The women who survive by selling kush, the drug wreaking havoc in Liberia: "If I could, I'd quit tomorrow, but I have no choice."

Evelyn (not her real name) appears with a slow gait and tired eyes in a bar in Monrovia, the capital of Liberia . She is accompanied by a two-year-old girl whom she has cared for since birth and whom, she says, she always carries with her, even when she goes to sell kush in one of the city's more than 866 ghettos . This powerful synthetic drug—which contains nitazenes, synthetic opioids, and cannabinoids—first appeared in Sierra Leone around 2017 and has spread rapidly in just a few years to several countries, including Liberia, due to its low cost and high addictive power.

Evelyn is one of the last and weakest links in the trafficking chain. “I started selling kush cigarettes in 2020,” the 42-year-old woman tells this newspaper. “One day, a woman who was already in the business came to me and told me I would make more money selling kush than I did at my job back then. And that's how I started,” she recalls.

Before, Evelyn sold water on the city streets. “But I didn't earn anything, and it was also dangerous,” she says. The people—mostly women and children—who engage in this form of informal trade work during the day under a scorching sun and, at night, move cautiously along the dark roads barely lit by the headlights of cars and motorcycle taxis. Now, Evelyn sells kush from “late afternoon” until three in the morning. “Then, at six, I get up to get my children ready for school,” she says. “If I could, I would quit tomorrow. But I have no choice,” she adds.

She says that by selling kush , she can pay her four children's school fees, feed them twice a day, and even go to the pharmacy occasionally. "Poverty and lack of work lead many to sell kush or other substances. And there are many women who do it," she explains. In her experience, she has seen that, sometimes, it is the women themselves who take the initiative to sell or transport the drug to earn money to support their families. "We decided to do it to survive. Here, families often prefer to educate their sons, so it is difficult for us to get qualified work. I tried to look for work as a domestic worker, but it was impossible," she says.

Women, a key piece in the business

Christian Ani, coordinator of the Enhancing Africa's Response to Transnational Organized Crime (ENACT) program at the Institute for Security Studies (ISS), argues that women in West Africa are taking an increasingly active role in the kush trade, although precise data on the matter is lacking. “The lack of research on their role in the kush trade is primarily attributed to patriarchal bias,” Ani explains. “Women are often thought of as incapable of carrying out illicit activity. But in reality, they are key players, and their numbers are increasing.”

Ani adds that many of them sell kush as a secondary activity. "Being underestimated in this case 'benefits' them compared to men, because they can transport it across borders, going undetected at checkpoints, and sell it in city markets, hiding it among other merchandise," the expert says.

In Liberia, a country of 5.6 million people, 45% of the population lives in multidimensional poverty—an indicator that includes not only monetary poverty but also access to services, education, healthcare, among others—and 8% suffers from severe food insecurity, according to a report by the World Food Program (WFP). Furthermore, the gender gap takes a particular toll on women. In this country, women spend an average of 3.4 years in school, compared to 6.5 years for men. This is one of the reasons why 94% of women in this country fall into informal jobs, have less presence in productive sectors, and earn less, according to a World Bank analysis .

It is estimated that thousands of deaths have been caused by Kush in West Africa in the last three years.

“There are a lot of women in the ghetto,” Evelyn admits. “I would have liked to study medicine and take care of people, but I didn't have the opportunity. I don't want to hurt others, even if they say they feel good when they smoke,” she says, her head bowed. “They,” Evelyn explains, “are the more than 20 users a day who come to her to buy kush cigarettes for 100 Liberian dollars each (about 0.43 euros). Her clients include unemployed men and women between the ages of 15 and 30, and even minors. To continue smoking, the men steal phones or resell the scrap metal they collect in Monrovia's open-air dumps.

“Women often turn to prostitution, even for the price of a single cigarette,” Evelyn says. “In the ghetto, I see them go behind a wall with a man, come back to me, and give me the money they just received, asking for kush . I never want that money, and sometimes I try to dissuade them from quitting, but it’s impossible. Once you start smoking, it’s very hard to get out.”

A health emergency in Liberia

Evelyn says she's seen several young people die from kush , even after smoking a single cigarette. "Ambulances? They don't even come if you're on the verge of death. They don't have time for drug addicts," she explains. "Those who smoke know the risks they run, but they continue to use because it makes them forget for a few moments what their life is like. Many are people traumatized by violence and the losses suffered by war," she says. She, too, lost a lot during the civil wars that between 1989 and 2003 caused an estimated 250,000 deaths in her country. Among those who died were her parents, killed during the conflict. Research by Christian Ani published in ENACT confirms that, in Liberia, "gang culture and substance abuse are marked by the legacy of civil wars and the prolonged failure of the state in the country after the conflict."

It is estimated that thousands of deaths have been caused by kush in West Africa over the past three years. Since 2021, the drug has spread to other countries in the region, including Guinea, Gambia, Guinea-Bissau, and Senegal. The problem has reached such a scale that, in 2024, the governments of Sierra Leone and Liberia declared a public health emergency due to high levels of use .

This year, the Liberian government plans to allocate US$800,000 (€693,706) in its budget to combat the kush epidemic , but Evelyn isn't very hopeful about that. "The money meant for citizens never goes where it should," she says. "Also, there are rehabilitation centers here, but they cost a fortune—between US$500 and US$600 (€433 and €520) for six months of therapy. Those who have gone return to the ghettos to use drugs," she explains.

After that first encounter at the bar, Evelyn's phone remains off for days. A week later, a friend reports that she's been arrested.

Two weeks later, Evelyn, now from her home, recounts what happened. She recounts spending a night in the cell, being forced to hand over all her money, being slapped, and being beaten with a stick on her back, legs, and head. She says it usually happens at least once a week, as raids by the Liberian Drug Enforcement Agency (LDEA) have become more frequent since Liberian President Joseph Boakai took office in 2023.

“A group of officers comes, slaps me, puts me in the car, and takes me to the main office. There they tell me to give them both the kush and all the money I have on me if I don't want to end up in court. They know I give them everything without question because I don't have the money to defend myself legally,” she explains. According to her report, on some occasions, the female officers have even inserted their fingers into her vaginal canal to “check if I was hiding the kush there as well.” Now, Evelyn is afraid to return to the ghetto. “I don't know what I'll do,” she says while fixing her daughter's hair.

At least once a week, a group of agents come to me, slap me, put me in a car, and take me to headquarters. There, they tell me to give them both the kush and all the money I have on me or I'll end up in court.

Evelyn, kush seller

“They beat them and do business with some men,” her brother accuses.

According to Ani, corruption in countries like Liberia is widespread, "affecting all levels of society, also due to widespread judicial impunity." "Furthermore, in certain contexts, officials are often poorly paid by the government, so they seek profit elsewhere," she says. Liberia ranks 135th (out of 180) in the Corruption Perceptions Index by Transparency, a global anti-corruption coalition.