Touching stories of domestic violence persist, yet there seems to be no justice in view, writes Ayobamiji Komolafe
I grew up in a society where a girl child is often seen as less—less capable, less valuable, less important. But from a young age, I resolved to break that narrative. As the second of four daughters, I watched my father endure mocker y and stigmatization from his peers in the community and even I church for not having a son.
I vowed to prove that women, if given the chance, could achieve greatness beyond imagination. With that fire in my soul, I pursued education fiercely with the goal of graduating with a second-class upper degree and build a successful career in journalism. But even in university, I began to taste the bitter reality of being a woman.
Despite my hard work, certain lecturers reduced my grades because I refused their advances. I chose to maintain my dignity, even when it cost me academically. Still, I graduated with a 2:1—proof of resilience, not just brilliance. During my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC), the nightmare deepened.
At my place of assignment, a senior colleague and others in the office routinely harassed me. One afternoon, after dozing briefly at my desk from sheer exhaustion, I awoke to a man trying to grope me.
When I resisted, he tried to assault me physically, locking the door and muffling my screams. It took every ounce of strength in me to escape. I reported the incident which led to a reassignment, but left a scar. I started a small fashion business to support myself, but harassment found me there too.
Some male customers bought on credit, lured me to odd locations for payment which I refused.
But the deepest betrayal came from places I thought were safe. First was a hospital visit during a health scare. There, the attending doctor, under the guise of examination, molested me—asking invasive questions and violating my body. I bled for days. When I returned, another doctor was shocked but shielded his colleague and Justice never came.
Then there was the church—the supposed sanctuary. A pastor introduced me to church elders, asking them to help me settle in. One offered me lunch with his family and later told me about a job opportunity.
He arranged for a driver to pick me up with the aim of attending an interview in the company he works, only to divert and drag me into a hotel room, pretending it was his wife’s office. He pinned me to the bed, dismissing my pleas. I lied—told him I had a medical condition that made sex unsafe without medication. Somehow, that lie saved me. But he continued to bully me afterward until I left the church.
My experiences are not isolated. A close friend confided in me about her own trauma—harassed by her boss until she had to resign. Another friend, a new mother, was emotionally tormented by her mother-in-law who was meant to care for her postpartum.
She did everything herself—bathing the baby, cooking, cleaning—while the older woman merely carried the child. I’ve also faced abuse from relatives, incidents I couldn’t share with my parents out of fear and shame.
Like many girls, I was silenced by the expectations of a society that teaches us to endure rather than speak. Every one of these incidents is a scream that society has silenced. But I’m telling my story now, an opportunity I’ve long awaited because the silence must end. We live in a world where women’s bodies are battlegrounds, their voices dismissed, and justice often denied.
We need stronger systems—clear policies, safe reporting channels, and a justice system that doesn’t turn its back on victims. More importantly, we need to teach our sons, brothers, and fathers that power does not lie in domination, and that respect is not optional—it is fundamental. It is time to stop asking women to be strong in the face of injustice and instead demand that society be just.
#Ayobamiji Komolafe is a fellow of Africa Foundation for Young Media Professionals’ 2025 Women in Journalism, gender reporting Media Fellowship
