Temitayo Olumofe
On a sweltering morning in Lagos, Abiola, a mother of three, stands outside her local police station, clutching a worn-out file filled with documents. Tears well in her eyes as she recalls the threats she faces daily, both inside and outside her home. “We are all afraid now,” she says, voice trembling. “Every day, another woman doesn’t make it home.” Abiola’s story is just one among thousands in Nigeria, where gender-based violence (GBV) has exploded in early 2025. In January alone, 17 women were murdered — a shocking 240% jump from the previous year. As activists urge the government to declare a state of emergency, this crisis is no longer just statistics; it’s about real lives, real families, and a nationwide cry for help.
On February 25, 2025, activists and civil society organizations made international headlines, calling on the Nigerian government to declare a state of emergency. The appeal followed the release of grim data from the Femicide Observatory, documenting 22 women killed in just the first six weeks of the year. “We cannot wait for another tragedy to move the government,” said activist Eromo Egbejule, speaking to The Guardian. “Every life lost is a failure of leadership.”
Women’s groups blame the rise in femicides on weak laws, poor prosecution, and a digital culture that spreads misogynistic content unchecked. According to the National Institute for Legislative and Democratic Studies, the escalation is unprecedented, with more cases of domestic murders reported in urban and rural communities alike.
Survivor Stories
Personal testimonies from survivors bring the reality home. In Adamawa State, Jessica Matthew (not her real name), 37, survived five years of sexual abuse at the hands of her brother-in-law. “I was living in fear and could not tell anyone. I thought they would not believe me,” Jessica shares. The silence and stigma around GBV kept her isolated until she met a trained advocate who helped her get medical care and tell her husband about the abuse. “He believed me, because he had learned from health officers what women go through,” she smiles, relieved.
The consequences of GBV go far beyond physical harm. Survivors like Jessica battle depression, anxiety, and self-inflicted injuries, while fearing constant judgment. According to Nigeria’s 2021 Demographic Health Survey, 44% of women aged 15–49 in Adamawa have experienced some form of violence in their lifetime. In humanitarian settings, such as IDP camps, abuse grows even worse — and support can be hard to find.
Another survivor, Yakoura from Niger, was married off at age 12 and contracted HIV as a result of forced marital rape. “I couldn’t be happy when he beat me or insulted me,” she recalls. “I tried several times to run away, but my mother always took me back to his house”. Only later did Yakoura find freedom and a new voice as an activist against GBV and child marriage.
Advocacy Movements: “This Is a War on Women”
Civil society organizations have organized rallies and digital campaigns, demanding immediate reforms. “This is not just violence — it is a war on women,” said one organizer in Abuja. National groups point to decades of lax enforcement and widespread underreporting as drivers of this crisis.
Frontline advocacy has also spread across social media, with hashtags like #StateOfEmergencyForWomen trending as survivors, celebrities, and everyday Nigerians share their stories and call for urgent change.
Organizations such as WHO, Women for Women International, and grassroots community groups are shifting the narrative by training “GBV Champions.” These health workers and volunteers support survivors in seeking help, provide psychosocial care, and educate the public on the realities of harassment and violence.
GBV is not only about murder and physical assault. Everyday harassment in public spaces, workplaces, and transit hubs contributes to a culture of fear and impunity. In a recent survey, women reported being harassed on buses, at markets, and even while walking their children to school. We are taught to watch our backs everywhere, says Chidinma, a student in Ibadan, but what if you’re never safe?
Experts highlight that sexual harassment often acts as a “gateway” to more severe forms of violence. “You cannot look at femicide apart from harassment and intimidation,” said Dr. Beatrice Mauraguri, WHO’s emergency manager in Nigeria’s northeast. When public spaces are not safe for women, the danger extends everywhere.
Government responses have lagged, often limited to reactive statements following major incidents. GBV survivors encounter barriers at every turn: police skepticism, victim-blaming, and lack of shelters or safe public transit options.
The Nigerian Police handled over 17,000 cases in 2024, nearly equal to the total from the previous three years, but conviction rates remain low, and survivors rarely see justice.
Healthcare infrastructure is strained, especially in regions impacted by conflict and displacement. Many survivors receive little or no medical or psychosocial support. Cultural stigmas keep women silent, while economic hardship makes it difficult to leave abusive situations.
The policy recommendations by experts are:
Declare a State of Emergency on GBV = This would activate special powers enabling swift responses, resource allocation, and public campaigns against the crisis. It sends a clear message that women’s safety is a national priority.
Strengthen and Enforce GBV Laws – Enforcement of existing laws must be intensified, closing loopholes that let perpetrators walk free. Training for police, judiciary, and health workers is critical. Specialized units for handling GBV cases should be expanded and resourced.
Safe Public Spaces and Transit Hubs – The government and private sector must work together to create well-lit, monitored public spaces and transit hubs. Initiatives like safe zones, rapid response lines, and gender-sensitive transport services can save lives.
Comprehensive Survivor Support – Increase funding for shelters, psychosocial care, legal aid, and health services for survivors. “GBV Champions” and similar advocates should be deployed nationwide, especially in high-risk areas.
Action on Online Harassment – Stricter controls and penalties should be imposed for the spread of misogynistic and violent content on social media, which incites further violence offline.
Community Education and Engagement – Long-term change demands community leadership: workshops, youth clubs, and digital campaigns that challenge gender norms and champion women’s rights. “Everyone must be involved, from schools to religious institutions,” said Dr. Mauraguri.
Data Collection and Transparency – Systematic tracking and public reporting of GBV cases will help target interventions where they are most needed and hold authorities accountable.
If at any point in our history, this subject has not mattered to us, two recent examples: the stripping naked of Comfort Emanson, an Ibom Air passenger and the viral video of a female corps member being brutalized and eventually stripped naked by a so-called vigilante group in the southeast should evoke serious concern about the depth of gender violence in our country.
The Road Ahead: End the Silence, End the Violence – As Nigeria faces this watershed moment, survivors, advocates, and policymakers echo a single message: urgent action is not optional; it is essential. “We all have a role to play in ending gender-based violence,” says Dr. Mauraguri. “It is a challenge for our times, but together we can build a safer and more equitable society.”
On that hot morning in Lagos, Abiola waits for help — but she is not waiting quietly anymore. Across Nigeria, and beyond, voices are rising. If leaders act, 2025 may become the year Nigeria turns the tide against gender-based violence.