What Could Go Wrong on a Dating App? These 5 Nigerians Found Out

Trigger Warning: This article contains sensitive topics, including physical assault and sexual abuse, which some readers may find distressing. Reader discretion is advised

Dating apps promise easy access to love, but for many Nigerians, the reality is far less romantic than chaotic. 

We recently spoke to five Nigerians, and their experiences are chilling, to say the least. They share how swiping right has led to awkward encounters, and in some cases, actual danger. 

“I found out I was catfished after two months together” — Mary*, 31

After a string of disappointing encounters on dating apps, Mary* thought she’d finally found ‘the one’. But when they met in person, all she knew was a lie.

“In January last year, I moved to a new city. I didn’t know anyone, lived alone, and worked remotely, so it was hard to meet people. The only place I could really socialise was church, but that wasn’t working either. By May, I decided to give Bumble a shot since it was pretty popular.

I wanted a Christian man and only looked for people with similar religious values. The first guy I matched didn’t click, and the second sent a dick pic barely two minutes into the conversation. I blocked him immediately, and that was my cue to delete the app.

After Bumble, I turned to Christian dating apps, but they didn’t help; most were dormant, expensive, or didn’t cater to Nigerians. In July, I got lucky and found an app called Raya. It wasn’t Christian-based, but it looked legit and seemed good for networking. That’s where I met Fred*.

Fred was the co-founder of a financial investment startup, and I verified this online with his pictures. We texted and had voice calls, and he never said anything inappropriate. I liked him and wanted us to meet in person by the second week, but he said he was travelling.

We kept talking, and by September, we finally made plans to meet at a restaurant in Ikeja City Mall. I got there, looked around, and couldn’t find him. Then I got a phone call and a short, bald man started waving at me. I was confused. The Fred I had been talking to was tall and light-skinned. That’s when it hit me: I’d been catfished.

I confronted him immediately, and he had the nerve to say he only used the photos because he knew I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. He said I’d fallen for the person he was, just not the body. If I wasn’t shallow or a gold digger, I’d understand and stay. I was speechless. I just walked out and never looked back. I deleted all my dating apps that day.”

“They robbed me, beat me and threatened to out me” — King*, 29

King* assumed dating apps would be a safe space to explore his sexuality. Until a violent encounter nearly cost his life.

“My friends suggested dating apps when I told them I was looking to meet new people. I had just started embracing the fact that I liked men, and it helped that I had a few queer friends who made the process less lonely. Tinder seemed the best option since it was popular and they had good experiences. I met some people there, but the one who stood out was William*. We’d talked for a few weeks, and things went smoothly. One afternoon, he texted saying he was working from home and  would love to hang out. I agreed. We planned to meet at Shoprite, and after walking around a bit, he suggested we return to his place.

He hailed a bike and we headed to a part of Abuja I wasn’t familiar with. When we arrived at his place, he told me to go into the compound while he locked the gate and sorted payment for the ride.

I stepped inside and found several men already waiting. Before I could fully register what was happening, they rushed me and beat me to a pulp. Then locked me in a room.

I had over ₦1.2m in my bank accounts, and they emptied everything. They forced me to call my family and friends for more. I had to lie that I was stranded and needed urgent money. I sounded calm on the calls because they threatened to kill me if I raised alarm. Once they drained all they could, they took my phone and tortured me for hours. They eventually gave me ₦1k and dropped me off at the express to find my way home.

I told my friends what happened, but I didn’t go to the police. The men threatened to out me if I reported, and I knew the police couldn’t be trusted either. We got some lawyers and activists involved, but the case eventually went cold. It’s been nearly three months.

That experience didn’t just traumatise me, it made me painfully aware of how unsafe it is to exist as a queer person in Nigeria. I haven’t been on a dating app since.”

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“He planned a threesome for our first date” — Jola*, 23

In Jola’s* case, what was meant to be a casual hangout left her questioning how easily safety and consent can be brushed aside on dating apps, especially when sex becomes the assumed end goal.

“I was on holiday in the US for a few months and thought it would be a good chance to meet new people, so I signed up on Tinder and Hinge. I wasn’t expecting much, but I stayed open to seeing where it’d go.

Out of all the matches I got, I only met about two or three people in person. I was extra cautious because of security concerns. America has its fair share of crazy, and I didn’t want to end up in a dangerous situation.

I matched with Todd*, who seemed cool at first. After chatting for a few days, we agreed to meet at the beach around 7 p.m. I was with a friend that day, and when I mentioned it, he said she could come along since his friends would also be there. It seemed casual enough.

At first, I thought it was a good idea, especially since I wouldn’t be going alone. But then Todd started texting nonstop. He wanted to know where I was and checked in repeatedly. It felt too eager, and I think that was when I should have suspected he was up to no good. On our way to the beach, Todd casually mentioned that he had planned a threesome for us with his friends.  

I was so stunned I never gave him the impression that we were meeting to hook up, so that was a weird card to pull out of the blue. I was just grateful I hadn’t gotten there yet. With the way he acted, I could only imagine what could have happened.  We might have been raped.

Anyway, that was my cue to block him and stop meeting other people. Most of the guys I matched were just horny or shallow, and I was never attracted to any. It just wasn’t worth it.”

“He wanted to use me to pimp black men” — Fatima*, 27

Fatima* thought she was easing into a new connection that could become something more; until things took a sharp, confusing turn.

“I was single, and some friends encouraged me to try Tinder. I wasn’t expecting much, but I figured, why not? I matched with this guy, and we took the conversation to WhatsApp. We chatted for almost a month. Everything seemed fine, and he seemed genuinely interested. But when it came down to actually meeting up, I got cold feet and ghosted him. 

I then decided it might be best to try a foreigner since I won’t be pressured to meet immediately. I matched with Aman* and we got talking. We got along pretty well at first, until he told me he was on Tinder because he wanted a black man to have sex with. He befriended me because he thought I could help him find one. It was weird. Why match with me at all? Why waste my time pretending to be into me? 

Even after I called him out, he kept texting and pestering me about it. I eventually blocked him when his messages started sounding like threats. That experience left a bad taste in my mouth. I haven’t made any meaningful connections on the app since then, and now I’m more careful about the people I match with. People are wild.”

“I found out she was still talking to other men, and even hooking up with them” — Lawal*, 25

After one connection that seemed promising turned out to be anything but, Lawal* found himself dealing with unexpected heartbreak

“I joined Bumble in 2022 because traditional dating just wasn’t working, but the app wasn’t any better. Most of the women I matched with wanted hookups and couldn’t even communicate clearly. It was frustrating. Even when I connected with someone, they were usually too far away for anything to happen.

The only person I met was Ella*. We matched because she was nearby, and I liked her vibe. Ella came across as someone who wanted a real connection and was genuinely interested in me. We had similar interests, hung out often, and had a good time together.

Eventually, I caught the love bug. I’m a lover boy at heart, so I told her how I felt. She said she felt the same, but for some reason, she didn’t delete her Bumble account. That didn’t sit right with me, but I ignored it.

Months later, one of my friends who knew about her matched with her on the same app. That’s how I found out she was still talking to other men, and even hooking up with them. When I confronted her, she said she never agreed to be exclusive.

It really broke me and my feelings for her died after that. I’d joined the app hoping to find something meaningful, but what I got was just another heartbreak. We cut contact for a while, but later reconnected, and it became a casual fling. Since Ella, I don’t think I’ve felt real emotions for any woman. The whole experience left me jaded.”

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