By: Adebayo Segun.
Forced marriage and female genital mutilation have since become common occurrences across the country.
These age-long cultures have left in their wake serious socio-economic challenges among families and communities at large.
From the South West, North, South, South South, and South East, the culture has since taken root among the various ethnic groups in these areas. And there is nothing.
Particularly worsened by poor education, especially with the growing number of out-of-school children, conservatively put at over 20 million, the scenario remains scary, indeed.
In the South West region of the country, essentially peopled by Yorubas, the over 50 million inhabitants in the states: Ekiti, Ogun, Oyo, Ondo, Osun, and Lagos, and their neighbours in Kogi, Kwara, Edo, Delta, and part of the Republic of Benin, have their fair share of the scourge.
So, the onus to address the growing challenge from worsening lies with these people, the Federal Government of Nigeria, friends of the country, Non-Governmental Organisations, and multilateral institutions to expunge it from our national affairs.
Curiously, in the shadows of Nigeria’s vibrant cities and rural landscapes, a silent war is being waged against its daughters—one not of gunfire or armed conflict, but of coercion, tradition, and institutional apathy.
While Nigeria has ratified key human rights instruments, such as the Maputo Protocol and enacted domestic legislation, including the Child Rights Act (2003), enforcement remains largely symbolic.
The persistence of these practices reveals a complex web of complicity, spanning family structures, law enforcement agencies, judicial inertia, and societal indifference.
Extended families in Western Nigeria, particularly among the Yoruba ethnic group, often serve not as protectors, but as enforcers of these harmful customs. Grandmothers, aunts, and uncles, traditionally seen as custodians of moral and cultural values, are frequently the architects of a girl’s suffering.
In states like Osun and Ekiti, the practice of FGM is still widely celebrated as a rite of passage. According to the Nigeria Demographic and Health Survey (2018), Osun State has one of the highest FGM prevalence rates in the country, with 62 per cent of women aged 15 to 49 affected.
This ritual, often performed by elder women, is justified as a means of ensuring purity and marital suitability. Similarly, child marriage is perceived by many as a familial duty, an economic transaction, or a method of preserving honour. Girls as young as 12 are married off to older men to settle debts or secure alliances, decisions often taken by uncles or grandfathers without consulting the girls’ mothers.
The position of the biological mother in these decisions is tragically marginal. Despite a 2021 survey indicating that over 75 per cent of mothers in Oyo State opposed FGM for their daughters, their dissent is frequently overridden by elder family members (28 Too Many, 2018). The consequences for resisting women can be severe, including social ostracism and accusations of dishonouring tradition. In one reported case from Ondo State in 2022, a 14-year-old girl was forcibly married off by her uncle following her father’s death. Her mother, who opposed the decision, was branded a traitor and subsequently excluded from the family.
These abuses are sustained not only by cultural norms but by the glaring failure of state institutions to uphold the law.
Although the Child Rights Act clearly prohibits FGM and sets the legal marriage age at 18, enforcement is virtually non-existent in many parts of Western Nigeria. Police and law enforcement agencies often treat such cases as “family matters” and rarely pursue investigations.
A 2023 report by the United Nations Population Fund, found that fewer than 5 per cent of reported FGM cases in Lagos and Ogun states resulted in any form of arrest.
Judicial outcomes are equally bleak, with only a handful of successful prosecutions recorded nationwide. In one particularly egregious case, a traditional cutter in Osun State admitted to having mutilated more than 300 girls over 15 years yet walked free due to the absence of formal charges or public outrage (The Guardian, 2021).
Even in states that have formally adopted the Child Rights Act, legal victories remain elusive. Ekiti State, despite its progressive image and domestication of the Act, has yet to record a single conviction for child marriage.
Nigeria accounts for over 3.2 million of the estimated 12 million child brides globally each year, a staggering statistic that reflects not just the scale of the problem, but the depth of institutional failure (UNICEF, 2021).
Grassroots organisations and civil society groups have emerged as some of the few forces actively confronting these atrocities. In Osun State, for example, the organisation 28 Too Many has trained over 500 “FGM Abandonment Champions,” leading to a documented 22 per cent reduction in cases over five years.
Similarly, the Women’s Rights Advancement and Protection Alternative (WRAPA) has created “Safe Spaces” in Lagos, which have provided sanctuary and support for over 200 girls fleeing forced marriages between 2020 and 2023.
Religious advocacy has also shown promise; in Ibadan, a coalition of Islamic leaders publicly denounced child marriage as un-Islamic after sustained engagement by The Vanguard Initiative (Premium Times, 2022). These efforts, however, remain uneven in their reach. In rural and peri-urban areas, such as Ibarapa in Oyo State, where traditional militias enforce cultural conformity, FGM and child marriage continue unabated, shielded from external scrutiny by a wall of silence and fear (Amnesty International, 2023).
The consequences of these practices are devastating and lifelong. FGM often leads to chronic infections, menstrual complications, and increased maternal mortality. The World Health Organization (2021) estimates that one in five FGM survivors suffers from long-term health complications and nearly one-third face life-threatening difficulties during childbirth. Child marriage equally robs girls of their futures, condemning them to a cycle of poverty, abuse, and social exclusion. Educational opportunities vanish as many girls are withdrawn from school to assume the roles of wives and mothers. UNICEF reports that the children of child brides are five times more likely to die in infancy, and the young brides themselves are at higher risk of domestic violence, early pregnancy, and depression. Mental health repercussions are severe, with a recent study by the Journal of Global Health (2022), finding that 73 per cent of survivors exhibit symptoms consistent with post-traumatic stress disorder.
These statistics are more than numbers, they live in realities. One survivor from Osogbo, now 24, recounted being held down and cut at the age of nine. She bled for days and now suffers from infertility, for which she is routinely abused by her husband. Her haunting words, “They held me down at nine. I bled for days. Now, at 24, I can not have children. My husband beats me for it”—underscores the physical and emotional toll these practices continue to exact on a generation of girls (Interview, 2023).
While legislative reform remains essential, laws alone will not dismantle traditions upheld by community complicity and state apathy. What Nigeria requires is a fundamental cultural reckoning, paired with structural reforms that prioritise the dignity and rights of the girl child. This includes the mandatory arrest and prosecution of offenders, establishing special courts to fast-track justice, economic support for families who educate their daughters, and the public naming of perpetrators as a deterrent. International best practices from countries like Ethiopia and Sierra Leone have demonstrated that a multi-pronged approach—combining education, enforcement, and economic incentives—can yield transformative results.
The world watches as Nigeria’s girls continue to bleed in silence. It is a reflection of societal choices and state failures.
The question remains whether the country will finally choose to protect its daughters or continue to sacrifice them at the altar of tradition.