The Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act 2015, which was signed into law by the Federal Government, outlawed the practice of female genital mutilation in Nigeria; nonetheless, the crime is still common and victims are often left in silence. In this write up, the pains of victims, and how enforcement of the law has been poor are highlighted.
On a warm Friday morning in Enugu State, Charles and his wife Chiamaka left their six-year-old daughter in the care of his elder sister while they travelled for a funeral.
When they returned on Sunday, their little girl was lying on the bed, pale, trembling, and barely able to speak. Her aunt had circumcised her in their absence, despite their stance against such tradition.
"She said it was her duty as the eldest woman in the family to uphold the tradition of the family," Chiamaka recalls. "We told her not to cut our child because we don't support it, but she said tradition doesn't ask for permission, that it is to preserve her chastity and virginity as a female." Three days later, the girl died in the hospital from blood loss.
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Chiamaka's story is not rare. Across Nigeria, the decision to cut a girl is often taken out of the parents' hands and enforced by relatives, or elders who believe they are upholding culture. In another part of the country, a father's refusal to follow tradition ended with the same unthinkable loss.
For twelve years, Mr. Adigun and his wife prayed for children. Doctors said it would never happen. Family members gave up hope. Then, against all odds, his wife became pregnant with twin girls.
"They were my miracle," he says, holding a faded photo of the babies swaddled in matching pink blankets. "I promised I would protect them with my life."
But that promise lasted only seven years. While he was away on a business trip, his aunt took the girls from their mother and had them cut. My wife watched as the "Oloola" a traditional
circumciser cut her with that rusty blade, and she couldn't do anything.
"I carried Taiye in my arms to the hospital, but halfway there she stopped breathing," Mrs. Adigun recalls, tears welling in her eyes. "Kehinde stayed with us for a few days, but she also followed her sister." Now, the couple is left childless once more, this time, permanently.
Culture over consent
Nigeria has one of the highest rates of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) in the world, with over 20 million women and girls living with its consequences. Despite the Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act (VAPP) signed into law in 2015, the practice remains widespread, and largely without consequences for perpetrators.
In Ogun State, a mother who reported her daughter's circumcision to the police was told to go home and settle it because it is a family matter. The officer barely looked up from his desk. They made it sound like I was complaining about a missing pot," she says. "My child was bleeding, and they told me to go home and settle it within my family." This kind of dismissal is not unusual.
In many parts of the country, reports of FGM rarely make it past the police counter. It is as if some officers are unaware of the law or are unwilling to enforce it when elders or relatives are involved especially when the perpetrators are persons of influence.
Silently, cases die
"Most of these cases die in silence," says Dr. Ifeoma Nwodo, a reproductive health specialist in Lagos. "Survivors are afraid to speak out, and when they do, the system refuses to back them."
Tradition often becomes a shield for impunity. In some communities, traditional leaders quietly endorse the practice and act publicly like they forbid or are against it. In others, relatives insist it is a rite of passage, convinced they are preserving cultural values, even when the cost is a child's life.
In Oyo State, 14-year-old Bisi returned from a holiday at her grandmother's with constant pain and fever. She could barely walk. Doctors found she had been circumcised and infected. Her parents were told it was "already done" and should be forgotten.
The case never reached a courtroom.
Health workers say they regularly treat girls for infections, severe bleeding, and lifelong complications from FGM. "We see girls who will never be able to have children," says Dr. Nwodo. "It's not heritage. It's harm."
Adequate enforcement of the law is required
The Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act was meant to protect women and girls from all forms of violence, including FGM. But a decade later, its promise is largely unfulfilled.
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In practice, the law is weak where culture is strong. Despite countless reports of FGM across the country, there has been no known successful prosecution under the VAPP Act.
"A law means nothing if no one enforces it," says Omolara Adedigba, a legal officer at Ade & Co. Chambers. "We need accountability, not just on paper, but in every community."
"Perpetrators need to be brought irrespective of their societal status."
"The system shouldn't be rigged against the masses"she said.
Sensitization and enlightenment are necessary
Public education must go deeper, especially in rural areas where FGM is still seen as a cultural norm. Campaigns must be community-led and culturally sensitive. Religious leaders, often trusted voices, can play a powerful role.
"When an imam or pastor speaks against FGM, it shifts something," says Dr. Yusuf Olasope, a sexual health educator.
For the women who perform the procedure for income, alternative livelihood programs could provide a safer path. And for survivors, full medical, psychological, and legal support is essential.
