of the few Muslim-majority nations to allow and regulate the trade.
Such comparisons highlight the sharp contrast with Nigeria, where commercial sex work remains explicitly outlawed under Sharia and Penal Codes in the North and is indirectly controlled in the South by prohibiting related acts such as pimping and maintaining brothels. Yet, enforcement remains inconsistent, and the issue continues to evolve within the country’s shifting moral and socio-economic landscape.
The courts have also weighed in, most recently in March 2025, when the Federal High Court in Abuja rejected a request from sex workers in the Federal Capital Territory who argued that their rights to lawful livelihood were being infringed by arrests and prosecutions. Justice James Omotosho ruled that prostitution is “an immoral practice incompatible with the cultural values of Nigeria’s diverse ethnic groups,” and affirmed that there was no legal basis to prevent state authorities from policing the industry.
These developments have fuelled debate over whether the new tax laws will force Nigeria to revisit its existing legislative framework. Some believe that if the government is to tax sex workers, it will need to first legalise or at least formally recognise the industry. Chubie Ujah (@XtremelifeM) argued that the proposal “implies that Nigeria would need to legalise commercial sex work,” warning that imposing taxes without providing legal status amounts to “exploitation,” since the state cannot legitimately profit from criminal activity.
The controversy ultimately brings forward deeper questions about governance, fairness, and the best ways for society to balance moral values with economic and public health realities. For Nigeria, and neighbouring countries facing similar dilemmas, the coming months and years may require difficult conversations and decisions that blend legal policy with social progress.
How do you think Nigeria—and West Africa more broadly—should approach the taxation and possible regulation of sex work? Should the law reflect cultural values, or should economic and human rights considerations take precedence? Drop your thoughts in the comments and follow us for ongoing analysis as this debate continues to develop.
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