Hauwa Ali
On October 21, 2025, the Nigerian Senate passed a landmark amendment to the Criminal Code Act, prescribing life imprisonment for anyone convicted of defiling a minor. The bill sponsored by Senator Opeyemi Bamidele, also raised the minimum sentence for rape to 10 years, made the law gender-neutral, and removed the statute of limitations that once restricted when defilement cases could be prosecuted.
Senate President Godswill Akpabio called it “a statement that Nigeria will no longer tolerate the destruction of our children’s futures.”
“Defilement is even more serious than rape,” he said on the Senate floor. “Any defilement of a minor in Nigeria henceforth attracts life imprisonment.”
For victims’ advocates and child-rights workers, it’s the most decisive move in decades but one that must be matched by real protection, trauma care, and cultural change.
In Nigeria, child defilement or sexual abuse of children under 18 remains a shadow crime. Most cases never reach the police, and when they do, they often vanish in bureaucracy, extortion, or family settlements.
A 2024 Daily Trust investigation uncovered 2,253 reported sexual-abuse cases in Lagos between 2021 and 2024, according to data from the Lagos State Domestic and Sexual Violence Agency (DSVA). Of these, over 900 involved minors, with hundreds of confirmed defilement cases each year. The paper found that police sometimes demanded bribes before filing reports, and some families withdrew cases under community pressure.
Across the country, the figures are even murkier. UNICEF estimates that one in four Nigerian girls and one in ten boys experience sexual violence before age 18 and most never tell anyone.
The numbers, as horrifying as they are, still understate the reality. Behind each statistic is a name, a face, and a story.
“My daughter stopped speaking” — the unseen aftermath
In a quiet neighbourhood in Abeokuta, a mother recounted to The Guardian the day her eight-year-old daughter returned home bleeding. A neighbour, a trusted man in his forties had lured her with sweets.
“She couldn’t talk for two weeks,” the mother said. “She just stared at me. She was afraid to sleep alone.”
Doctors treated her for internal injuries. Months later, she still woke screaming at night. “Sometimes she wets the bed again,” her mother whispered. “She was such a lively child, now she barely smiles.”
Stories like hers repeat across Nigeria. In Jos, Enugu, Kano, Benin, everywhere.
The body remembers
Physically, child defilement can cause severe trauma: vaginal or anal tears, heavy bleeding, infections, and long-term reproductive damage. Medical experts say children are especially vulnerable because their organs are undeveloped and they cannot physically resist adult force.
According to a 2024 systematic review of child sexual abuse in Nigeria (JSM Sexual Medicine), survivors frequently suffer sexually transmitted infections, pelvic inflammatory disease, infertility, and complications in childbirth later in life. Some cases end in pregnancy or unsafe abortion. Others end in death.
“Some children arrive in emergency wards in shock,” said Dr Hadiza Umar, a paediatrician at Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital. “They’ve lost so much blood that saving them becomes a miracle.”
Beyond the physical scars lie the psychological ones, often lifelong.
Research published in The International Journal of Health Sciences (2024) found that Nigerian children who experienced sexual abuse showed significantly higher rates of depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and substance use than non-abused peers.
“They lose their sense of safety,” said Dr Tosin Fakorede, a Lagos child psychologist. “They start believing the world is dangerous, that adults can’t be trusted. It changes how they grow, how they form relationships, how they see themselves.”
Children who are defiled often show warning signs: sudden withdrawal, aggression, loss of appetite, nightmares, bed-wetting, or fear of particular people or places. Many drop out of school.
A 2023 study of in-school adolescents (Noyam Journal of Education and Social Sciences) found that victims of sexual abuse were twice as likely to exhibit social anxiety and emotional instability, and four times more likely to perform poorly in academics.
The authors concluded that defilement “destroys confidence, distorts identity, and derails ambition.”
Why early trauma lasts a lifetime
Psychologists call these experiences Adverse Childhood Experiences — traumatic events that alter the brain’s development and stress response. In children, such trauma floods the body with cortisol and adrenaline, keeping them in a constant state of hyper-vigilance.
That state becomes internalised. In adulthood, survivors are more likely to struggle with chronic illnesses, depression, intimacy issues, and suicidal thoughts.
Nigeria’s new life-imprisonment law represents the strongest possible punishment under the Criminal Code Act. It closes key loopholes that once let offenders off lightly including the outdated gendered definition of rape that excluded male victims.
Under the amendment:
Section 218 (defilement of girls under 13) and Section 221 (defilement of minors under 18) now prescribe life imprisonment.
Rape carries a minimum of 10 years and can reach life imprisonment depending on aggravating factors.
The law now recognises both male and female offenders and victims.
The statute of limitations for defilement has been deleted, allowing prosecutions no matter when the offence occurred.
For rights groups, it’s a long-awaited win. The NGO Mirabel Centre, which runs Lagos’s only rape-crisis facility, said the law “finally reflects the gravity of the crime.”
But experts warn: legislation alone won’t end impunity.
Passing laws is easy, the harder part is getting police to investigate properly, prosecutors to press charges, and courts to deliver justice swiftly. Survivors still face intimidation and stigma.
The chain of failure
Many defilement cases collapse not for lack of evidence, but because of social pressure and systemic neglect. Families are shamed into silence. Some accept out-of-court “settlements.” In rural areas, police lack training in handling child witnesses.
“People tell mothers, ‘Don’t disgrace the family,’” said a women’s-rights advocate in Kaduna. “Meanwhile, the child carries that pain forever.”
Even when victims seek justice, they often relive their trauma during police questioning or in open court. Few facilities offer child-friendly interview rooms or trained counsellors.
A 2024 report by the National Agency for the Prohibition of Trafficking in Persons (NAPTIP) found that less than 30 percent of reported child-defilement cases nationwide reached conviction, many delayed for years.
Health system: missing in action
Nigeria’s public health system is ill-equipped for survivors. Only a handful of states like Lagos, Kaduna, Edo, and Ekiti have dedicated sexual-assault referral centres that provide free medical, legal, and psychosocial support.
Outside those states, victims rely on overstretched hospitals where rape kits are scarce and evidence is poorly handled.
“There are still doctors who don’t know how to collect forensic samples,” said Dr Fakorede. “That means the case dies before it starts.”
The gap between law on paper and justice in reality is vast and that’s where most survivors fall through.
What life imprisonment means in practice
Under the new amendment, anyone convicted of defiling a child will serve life in prison, without the possibility of fine or reduction.
This, lawmakers say, sends a clear deterrent message. But criminologists caution that deterrence alone may not stop offences that are often driven by secrecy, power imbalance, and proximity.
Many experts note that most perpetrators of child defilement are people known to the child (relatives, teachers, neighbours) and that their boldness often stems not from the sentence-length but from the belief they won’t be caught.
The key is certainty of punishment, not severity. Life imprisonment means nothing if 90 percent of offenders are never convicted.
The way forward
To make the new law more than symbolism, experts outline five urgent priorities:
Professionalise investigations by training police and prosecutors on handling child-sensitive cases, preserving forensic evidence, and avoiding victim-blaming.
Expand trauma care by
Establishing sexual-assault referral centres in every state, with free counselling, post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP), and legal aid.
Reform court procedures by creating closed-court hearings for minors and use video testimony to protect children from facing abusers.
Strengthen school and community protection by implementing safe-school policies, train teachers to recognise abuse signs, and encourage children to report without fear.
Track data and monitor enforcement by
Publishing annual statistics on reported cases, prosecutions, and convictions to evaluate real progress.
Healing from defilement is slow, often lifelong. Survivors describe it as “a battle between memory and hope.”
Some find strength through therapy, art, or advocacy. Others struggle silently for decades.
“I wanted to die,” said Ngozi, now 27, who was defiled by a family friend at 12 and never reported it. “But when I heard about this new law, I cried. Maybe children now will be safer than we were.”
Her wish mirrors the hope of many survivors, that this law might not just punish, but prevent.
Laws change society only when people do. Nigeria’s new life-imprisonment sentence is a declaration, but the real fight is in homes, schools, churches, and police stations.
If parents teach children boundaries, if schools create safe spaces, if communities break the silence, then the law will have meaning. Otherwise, it risks becoming another statute gathering dust while another generation of children suffers in silence.
Child defilement is not just a crime; it is a public-health crisis and a human-rights emergency. Its victims live with invisible wounds long after headlines fade.
The Senate’s action is bold and overdue. But unless the system that surrounds that law learns to believe, protect, and heal children, justice will remain a promise unkept. We cannot imprison trauma. We can only prevent it.