Lukman Abdulmalik
On a certain Friday, when 28-year-old Musa Kabir forgot to bring home kerosene one evening, he never imagined it would end with a slap so hard that his ear rang for hours.
Sitting on a wooden stool outside his small metal workshop in Kofar Kansakali, Dala Local Government Area of Kano State, Musa recalls the night with quiet disbelief.
“It shocked me. I just stood there. I didn’t believe what had happened,” he says softly.
Musa has been married to Zainab Hamidu, originally from Gusau, Zamfara state for four years, the couple has two children.
He says they married for love, but what started as minor arguments about money gradually spiraled into insults, slaps, and, blows.
“She said I wasn’t man enough because she earned more from selling clothes.
“When I tried to stop her from taking my workshop savings, she threw a knife.
“That’s when I realized it had gone too far,” Musa recalls.
Yet, he kept silent.
He says, “If I report, my relatives and people will laugh at me.
“They’ll say, ‘Musa, you let a woman beat you?
According to Musa, this was not the first time his wife had assaulted him.
He explains, “One evening, she confronted me because I didn’t bring enough money for food because business was slow that day, but before I could explain, she started yelling and hitting me.
“I just left the house and went to my uncle’s place.”
On a busy Saturday afternoon, Stallion Times try to reached out to Zainab at her small clothing shop in Kofar Ruwa Market, where she sells clothes.
Her husband denied access for conversation due to customs and traditions.
His brief but tense reaction reflected the discomfort that often surrounds discussions of domestic disputes in conservative communities, where issues of violence, shame, and reputation are tightly woven into the fabric of family life.
In northern Nigeria, stories like Musa’s are rarely told.
The idea that a man can be a victim of domestic abuse challenges deep-rooted notions of masculinity.
Dr. Aisha Bello, a clinical psychologist in Kano, says, “Men are victims of domestic violence too, but the culture of silence is strong.
“Many suffer emotional and physical abuse but won’t seek help because society doesn’t believe men can be victims.”
Dr. Bello explains that most male survivors who eventually seek therapy first complain about stress, insomnia, or high blood pressure before revealing the abuse they endure at home.
“The trauma festers under pride and denial. A man would rather suffer in silence than be called weak,” she says.
The Data Behind the Silence
While women and girls remain the majority of gender-based violence (GBV) victims in Nigeria, emerging data shows that men also suffer.
A nationwide review by Purple Lifeline Connection, a crisis-support NGO, found that one in four Nigerian men has experienced some form of domestic abuse, ranging from emotional manipulation to physical assault.
On 15 December 2024, Daily Trust reports that the National Human Rights Commission office in Kano say it received 1,600 SGBV-related complaints showing a five to six percent increase compared to 2023.
Dr. Abba Inuwa, a public health researcher at Bayero University, Kano, says, “These men who are being abused by their wives exist.
“They are invisible in our data because our systems recognize only female victims.”
“Even the Police Laughed at Me”
After one particularly violent fight that left him with a swollen lip, Musa decided to report the incident to a nearby police outpost.
“They laughed at me. They told me, ‘Go and control your wife. Are you afraid of her?’ I left feeling smaller than I had ever felt,” he says bitterly.
According to Barrister Sulaiman Abaya, a Kano-based human rights lawyer, such responses are common.
He explains that the system is not built to recognize male victims.
“The Violence Against Persons Prohibition (VAPP) Act protects everyone on paper, but implementation is gendered. From police to shelters, everything is designed for women.”
Experts, however, believe many male survivors remain unreported and uncounted.
The Weight of Masculinity
The cultural expectation for men to always appear “strong” compounds their suffering.
Dr. Bello says, “It’s not just physical violence; men also face emotional abuse, humiliation in public, manipulation through threats, or false accusations.
“But they rarely talk about it for fear of ridicule.”
Musa knows this too well. “She calls me ‘useless’ in front of neighbours,” he says quietly.
“Sometimes she locks me out. I sleep outside until morning. I feel like I don’t exist.”
Emerging Voices for Change
A few organizations are beginning to challenge this silence.
Purple Lifeline Connection, founded by activist Halima Odiegwu, offers discreet counselling for men, mostly through anonymous phone calls.
Odiegwu says, “When we began, people mocked the idea; they said, ‘Men don’t need counselling.’ But within months, we started getting calls from men who were beaten, humiliated, and emotionally broken.”
In Kano, the Centre for Information Technology and Development (CITAD) is also pushing for gender-neutral GBV reforms.
Its research shows that both men and women experience violence in homes, schools, and workplaces.
CITAD now trains community leaders to recognize all forms of abuse, regardless of the victim’s gender.
For unreported cases, agencies like CITAD are using technology (mobile apps, web platforms) to allow survivors to report more safely.
Experts Call for Broader Reforms
Dr. Inuwa believes Nigeria must approach violence as a public health issue, not just a women’s rights concern.
“Every survivor deserves help,” he says. “When we exclude men, we allow trauma to pass silently from one generation to another.”
He advocates better data collection, gender-neutral hotlines, and GBV education in schools.
“Empathy is the first step toward prevention,” he adds.
These days, Musa spends his evenings at his workshop, fixing lanterns and window frames long after sunset.
Wiping grease from his hands, he says, “It’s peaceful here when I am working, I forget everything.”
He has not left his wife, fearing family backlash and community shame, but he dreams of a day when men like him can speak without fear.
Softly, he says, “I don’t want pity, I just want people to understand that men can hurt too.”
Musa’s story is not just his own; it represents countless others hidden behind closed doors.
Recognizing male survivors does not diminish women’s suffering; it strengthens the collective fight against all forms of abuse.
As Kano continues its struggle against gender-based violence, Musa’s quiet voice echoes through its crowded streets, a reminder that abuse knows no gender, and silence only deepens the scars.
GBV: Break the Silence. End the Violence.
