Selling sperm and hiring surrogate mothers is the new business frontier, writes KEYA KINUTHIA
I knocked on the door labeled ‘Fertility Enhancement Centre’ at a Nairobi hospital with some sort of fear. I was here to do something for posterity’s sake — to donate sperm and have it stored.
My hope was that some lucky lass would get the sperm and who knows, produce another Obama or, if genes backfired, Joseph Kony, but in effect assure the continuity of my bloodline. I had harvested sperm before for surrogacy, but never had I voluntarily donated sperm to have it stored.
The 20-something-year-old receptionist looked at me and asked, “Do you want to donate sperm or sell?”
“People sell sperm?” I asked incredulously. She looked at me and chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind buying!”
It was this initial encounter that led my highly fertile mind to the world of sperm harvesters, buyers, sellers and surrogate mothers. A conniving world where men and women cheat, get cheated on and tots are born — all artificially. No sex!
I met Judy over lunch at a restaurant on Valley Road two days after my visit to the fertility centre.
An example of what would be termed sheer sophistication, she agreed to talk to me about her two children on the premise that I was a potential sperm seller. She has been married for 15 years and has two children, none of whom biologically belong to her husband.
“I realised my husband was infertile five years into my marriage. I loved him, but I wanted to experience motherhood. I decided to have artificial insemination, or whatever you call it,” she said, adding, “I didn’t cheat on him. I have never cheated on him. I just got sperm from a willing seller and got two healthy babies.”
I asked her whether she meant donation or selling and she just rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I bought.”
The reason I pursued her on the ‘bought or donation’ bit is because getting sperm from a sperm bank is a complex procedure and an expensive affair, which according to a doctor at a fertility enhancement centre, would set one back amounts ranging from Sh100,000 to a cool million shillings — especially in-vitro fertilization (IVF), a process made famous locally by Dr Joshua Noreh of the Nairobi IVF clinic.
The desired qualities of the donor also come into play and the closer a woman gets to the desired qualities, like genius, athletic build, colour of the eyes and health status, the more expensive the sperm costs.
Women have devised a way of beating the system by getting donors (sellers) whom they take to the centre for harvesting at a cheaper cost and then having the sperm induced in their uteruses.
The process is simplified by backstreet reproductive clinics that operate with a few in the know in the legit fertility centres. In Judy’s case, she got a young man from the University of Nairobi’s School of Medicine through a clinic in Nairobi’s CBD. She paid him Sh10,000 and took his sperm, which she used twice to get the babies. Quite a bargain. She now needs a third. I asked her to call me after a week so that I could think over her Sh15,000 offer.
“It is a risky business but very brusque, done on the go,” admits Joel (not his real name), a medical student at the School of Clinical Medicine who admits he has donated sperm twice and sold sperm five times. In either case, the dividends always seem higher, he says, adding that when he donates, the centre gives him a token of appreciation, say Sh5,000, and some soda. But he sells at a routine price of no less than Sh10,000.
“Women love bright individuals. Admit it; women want a wealthy marriage partner and comfort, but brilliant children. That is what I offer. A straight ‘A’ student, healthy, athletic built! Come on!” he says with swag.
I wonder how a credible institution could harvest sperm that many times from a single donor against rules and regulations and without a thought on inbreeding. But this is a thought settled by Nduati Alfred (not hs real name). He admits to donating sperm twice and selling sperm seven times. How?
“I know, by law, I am allowed to donate only twice to limit chances of inbreeding, but I get willing buyers — thanks to people I know at the centre — who are willing to pay and get a one off donation. It is like I am a polygamist!” Nduati says, laughing.
“Good thing is, I have never been rejected. With my looks, I’m als an engineering student who never drinks... What every woman wants as a father to her children. But I have never slept with any of them. I just donate and we part ways once she pays,” he adds.
Five years ago, the idea of surrogacy and surrogate mothers was non-existent. Until a doctor convinced me that surrogacy was an ideal option to the bores and pains of relationships and marriage. Thanks to surrogacy, I got my daughter — a tiny gem born of a 26-year-old woman who took me six months of persuasion to finally agree to carry my baby, artificially inseminated.
Fast forward to 2012 and the number of lasses selling their wombs is as alarming as the number of sperm donors and sellers. How, you will ask, are the two linked?
prim
I got into contact with Alice, a 36-year-old businesswoman, who was also interested in buying my sperm. But she was too prim and proper to push, I bet, because she insisted she was fertile, but had opted to get a surrogate for her baby — with my sperm. My sperm would be harvested, paid for, and planted into the womb of another woman who would then carry the baby for her, until delivery.
Tripartite! I was miffed. But I insisted on meeting the intended surrogate mother, just to be sure my sperm would not go to waste. I ended up meeting a starry-eyed, 6ft, 22-year-old girl from a private university, who later on admitted this would be her second surrogacy.
Her love for wine and my love for beer beckoned and we found ourselves at Nerkwo bar, without Alice being in the know. Five glasses of wine later, she opened up like a tap of the frothy liquid and told me she was going to earn Sh15,000 per month for the nine months and a one-off-fee of Sh50,000 upon delivery.
“I mean, I need the cash, and it is not like it will kill my womb. I will still have my kids once I get married,” she reasoned.
Her first surrogacy enabled her go through her second year at university, only sneaking off to deliver. It was a girl, delivered to some politician.
“So how much are they paying you?” she asked, dragging me to the dance floor.
Bright thing, I thought to myself. We became tight buddies and she agreed to hook me up with an agent who was like a broker for women who want babies and surrogates.
The agent, I later came to learn, is a mistress who also controls a sizable portion of the red light business on an infamous bar on Moi Avenue. In cahoots with those working at the reproductive centres, she gets clients, recruits women from her pool of lasses and gets paid on commission. Not bad business. She earns anything between Sh10,000 and Sh30,000 per transaction, depending on the wealth of the clients.
She requested anonymity when we met. I was shocked to learn she is barely 30 and that she started out moonlighting on Nairobi’s Koinange Street before turning tables on those who controlled the flesh trade in Nairobi.
“Sometimes I get surrogates from the commercial sex workers here who are willing to get paid to carry a pregnancy. Sometimes the pay is usually higher than what they earn here per night, so they take it,” she said while puffing away at a Dunhill.
“And it is not just surrogates I deal with, I can also get a woman who wants to sell her egg for much cheaper than what one would buy at the hospitals,” she added.
“So how much would I get a fertile healthy egg from a woman?” I ask her. “Look, for anything between Sh50,000 and Sh100,000, I will get you a healthy woman to provide an egg. All tested for any signs of diseases so that you are not disappointed when you present her to your doctor,” she assured me.
