Chioma is convinced that the baby boy she holds in her arms, Hope, is her biological son—a miracle after eight years of failed attempts to conceive. “I’m the owner of my baby,” she asserts confidently, sitting next to her husband, Ike, in the office of a Nigerian state official. However, the couple’s claim is challenged by five members of Ike’s family, who refuse to believe that Hope is truly their child.
Chioma insists that she carried Hope for a staggering 15 months, a claim that leaves everyone in the room, including the commissioner for women’s affairs in Anambra State, Ify Obinabo, in disbelief. The commissioner is no stranger to family disputes, but this case is far from ordinary.
In a bid to conceive, Chioma faced immense pressure from Ike’s family, who even suggested that he marry another woman. In her desperation, she visited a clinic that offered an unconventional, fraudulent “fertility treatment”—a disturbing scam that preys on women’s deep desire to have children and involves baby trafficking.
The BBC gained exclusive access to the commissioner’s meeting with Chioma as part of an investigation into the “cryptic pregnancy” scam, which has become increasingly widespread in Nigeria.
Under the pressure of societal expectations, where women who cannot conceive face ridicule and ostracization, some women resort to extreme measures to become mothers. For over a year, BBC Africa Eye has been investigating this fraudulent practice, in which scammers, posing as doctors or nurses, claim to offer a “miracle fertility treatment” that promises pregnancy.
The process starts with women receiving a bizarre, costly treatment—a drink, injection, or substance inserted into the body—that scammers claim will guarantee pregnancy. Though the ingredients of these treatments remain unknown, some women report body changes, like bloating, leading them to believe they are pregnant.
Women are advised to avoid conventional medical care, as scammers claim that no regular test will detect their baby, which supposedly grows outside the womb. When the time comes for “delivery,” women are told they need an expensive, rare drug to induce labor, often accompanied by further charges.
Accounts of what happens next are chilling. Some women wake up after being sedated, with marks resembling surgical incisions, while others believe they are giving birth under the influence of a drug that causes hallucinations. Regardless of the method, the women end up with babies they are told they gave birth to.
Chioma recounts her experience of “delivery” in front of Commissioner Obinabo, describing a painful process that ended with her holding Hope in her arms. She refuses to go into detail about how she obtained the child, but she insists that she had no idea what was really going on.
The BBC investigation led to the discovery of “Dr. Ruth,” who runs a fraudulent clinic in Anambra. Undercover reporters posing as a couple struggling with infertility visited her facility, where they were offered treatment and told it would guarantee pregnancy. “Dr. Ruth” claimed she could even guarantee the sex of the baby, a scientifically impossible feat. The initial treatment cost 350,000 naira ($205; £165).
Our undercover reporters declined the treatment but returned to the clinic a month later. “Dr. Ruth” used a device that mimicked an ultrasound scan and claimed to detect a heartbeat, announcing the woman’s pregnancy. She then explained that the pregnancy could only proceed with a rare, expensive drug—costing between 1.5 to 2 million naira ($1,180; £945).
While the extent of the women’s belief in the scam remains unclear, the widespread misinformation circulating on Facebook groups dedicated to “cryptic pregnancy” provides some insight. In these groups, women from various countries, including Nigeria, the US, and South Africa, share stories of pregnancies that defy medical explanation, strengthening the scam’s grip on vulnerable women.
Scammers also manage these groups, using them to recruit new victims. Once women show interest, they are moved to more secure WhatsApp groups where details of the fraudulent “treatment” are shared.
To complete the scam, the perpetrators need newborn babies, so they target young women—often those in vulnerable situations, including unwanted pregnancies. Many of these women are offered money to give up their babies.
In February 2024, authorities raided a facility where Chioma “delivered” Hope. Footage obtained by the BBC shows a complex with rooms containing medical equipment, while several pregnant women, some as young as 17, were being held against their will. Some women had been tricked into coming, unaware that their babies would be sold. Others, like Uju (a pseudonym), had no other options and agreed to sell their babies for 800,000 naira ($470; £380). Uju admits she is still conflicted about her decision.
Commissioner Obinabo, who has been working to shut down these fraudulent clinics, says that scammers exploit women like Uju for profit, turning them into a means to source babies for the scam.
At the end of her meeting with Chioma and Ike, Commissioner Obinabo threatens to take baby Hope away, but Chioma pleads for understanding. Eventually, the commissioner allows them to keep the baby—unless biological parents come forward to claim him. However, experts warn that unless societal attitudes towards infertility, women’s rights, and adoption change, scams like this will continue to flourish.
