How a Nigerian teen trafficked through Libya became a celebrity barber in Europe

Jimmy Ofuoyan was not born with a silver spoon in his mouth. In fact, he barely had a plate to eat from. What he did have, though, was grit—raw, unfiltered grit.

Growing up in Benin City as the youngest of eight children meant nothing but struggle. Life wasn't destitute, but it certainly wasn't easy.

"We weren't exactly poor," he would later say, "but we weren't rich either. We were just… surviving."

It was sheer, relentless determination to make it out of the hood that had him soldier on across the perilous waves of the Mediterranean, even when legal routes were paved with disappointment.

His Early Days in Benin: Jimmy, the Hustler

His earliest memories were shaped by the quiet frustrations of older brothers who, despite their hustle, weren't living the kind of life they wanted.

Watching them day after day, caught in a cycle of small wins and bigger setbacks, planted a seed in Jimmy. Even as a boy, he knew: This can't be it. He wanted more.

For a while, he lived with one of his brothers, a hairstylist who ran a salon in Ring Road market, one of Benin's most frenetic commercial hubs. The salon was doing okay. They got small contracts from customers in the UK and Europe, especially for wigs. They also sold beauty products, hair attachments, cosmetics, and salon essentials.

Jimmy was part of the system. He swept the floors, ran errands, and cleaned up after customers. At night, he washed cars at OBJ Car Wash for ₦200 a shift.

"Back in 2014 or 2015, that was decent money," he said.

If he wasn't at the salon or the car wash, he was on a bus, shouting routes as a conductor, hustling for change from passengers. He started working like this around age 15, though the hustle had started even earlier. When he was 12, his mother had entrusted him to a family friend, an Igbo businessman who took him to Onitsha under the promise of education and mentorship.

Instead, Jimmy became a shop boy. He sold goods in the market—flashlights, bags, random stock—and followed his boss on trips to Imo State to restock merchandise. It was business, not school, and before long, he considered dropping out altogether.

"The man had shops everywhere," Jimmy said. "Ring Road, other markets… I admired his hustle. I thought maybe I'd just chase business full time."

But his mother had other plans. Education was non-negotiable. When it became clear school had taken a back seat, the arrangement collapsed, and Jimmy returned to Benin.

He moved back in with his brother and resumed his old roles: salon boy by day, car washer by night, sometimes conductor on weekends. His brother didn't like it.

"He wasn't comfortable with me doing all those jobs," Jimmy said. "He wanted me to just ask him for money instead. But I didn't like asking. I knew he was already struggling to provide."

Eventually, Jimmy left the salon. He still wasn't sure where his path would lead, but the idea of cutting men's hair started to take shape quietly, almost accidentally. He had no formal training, but he'd learned by watching.

"I already had some experience," he explained. "I knew how to cut wigs, do some basic styling. We used clippers and blades to make short wigs, like Rihanna's style, for customers abroad. So I understood the basics. I just had to translate it to men's hair."

Back in the salon, he'd watched everything—manicures, pedicures, facials, braids. But it had never interested him. "I didn't even like it," he said. "I just did it because I had no choice."

Barbering, though—that felt different. That felt like something he could own. Something he could build.

What he didn't know then was that this quiet decision, this shift from styling wigs to cutting men's hair, was the first spark in a fire that would one day carry him from the dusty streets of Nigeria, through the brutal underworld of human trafficking in Libya, across the perilous waves of the Mediterranean, and into the luxury villas of Europe's elite...

Watch out for Part 2 of Jimmy’s story—his dangerous journey across Libya unfolds next Friday, only on Pulse.ng.

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