By Prosper Mene
In Nigeria, a chilling statistic is sounding the alarm: a woman is killed by a man every 2.5 days, according to a BBC report released last week. That’s over 140 women lost each year to violence, wives, daughters, sisters—based only on cases that make it to official records. Activists say the real toll is likely far worse, hidden by a shroud of underreporting, fear, and shame. Today, March 25, 2025, women’s organizations across the country are raising their voices louder than ever, demanding action to stop what they call a “silent epidemic” of femicide—the intentional killing of women because of their gender.
The BBC’s findings, drawn from police and media logs, paint a grim picture: most of these killings happen at home, often at the hands of husbands or partners. Yet, the numbers don’t tell the full story. “For every case we hear about, there are dozens more buried in silence,” says Ololade Ajayi, founder of DOHS Cares Foundation, a group fighting for women’s rights. “Families cover it up, police dismiss it, and survivors are too scared to speak. We’re losing our women, and it’s like no one cares.”
Take the story of Fatima, a 29-year-old from Kano who narrowly escaped death last year. She told advocates her husband beat her for months, once choking her until she blacked out. “I ran away with my baby when he threatened to kill me with a knife,” she said, her voice trembling. “The police told me to go back and ‘sort it out.’ I’m alive because I didn’t listen.” Fatima’s ordeal is one of many shared today by groups like the Nigerian Women’s Collective, who are rallying in cities like Lagos and Abuja with survivor tales that cut to the bone.
What’s driving this crisis? Experts point to a toxic mix of deep-rooted patriarchy, weak laws, and a justice system that often fails women. In Nigeria, femicide isn’t even a specific crime—killings like these get lumped under general murder charges, if they’re investigated at all. “When a crime isn’t named, it’s invisible,” Ajayi argues. “We need laws that say femicide is femicide, and we need them enforced.” The Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act exists, but activists say it’s too broad and poorly implemented, leaving abusers free and victims vulnerable.
Poverty and cultural norms add fuel to the fire. In many communities, women are seen as property, their worth tied to obedience. When they resist—like refusing a forced marriage or leaving an abusive home—violence often follows. A recent case in Lagos drove this home: on March 19, Peter Dike allegedly stabbed his wife to death in their Oke Ila Ilogbo home after an argument. She was the 43rd reported femicide victim this year alone, and March isn’t even over.
Women’s groups are now pushing for change with a clear list of demands: a national femicide tracking system, tougher penalties for perpetrators, and police training to take domestic violence seriously. “We can’t keep burying our daughters and calling it normal,” says Chika Oduah, a prominent activist. “This is a war on women, and it’s time society fought back.”
The government’s response? So far, it’s been muted. Officials have promised reviews of gender-based violence policies, but concrete steps remain elusive. Meanwhile, the body count rises, and the silence grows louder. For Nigeria’s women, the message today is urgent: this epidemic won’t end until the systems and the attitudes that prop it up are torn down.
