Campus Cash Crisis: Why UI Students Are Turning to Egg Donation For Survival

When I first stumbled across the memo from the University Health Service warning students against turning egg donation into a side hustle, I didn’t think much of it. It sounded like one of those usual advisories, the kind you scroll past and forget. But then it popped up again. This time, in conversations, chats, and subtle whispers around me, and suddenly, it was everywhere. That’s when it hit me: this wasn’t just a warning, it was a revelation.

As we all know, on campus, students hustle hard. From stacking side gigs to squeezing into part-time jobs, the struggle to survive and belong in an increasingly demanding academic environment is all too real. And yet, beneath the surface lies an even more disturbing trend. Students, especially young women, are going beyond the ‘normal’ hustle. Some sleep with married men, yes, plural, sharing a single sponsor to make ends meet. Others get pregnant and undergo crude, dangerous abortions. Some form groups around “runs” culture, where survival is transactional, and safety is optional. And now, there’s egg donation, an intimate, invasive, and potentially life-threatening procedure, sold as an easy way out of poverty?

The university’s recent memo didn’t just caution against the practice, it raised alarm bells. Dr. Aderonke Ajayi, the Director of the University Health Service, detailed the medical risks of repeated egg donation: hormonal imbalance, infections, ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, even long-term fertility issues. But what stood out wasn’t just the health warning, it was the implication that this practice is no longer rare. It’s growing. And that leads us to the harder question: Why are students doing this in the first place?

Not Just About Desperation, But the Environment That Breeds It. University education in Nigeria, especially at a federal institution like the University of Ibadan, is still “relatively affordable” on the surface. But look closer. The real cost of staying afloat, rent, feeding, materials, social expectations, gadgets, and increasingly, mental survival has skyrocketed. Students might not be paying millions in fees, but they are paying heavily in other ways. So we must ask: Is it still enough to say university is “cheap” if students are risking their lives just to get by? How can we preach academic excellence in an environment where economic survival requires personal sacrifice at the deepest level?

Now, why is this bigger than just ‘bad choices’. Yes, it’s easy to dismiss this issue as a case of “bad decisions” or moral failure, but doing so would be an oversimplification. True, the actions raise ethical concerns and serious health implications, but can we truly ignore the deeper roots driving these choices? Why must a university student feel so cornered by hardship that selling part of herself feels like the only viable option? What kind of economic and social climate exists where such an invasive act becomes a form of survival?

I think this isn’t about justifying egg donation as a quick fix, it’s about interrogating the “harsh realities” that push students toward it. Why is a supposedly fair and subsidized education system producing students who hustle like they’re in a warzone? Why do so many UItes feel they must choose between dignity and survival?

Again, there’s also a moral grey area here that shouldn’t be ignored. Some students argue that it’s their body, their choice. That egg donation is better than prostitution. That at least it helps people, couples struggling with infertility. And in some ways, that’s true. But is it really a choice when the alternative is hunger, dropout, or debt? Can we speak of “consent” in a system where the pressure is economic and relentless? Who are the people behind these donations? Are the agents ethical? Are the clinics even certified? Are these girls fully informed, or just desperate enough not to ask questions?

So, what do we do? This issue doesn’t end at a health memo. It doesn’t stop at morality. It calls for a deeper conversation across the UI community, and beyond. If we are serious about student welfare, we must confront the systems, economic, academic, and cultural that leave students vulnerable. We must create support systems that don’t just preach “dignity” but provide real, accessible alternatives to desperation.

We must ask ourselves: Are we okay with this being the new normal? The answers won’t be simple. But the conversation must begin.

See also: UI Warns Female Students: Egg Donation Is Not a Side Hustle