FGM in Nigeria: A National Shame, A Call for Stronger Action

By Osayande Idehen, Reporting from Benin City, for SME MEDIA

In the quiet villages of Nigeria, tucked away from the reach of city courts and media scrutiny, a blade still finds its way to the bodies of young girls. Female Genital Mutilation, or FGM, a practice condemned by the international community and outlawed under Nigerian law, remains alarmingly persistent in the shadows of our society. From the mangrove-lined towns of Delta to the red-soil communities of Imo and the forested enclaves of Osun, this ritual—cloaked in the language of tradition—continues to damage bodies and silence voices.

In a small town near Uromi in Edo State, a 13-year-old girl was recently rushed to a private clinic after severe bleeding from a circumcision performed by an elderly woman known locally as “the midwife of the ancestors.” Her family, gripped by fear of cultural backlash and the whispers of neighbors, had complied. Her screams, like many before hers, echoed briefly and then disappeared—swallowed by the silence that surrounds this brutal act. She survived, but only just. No one was arrested. No case was opened. Life, as always, moved on.

Across the country, this pattern repeats itself. In Imo State, a 15-year-old girl was reported by the National Human Rights Commission in 2021 to have developed a life-threatening infection following circumcision. Her parents insisted they were merely fulfilling a cultural duty. In Delta, an eight-year-old bled to death in Ughelli North after her aunt performed the act with a rusty blade. On Facebook, for a day or two, there was outrage. But the case never reached court.

Nigeria is home to over 20 million women and girls who have undergone FGM—the highest number on the African continent. And while the Federal Government passed the Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act in 2015, outlawing the practice, implementation remains weak, patchy, and largely performative. In Edo State, local NGOs report that most cases are settled “within the family” or before a local chief, who in many instances, defends the practice.

The role of traditional rulers in this national failure cannot be overstated. In communities where their word is law, many have done little to condemn FGM and, in some cases, continue to bless it in private. In Esan communities, whispers of circumcision ceremonies still float through town markets and shrines. Some chiefs refer to it as a rite of passage or as “cultural purification,” using prestige to pressure families into compliance. Their silence and complicity have turned the practice into an unspoken norm, even among the educated.

Law enforcement, too, has failed the victims. Since the enactment of the VAPP Act, fewer than ten successful FGM-related prosecutions have been reported across Nigeria. In police stations, complaints are often dismissed as “domestic matters.” Survivors and their families, afraid of stigma or retaliation, remain quiet. The justice system is neither accessible nor reassuring, especially for those living in rural Nigeria where access to legal aid is almost nonexistent.

Yet, the consequences of FGM are not abstract. They are lived. Women who survive the procedure often live with lifelong physical damage—chronic infections, complications in childbirth, increased risk of maternal and infant mortality. The psychological toll is just as devastating: post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, and a loss of sexual autonomy. These are not isolated events; they are the lived reality of millions of Nigerian women.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. The solution is not elusive. We must start with the law—real enforcement, real arrests, real consequences. Perpetrators must be prosecuted. Traditional rulers who endorse the practice must be publicly named and held accountable. But law alone is not enough. Communities need to be educated from within. Campaigns must be local, consistent, and culturally intelligent. Survivors must be supported medically, emotionally, and legally. Every local government in Nigeria should have a functional center where girls and women can report FGM safely and receive immediate care.

The fight to end FGM is not just about punishing the guilty; it is about protecting the innocent. It is about breaking a cycle of inherited pain, one girl, one family, one community at a time. As a nation, we cannot move forward while half of our children are being cut down—physically and psychologically—before they ever get a chance to become women.

There is no justification in tradition for mutilation. FGM is not heritage. It is harm. And every time we fail to act, we become complicit.

The time to speak is now. The time to act is overdue. Let us not wait until another girl screams in silence, until another child bleeds into a forgotten statistic. Let the fight begin—on the pages of our newspapers, in the voices of our leaders, and in the decisions of every parent. Ending FGM is not just a legal obligation; it is a national moral duty.

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