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Abortion In Nigeria | Zikoko!
  • 7 Nigerian Women Talk About Life Post-Abortion

    A couple of weeks ago, I shared Alanna*’s story about how her teenage pregnancy and subsequent traumatic abortion still haunt her seven years later. Several ladies could relate to her story and reached out, wanting to share their post-abortion experiences as well.

    I decided to reach out to even more women, and here’s what seven of them had to say.

    Image source: Pexels

    “I think I’m being punished”

    — Ebi*, 52

    I had an abortion 20 years ago, and honestly, it was a rushed, emotional decision. I still blame myself, and I think I’m being punished because I’ve not had another pregnancy since.

    This is what happened: I was in a relationship with this man, and we were planning to get married. Then, I got pregnant. According to him, we had to push the wedding till after I gave birth because his culture frowned on pregnant brides. I agreed and moved in with him to have the baby while wedding plans were still undergoing. Four months into the pregnancy, I discovered I was expecting twins. At the same time, my fiance and I started having issues.

    To cut the story short, I had a surgical abortion at four and a half months because I didn’t want to go ahead with the marriage. It was in a hospital, but really hush-hush because it’s illegal. We broke up, and I later married someone else about six years later, but no child. Doctors say I have a depleted ovarian reserve, but if I didn’t have the abortion, I’d have two adult kids today.

    “It gave me a new lease on life”

    — Mercy*, 31

    I’m pro-life, and I sometimes feel guilty about my abortion, but it gave me a new lease on life. 

    I had it three years ago, a year into my marriage. It was an abusive union — the abuse started four months after we got married — and I was already planning how to exit when I found myself pregnant. I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t want anyone to try to change my mind. I’d already waited almost eight months for him to change, and I knew having a child with him would bind me to him forever. I didn’t want to end up being yet another figure on the list of domestic violence victims.

    I got the abortion pill and did it within two weeks of finding out I was pregnant. It felt like really bad menstrual cramps, and I bled a lot, but it wasn’t so bad. I got better the next day and packed out the week after. I’m free. 

    “I don’t even think about them”

    — Anne*, 27

    I’ve had two pill abortions, both for the same ex-boyfriend. Each time, I thought I’d feel guilty about the babies, maybe because of how people try to bad-mouth abortions, but I don’t even think about them.

    It was a choice we both made because we weren’t ready to be parents — we weren’t even thinking about marriage. I’m now more attentive to birth control and contraceptives, so I don’t have to go down that route again. But if I get pregnant by mistake, I’ll abort again.

    “The depression is real”

    — Dany*, 34

    I don’t think we talk enough about the depression that comes after having an abortion. It’s real.

    I got pregnant at 25, after my boyfriend raped me in the university. I confided in my best friend because there was no way in hell I could tell my parents.

    She took me to a clinic, and they gave me two options: D&C or the pill. I was really paranoid about doing a surgical procedure because it seemed like the easiest way to lose my womb, so I opted for the pill. It was horrible. I bled terribly and still had to do the D&C two weeks later after all, because the pill didn’t evacuate the pregnancy completely. I still had symptoms. 

    For three weeks after the whole ordeal, I kept seeing babies in my dream, and I was depressed for a really long time. I’m married now and have one child, but I can’t forget the one I didn’t allow to live. 


    RELATED: What She Said: I Had an Abortion, I Regretted It


    “I wouldn’t advise anyone to do it”

    — Sade*, 41

    I’ve had two abortions; one while I was single, and the other after giving birth to my four children (my husband and I couldn’t afford a fifth), but I wouldn’t advise anyone to do it.

    It’s too risky, and I know many women who’ve had complications because they had to do it under the table since abortion is still illegal in Nigeria. No standard doctor would want to do it because they’d risk losing their license, so we’re left with the ones who just don’t care. I’m just lucky not to have had any complications.

    My first abortion was done traditionally. A local midwife inserted a leaf in my vagina, and within six hours, I started bleeding. My husband and I had to bribe a doctor to help us with the second one. I was scared, but I already have four children; there’s nothing I’m using the womb to do again. Thankfully, it went well, and I fully recovered within three days.

    “It shouldn’t stop you from having kids”

    — Mina*, 20

    I had a pill abortion at 19, and only my girlfriends knew. One of them was heavily against it, though. She said she had a dream that I couldn’t have more children. I’m still in school and can’t even provide for myself talk more of a baby, so it was the sensible thing to do. I tried not to take her seriously and went ahead with it, but it was eating me up for a while. So a few months ago, I went to a gynaecologist for a full check-up.

    The doctor confirmed all was well and emphasised that an abortion, when done properly, shouldn’t stop you from having kids. I think most people are scared because there’s so much misinformation in Nigeria.

    “I think I died”

    — Sophie*, 29

    I’ve had an IUD since I was 24, so I was really surprised when I got pregnant in 2022. I told my boyfriend; the goat ghosted me. I got information online and bought an abortion pill because single parenthood isn’t in my dictionary.

    I took the pill and mentally prepared myself, but I think I died. I blacked out for about three hours and woke up bleeding. I’m not sure what happened. Maybe I got dizzy and fainted, but I lost about three hours. I bled for two days, did another pregnancy test after a week, and it came back negative.

    A part of me feels I should’ve kept the baby. I’m pushing 30, after all. I feel guilty whenever I see a pregnant woman on Instagram, but we move. Being a single mother would hurt my chances of getting into a serious relationship even further. 


    *Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity.


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  • 4 Nigerian Women On How Nigeria’s Abortion Laws Have Affected Them

    In June 2020, just when the lockdown regulations were wearing off in most parts of the country, Sandra* discovered she was pregnant. The 21-year-old remembered feeling shocked as she had taken a post-pill the day after she had sex with her ex-partner. She also understood, being in her early twenties, still in school and living with her single mother, that she couldn’t keep the pregnancy. 

    “The day I found out was the day I took it out,” Sandra* tells Zikoko. “ I think the stressful part was finding a place to get it done. My ex suggested someone who was going to give me something to drink but the idea didn’t go down well with me. Then I remembered a friend in my hostel whose friend had gotten an abortion, and she connected me with a doctor in Benin. Luckily for me, the doctor was nice. He actually said his goal is to destigmatise abortion, so he put me through the two types (medical and vacuum) and I opted for the surgical process. The process lasted like 5 minutes. It wasn’t as bad as I had imagined and that’s why I’m telling my story. Women need to know that it’s actually an easy process when done right.”

    25-year-old Uloma* found out she was pregnant on February 25th, 2019. She had been certain the symptoms she felt were indicative of her period, which was also supposed to start around that time. Uloma*, along with a friend, proceeded to call all the health workers she knew.  

    “First, I was afraid that abortions in the hospitals were unsafe and wouldn’t be done with the latest medical tools — it isn’t practised here so doctors wouldn’t have evolved. For example, who still does D and C for early pregnancies? Why that? I was also scared that they would call the police on me or ask for spousal consent or something funny. Of course, it would have been easier to find a place if the laws were different, places where reproductive rights are taken seriously and abortion is legal. Wouldn’t be doing James Bond for pills if it was that case,” says Uloma*. She finally settled on taking a pill, which took a lot of research and connections to get.

    Lola*, 28, who has had an abortion in London, attests to the importance of safe and legal facilities to carry out the procedure. “I was offered therapy and gained considerable compassion from my university, which supported me academically and financially through the situation. My friend’s situation in Nigeria was far more secretive and expensive. I practically had luxury compared to her. She had to go through the backdoors of a clinic and her university work was interrupted. I’m not sure how well she was able to do in her studies. How emotionally, physically, and financially taxing it was for her was not comparable to my situation,” Lola* tells us.

    Legalities of Abortion in Nigeria

    Abortion is currently illegal in Nigeria. Sections 228-230 of the Criminal Code, which applies in the southern states of Nigeria, provides that any person involved in the abortion procedure is guilty of a felony. Timinepre Cole, a legal practitioner, and writer who has covered abortion rights in Nigeria explains that persons who carry out the procedure will be imprisoned for 14 years and persons who aid and abet abortion procedures will be imprisoned for three years. 

    “Women who abort are also guilty of a felony, which is punishable by imprisonment for seven years. Sections 32-234 of the Penal Code assume a similar position in northern states, prescribing punishments ranging from fines to imprisonment for offences relating to abortion,” she says. 

    The only instance when abortion is allowed in Nigeria is if having that child puts the life of the mother in danger, thus erasing instances where the woman got pregnant through sexual assault or simply does not have the social and mental capital to rear a child.

    A major factor as to why abortion remains illegal despite its overpowering necessity, seeing as unsafe abortions contribute to Nigeria’s high maternal mortality rate, points to the country’s conservative views. “Religion and purity culture for one affects how we view abortion in Nigeria and having an abortion does not conform to the accepted standards of morality and chastity prescribed for women,” Timinepre says.

    26-year-old Mink*, a healthcare professional who has been able to access safe abortion methods through the help of her work, also believes that the current laws in place are helping unsafe abortion processes thrive. “They make safe abortions hard to access. Most hospitals in Lagos don’t offer the service.

    So women opt to have it done by untrained people under very unhygienic methods. This increases the risk of complications and death. To buy the pills from pharmacies, you have to know who to ask. I’m lucky because I have friends that are pharmacists, so they can get it for me. Most people don’t have that luxury, and I hate it.”

    The conservative views trickle down to the health sectors, where women who go to have safe abortions are judged and ridiculed. In Sandra’s case, for example, even though the doctor who attended to her was professional, the nurses were less so. “They gave me judgemental looks and were talking about how I needed forgiveness. Immediately after my surgery, not even up to a minute, a nurse brought the fetus and shoved it in my face saying, “See your baby”. I didn’t answer. Then she said she was going to throw it away. I just did not mind her. It was later that I noticed that, omo, that image did not leave my head.”

    Fighting for Abortion Rights in Nigeria.

    “It’s been crazy, but I don’t regret any bit of it. It’s a sensitive, money-consuming albeit worthy cause to advocate for, considering the type of country we find ourselves in.” Jekein Lato-Unah, visual artist and women’s rights activist shares with us what it means to fight for abortion rights in Nigeria.  “I mostly pay out-of-pocket for these procedures, follow them to the clinics, check on them afterwards especially if the person is a survivor of rape. I don’t profit from assisting women with safe abortion practices done by qualified medical practitioners, yet I’ve had people try to set me up, set the medical professionals up, publish the numbers of doctors that assist the women that come to me, made false accusations against me along the lines of sending women to their deaths & profiting off their predicament.” 

    For Iwatutu Joyce, programme lead, African Girl Child Development, and Support Initiative, other huge roadblocks to improving abortion rights apart from funding also rest in socio-cultural behaviours, acceptance, and a low level of education on the subject. “The knowledge gap affects the work that I do. Schools in Nigeria do not provide comprehensive information on this very important subject. They only limit it to modified versions and make it hard for young women to know what they need to about abortions in a safe and healthy manner. And because adolescents are not covered under the law when it comes to accessing reproductive healthcare services, they are required to get parental consent.”

    But Jekein believes that for a considerable shift to happen, the healthcare sector has to lobby for a change in the current law and to improve education on abortion. “Unfortunately, the problem with this is medical practitioners are also influenced by faux morals, culture, and religion, even though their utmost concern should be the choice and well-being of their patients as well as every other person, and not what their culture or religion permits. I believe the number of medical practitioners that want abortions decriminalized is significantly less than those who are vehemently against it.”

    Edited by Ope Adedeji and Ruth Zakari.