Three recent sexual assault cases in Nigeria underscore a deeper crisis: a culture of gender-based violence sustained by silence and systemic inaction.
This piece includes references to sexual assault cases and suicide that may be distressing or triggering for some readers.
Sexual assault cases are not accidental; they are premeditated, planned and permitted by a system that encourages its continued existence. Sexual assault, in all its forms, is evil. There is no softer word for it. It is violent, predatory and a deliberate violation of another person’s body, autonomy, and humanity. Whether it happens in a bedroom, a modelling studio, a church office, a university hostel, or inside a family home, it carries the same rot: the belief that someone else’s body can be abused.
Sexual violence in Nigeria is not random. It is pervasive. It is widespread. And it is under-reported to such an extent that the statistics we have are only the tip of a much larger crisis. According to data from the National Human Rights Commission, there were 45,986 recorded complaints of sexual violence and 6,943 rapes complaints in 2024 alone. And these figures represent only cases formally reported to authorities.
These are not abstract numbers. They are evidence of a national emergency. Gender-based violence in Nigeria is not an unfortunate accident of culture. It survives because people excuse it. It continues because silence protects it. And it festers because shame is redirected from perpetrators to survivors.
In recent weeks, three separate sexual assault cases in Nigeria have shaken different corners of society: social media, the creative industry, and the family unit itself. They are not identical. They did not happen in the same setting. But they share one chilling truth: sexual assault does not need darkness to thrive; it only needs permission.
Read also: What is Gender-Based Violence (GBV), what can we do about it?
Mirabel: When telling the truth about sexual assault becomes a second trauma
In early February 2026, a young woman known on social media as Mirabel (@mirab351 on TikTok) shared a distressing account of being sexually assaulted in her own home in Lagos on 15 February 2026.
Detailing in a series of videos, she described waking to knocks on her apartment door, being forced inside, being attacked, and losing consciousness. In the aftermath, she alleged that a man identified online as “Priston” sent her messages boasting about the assault and threatening her future, suggesting his family’s influence could suppress any legal case.
In one of her videos, Mirabel revealed she had attempted suicide and was saved by a friend who rushed her to the hospital — a sobering reminder of the psychological toll sexual assault and public scrutiny can inflict.
As her story went viral, hashtags such as #StopRapingWomen trended across Nigerian social media. The Lagos State Domestic and Sexual Violence Agency (DSVA) publicly acknowledged the allegations and initiated efforts to locate and support her, reaffirming that every survivor deserves protection and access to justice.
Although Mirabel’s story remains unverified, and there is always a possibility of false accusation, one person’s dishonesty should never erase another’s truth. Until the facts are confirmed — as they should be — every survivor deserves the benefit of the doubt. Mirabel’s experience, whether fully accurate in every detail or not, highlights a painful pattern in sexual assault cases in Nigeria: survivors often face disbelief, character assassination, and digital harassment after coming forward. Speaking up can become a second trauma, and choosing to remain silent should never be the only way to stay safe.
Read also: “What was she wearing?” The cost of victim-blaming and slut-shaming
Fems Thrift: How a modelling pitch became a nightmare
I really hope it gets to the right audiences🥹#justiceforfems
Let’s do this
For the girl child https://t.co/EeH8UHyyJB pic.twitter.com/MaHswvTZhB— Beth♥️ (@queenbeth____) February 11, 2026
On 8 February 2026, a Lagos-based content creator and thrift vendor known as Fems Thrift publicly accused a man of sexually assaulting her and a friend after luring them with a fake modelling opportunity in Ajao Estate.
According to her account, she was contacted via Instagram by a man claiming to have returned from the UK to launch an international fashion brand. He offered ₦140,000 for a modelling job and promotional support. When she and her friend arrived around 11 a.m., they reportedly found the location empty and were isolated.
The suspect allegedly locked the door, brandished a knife, tied them up, and assaulted them multiple times. Before releasing them hours later, he allegedly confiscated their phones and transferred private photos and videos to his device, threatening blackmail if they spoke out.
Following public outrage, the Lagos State Police Command announced the arrest of a 23-year-old suspect, Araromi Emmanuel, who was taken into custody by the Gender Unit pending investigation.
This case reflects a growing concern within Nigeria’s digital and gig economy: predators exploiting ambition and economic vulnerability. In an environment where opportunities are often informal and DM-based, safeguards are weak, and trust becomes a weapon.
Fems Thrift’s case forces us to confront a difficult truth: in Nigeria’s sexual assault crisis, danger frequently disguises itself as opportunity.
A family betrayal: The painful reality of child sexual abuse in Nigeria
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While public attention has focused on widely reported cases like Mirabel and Fems Thrift, another distressing situation has been circulating on social media. A woman released a video in which she publicly cried out for help after allegedly reporting her husband to the police on Saturday, 14 February 2026, accusing him of sexually abusing their young daughter. She claimed that authorities invited the husband to the police station to respond to the allegation, but that he refused to honour the invitation and remains at large.
Child sexual abuse shatters the assumption that home equals safety. In many cases across Nigeria, perpetrators are known to the child’s relatives, neighbours, caregivers, or authority figures. According to a data brief by UNICEF, Sub-Saharan Africa has the second-highest proportion and burden, with around 1 in 3 children (about 187 million) living in households where intimate partner violence has recently occurred.
Families are often pressured into silence. Mothers are told not to “destroy the family.” Churches preach forgiveness before accountability. Communities whisper instead of reporting. When a mother chooses exposure over silence, she disrupts generational complicity. But it should never require extraordinary courage for a child to be protected.
The pattern we should name
These three sexual assault cases are different in circumstance. But they reveal one undeniable pattern: sexual crimes persist because they are permitted — socially, culturally, and structurally. I have always believed that sexual assault continues not simply because violent people, particularly men, exist, but because several people tolerate it, excuse it, joke about it, or redirect the blame. When we reduce rape and sexual violence to “isolated incidents,” we ignore the cultural ecosystem that allows it to flourish.
If this were understood as a crisis affecting men as a class, the response would likely be urgent and coordinated. History has shown us that when male-dominated industries are threatened, mobilisation is swift. When political interests are endangered, alliances form overnight. When male comfort is disrupted, outrage is immediate.
Yet when women and children are violated, the response is fragmented. Silence is not neutrality; it is complicity, and it gives permission for assault to continue.
Women have marched. We have mobilised online. Women have fought to be heard in police stations where they were dismissed. Women have pushed for reform under laws such as the Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act. Yet sexual assault in Nigeria persists. And this is because women cannot, on their own, dismantle systems designed to shield the very men who perpetuate the violence.
Read also: Is the bill to repeal the 2015 Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act for or against women?
There will be delayed progress until we see this as a people problem
Real change will remain slow until men step forward — not in hashtags, not in private sympathy, but in visible, sustained action. It will remain slow until fathers teach their sons that consent is not negotiable, not optional, not distorted by power or desire. It will remain slow until male peers hold one another accountable in locker rooms, in group chats, in offices, in churches — in the everyday spaces where harmful attitudes are shaped and reinforced.
Additionally, it will remain slow until institutions enforce justice consistently and transparently, without bending to influence, reputation, or status. And it will remain slow until communities refuse to normalise predatory behaviour disguised as romance, mentorship, opportunity, or family authority.
Sexual assault is not a woman’s issue. It is a societal failure — one that reflects the values we tolerate, the silences we keep, and the excuses we permit.
The question is no longer whether sexual violence is evil. We know that it is. The real question is whether we are prepared to confront sexual assault in Nigeria without deflection, without qualification, and without complicity.
Read more: Tawakalit Kareem believes Gender-Based Violence is not just a women’s issue
