—Contributed by Media Health and Rights Initiative Team in Abuja, Nigeria.
The first thing Kessy noticed was the silence. Silence that felt like an entity, leaving her with just her thoughts as company. The clinic waiting room was small but tidy, tucked behind a pharmacy on a busy street in Abuja. No one spoke. Another woman was sitting beside her, staring at her phone. Kessy kept thinking about one phrase.
“Don’t get caught.”
Kessy was 22 and a fresh law graduate. With a couple of friends, she went to a house party to celebrate receiving their Federal University certificates after all the hoops they had to jump through. After three dances and one drink in a red cup, received from an acquaintance, Kessy woke up in one of the bedrooms of the house with no memory of the latter hours of the night. A mental catalogue of herself and body aches revealed the worst fear of many women and girls. That was the beginning of Kessy’s woes.
Though distraught, Kessy decided to forget the night ever happened and move on with life. After all, she “checked” herself and did not find semen, and so, concluded gratefully that her assailant must have used a condom. Her journey to moving on seemed to be going smoothly until she missed her period. Everything came crashing down. At first, the blame game plagued her. “I should have known better, I read law. I should have known better”. With these words playing repeatedly in her head, she began to do some research.
The more she read, the more one thing became clear: the law in Nigeria was not written for women like her, or women at all.
Nigeria’s abortion laws are among the most restrictive in the world . Under the Criminal Code in southern states and the Penal Code in northern states, abortion is largely criminalized except when a woman’s life is at risk. Doctors, pharmacists, and anyone assisting the procedure can face severe penalties. Beyond the laws, stigma around abortion runs deep, reinforced by these legal restrictions and social norms. Many women navigating unintended pregnancies do so quietly, worried about judgment, discrimination, or even legal consequences.
Yet the reality is that unintended pregnancies still occur, regularly enough that research published on MedRxiv using spatio-temporal modelling estimates that Nigeria experiences around 1.8 million abortions annually , highlighting the gap between restrictive laws and the realities women face. The vast majority of these abortions are taking place outside formal health facilities. Studies also show that unsafe abortion contributes to a significant proportion of maternal deaths in the country, highlighting the public health consequences of limited access to safe services and reliable information.
When laws restrict access without addressing the circumstances women face, the decisions do not disappear. They simply become more difficult, more secretive, and sometimes more dangerous.
Kessy, at her wits’ end, began to consider the advice of a friend she eventually confided in, an unsafe route that she knew at her core would only endanger her life. This is the reality of many women and girls who find themselves in a myriad of contexts and are trapped by restrictive laws. The truth is that Nigeria’s abortion laws were written decades ago, long before the realities of modern healthcare, women’s autonomy, and public health were fully understood.
Globally, countries that have reformed restrictive abortion laws have often done so after recognizing an important fact, that criminalization does not stop abortions. It only determines whether they happen safely or unsafely.
Kessy, on the verge of succumbing to depression and taking drastic measures, eventually learned about safe medical abortion through a confidential counselling service. The information she received was calm, factual, and respectful, which was the opposite of the frightening stories she had encountered online.
For the first time since the pregnancy test turned positive, she felt a small sense of control.
As she sat in that quiet clinic, awaiting her turn to see a physician, the idea of seeking permission from the law to save her life and mental health weighed heavily on her. She thought of the various people who have walked this path, the decisions they were forced to make, amidst stigma and the heavy hand of the law. She thought deeply of those who “didn’t want to get caught” saving their own lives. She wondered what the point of being a woman was, and she was moved to tears.
Public health experts, legal scholars, and human rights advocates increasingly argue that reproductive health policies should prioritize access to accurate information, quality healthcare, and the dignity of women making complex decisions. Nigeria already has important policy frameworks supporting reproductive health, including commitments to maternal health, family planning access, and the protection of women’s wellbeing. We can do better by improving the legal environment surrounding abortion, which remains a source of contradiction.
Kessy lived to tell her story, unlike the many women and girls who have become statistics of maternal mortality.
Across Nigeria, conversations about abortion law reform, reproductive health access, and safe abortion information are slowly becoming more visible. Advocates, healthcare providers, and legal experts continue to call for policies that better reflect the realities women face and prioritize public health, because when women are forced into silence, society loses the opportunity to address the real challenges behind unintended pregnancies, from limited contraception access to gender inequality and economic vulnerability.
-Contributed by Media Health and Rights Initiative Team in Abuja, Nigeria.
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