“I was shy, and I thought it was an abomination to speak about it,” she said. These were the words of the 24-year-old daughter of Mr Edward Odega, a man recently arrested in Delta State for the alleged sexual assault of his three daughters.
The pain in her voice carried decades of unspoken trauma, a story that began when she was only 12 years old. Tragically, she was not the only victim; her two younger sisters were also abused, with the youngest being just 13 at the time.
Sexual assault, particularly when it occurs within the family, is one of the gravest yet most underreported social crises. Globally, the numbers are staggering. According to the United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund (UNICEF), more than 650 million children, or roughly one in five, have experienced sexual abuse before the age of 18.
Research consistently shows that most perpetrators are not shadowy strangers lurking in the night; they are individuals known to and trusted by the child. Family members, caregivers, intimate partners, classmates, and authority figures are often the culprits.
Yet the betrayal cuts even deeper when the perpetrator is someone intrinsically tied to the victim’s life, the father who once held her in his arms, the sibling who grew up alongside her, the person she should have been able to trust above all others.
An abomination indeed, something that in a sane society would be considered conceived only in the depths of hell. And yet, horrifyingly, cases like hers are increasingly common in Nigerian headlines. Every week seems to bring a new story: father rapes daughter, brother rapes sister, and sometimes the victims are barely old enough to speak their names. Some are two years old; others have been groomed from early childhood to accept abuse as their grim reality.
In an anonymous interview, a woman shared a chilling story: “A friend of mine, my roommate in school, confessed to me that her father abused her every first day of the month. She said it started when she was four. I thought she was joking, but the moment she told me he had deflowered her at that age, I shivered. Her mother was unaware. Recently, I met her near my office, and she began crying. She told me she has had to terminate pregnancies five times because of her father. She cannot trust men or have a healthy relationship because of the guilt. Her mother is dead, and she is now the only child, thirty years old, and still carrying this trauma.”
This account, unfortunately, is not unique. Trauma psychologists, pastors, and child protection agencies have all seen a worrying escalation of father-daughter abuse cases. Dr Deborah Otto, a trauma psychologist with nearly twenty years of practice, did not mince words when she described the crisis.
She termed it “a full-blown national emergency with multi-generational consequences.”
“In fifteen years of practice, I have seen patterns that would make any serious nation declare a state of emergency. Nigeria is producing thousands of traumatised girls every year,” Dr Otto said. She cited UNICEF’s estimate that one in four girls experiences sexual abuse as conservative. “In my caseload alone, nearly 40 per cent of the abuse cases involved a biological father or stepfather. That is not just alarming, it is indicative of a systemic collapse.”
She recounted a case that haunts her still: “In the counselling group I run online, a young girl of not more than 22 years confessed that her father had been abusing her ‘since she was small.’ His method was typical grooming: buying her treats, telling her she was special, then threatening that people would harm her if she ever told. According to her, as she got older, any time she refused, he would accuse her of promiscuity. She said she knew her mother suspected something was wrong, but probably dismissed her instincts because she didn’t want ‘outsiders’ thinking she had failed as a wife.”
Dr Otto explained that the consequences are severe and long-lasting: “These girls grow into adults who cannot trust others, who fear intimacy, who blame themselves, who enter toxic marriages, or spiral into depression and substance abuse. The damage is permanent unless we intervene early.”
Meanwhile, Pastor of an Agbor-based Baptist Church, Mr Festus Emmanuel, who has worked with children and families for over 5 years, echoed these concerns. “Too many Nigerian families prioritise silence over justice. And some religious institutions enable that silence. When a father rapes his daughter, it is not a ‘family issue.’ It is a criminal attack against God’s order.”
Pastor Emmanueldelivered a blunt warning: “The family system has disintegrated because discipline, responsibility, and morality have taken a back seat. Fathers have abandoned their divine role as protectors. Until religious and community leaders stop treating incest as a prayer point instead of a criminal offence, nothing will change.”
Becky Banka, founder of the Cheerful Hands Foundation, reinforced the notion that sexual abuse within families is not confined to poverty-stricken areas. “When Nigerians hear ‘incest’ or ‘father raping child,’ they imagine it is a village problem or an issue for poor families. Let me correct that: incest cuts across class. It happens in mansions and mud houses alike. Silence is the great equaliser,” she said.
Banka’s NGO works tirelessly on prevention, advocacy, and intervention. “We collaborate with women and girls, addressing issues of gender-based violence, gender justice, feminist leadership, and democracy. In my role as a first responder and case manager, I have assisted over 2,000 women and girls who are victims of sexual and gender-based violence. Our commitment involves guiding them through the legal process, preparing them for hearings, facilitating rehabilitation into society, providing therapy and psychosocial treatment, and ensuring that abusers face legal consequences.”
She elaborated on the multifaceted support her organisation provides: “We offer comprehensive assistance, medical, psychosocial, and economic. Currently, I am leading an initiative to petition for the waiver of medical bills for survivors of SGBV. I have also been active in advocacy efforts, including membership in StateOfEmergencyGBV, which declared a state of emergency on sexual and gender-based violence during the COVID-19 pandemic.”
Banka emphasised the mental toll on first responders themselves. “As a case manager, you see terrible things: children, not even teenagers yet, facing abuse or abandonment from their families. It makes you constantly on edge, reading too much into small actions. There was a time when I needed therapy myself because being a GBV responder comes with its own risks. I receive threatening calls from parents of the victims I help because my number is out there for victims to reach me.”
She highlighted systemic failures in Nigeria’s legal and social structures: “Our legal system is too slow. Cases drag on for years. Victims grow tired, families withdraw, and evidence gets compromised. We need specialised sexual offences courts. We need shelters in every local government. And adults must understand that failing to report abuse is complicity.”
The rise of digital technology and social media has intensified the problem. Banka explained: “Easy access to pornography on mobile phones and social media has worsened the situation. It’s not that abuse didn’t happen before, but now, with the advent of social media, more cases come to light. People become aware of things they never knew before.”
She also noted socio-economic factors contributing to abuse. “Unemployment and idleness leave many men vulnerable to negative influences. When a man is idle, frustration builds. Combine that with exposure to pornography or excessive drinking, and the risk of abusing a child increases. We see this pattern too often.”
Banka ended with a stern warning: “A country that protects abusers is a country that destroys its future leaders. Nigeria cannot keep pretending this problem is rare. It is everywhere, and silence is killing our children.”
The psychological, social, and medical consequences of father-daughter abuse are severe. Medically, victims often suffer reproductive health issues, sexually transmitted infections, unwanted pregnancies, and gynaecological trauma. Psychologically, PTSD, anxiety, depression, and dissociative disorders are common. Socially, survivors often face isolation, stigma, and challenges in forming healthy intimate relationships.
The grooming patterns described by experts, such as giving gifts, establishing emotional dependency, and instilling fear, are consistent across cases. The longer the abuse continues, the more difficult it becomes for the survivor to report. This is compounded when the perpetrator is a father or stepfather, a figure culturally expected to protect, not harm, the child.
The role of mothers in these cases is complex. Some are unaware; others suspect but are silenced by cultural expectations or fear of shame. The societal emphasis on protecting the family name, rather than safeguarding children, creates a fertile ground for abuse to continue unchecked.
The Nigerian legal system, though equipped with laws against sexual assault, suffers from enforcement challenges. Sexual Offences Acts exist in several states, but loopholes, societal pressure, and lengthy judicial processes hinder justice. Survivors often face intimidation, social ostracism, or economic dependency that prevents them from pursuing legal action.
Prevention remains a critical focus. Experts recommend multi-pronged approaches: comprehensive sexual education in schools, awareness campaigns to break the culture of silence, community vigilance, and robust support systems for victims. Religious and traditional leaders must be engaged to condemn abuse unequivocally rather than treating it as a private family matter.
Several NGOs, including the Cheerful Hands Foundation, the Women’s Rights Advancement and Protection Alternative (WRAPA), and others, emphasise rehabilitation and reintegration of survivors into society. They provide therapy, skills acquisition, mentorship, and legal support, aiming to break the cycle of abuse and empower survivors to reclaim their lives.
The rise of social media has been a double-edged sword. While it has exposed abuse and allowed survivors to share their stories, it also presents risks, such as re-victimisation, online harassment, and potential exploitation by perpetrators seeking to groom children digitally.
Nigeria’s socio-cultural landscape further complicates matters. Patriarchal norms, deep-rooted gender inequality, and the undervaluing of women and girls create environments where perpetrators often escape accountability. When families choose silence over justice, the community indirectly condones abuse.
International organisations have urged Nigerian authorities to adopt survivor-centred policies, enhance child protection frameworks, and expand access to psychological support services. UNICEF and UN Women have stressed that ending violence against children, particularly within the home, is critical for national development and the creation of healthy, productive future generations.
The stories of survivors, like the Odega daughters, underscore the urgent need for action. Their experiences reveal a pattern that cannot be ignored: abuse is happening in homes across Nigeria, cutting across class, religion, and geography. The psychological scars, health consequences, and social ramifications extend beyond the victims themselves, affecting families, communities, and society at large.
Breaking the silence is the first step. Survivors, first responders, and advocates call on Nigerians to recognise that sexual abuse by fathers is not a “family secret” or a moral failing; it is a crime and a profound violation of human dignity. Only when society collectively refuses to tolerate abuse can children grow up in safe environments where their rights, health, and future are protected.
As Dr Otto notes, “Intervention is not optional. Waiting for victims to heal themselves is not a solution. We must provide early support, legal protection, and societal vigilance. Every child deserves safety. Every survivor deserves justice.”
Pastor Emmanuel reinforces this call to action, reminding communities, “God entrusted fathers with the role of protector. Those who violate that trust must face the full weight of justice. Silence and complicity are the real enemies of our children.”
The collective message is clear: sexual abuse within families, particularly father-daughter abuse, is not an anomaly; it is a crisis. Every Nigerian, from parents to policymakers, religious leaders to neighbours, has a role in dismantling the culture of silence and creating a society where children are safe, voices are heard, and justice is inevitable.
The Odega daughters’ story is just one of countless others. Their courage in speaking out must serve as a clarion call to society: the time for action is now. No more silence. No more abomination concealed behind closed doors. Every child in Nigeria deserves to grow up in a home free from fear, free from harm, and filled with love, trust, and protection, the very rights denied to those who need our advocacy the most.
