Man Remanded for Allegedly K!lling Wife Over Refusal to Make Kuli-Kuli

It began like any other morning in Goda village — a quiet farming community in the Shanono Local Government Area of Kano State, where the rhythm of life is marked by the rising sun, the hum of grinding stones, and the aroma of roasted groundnuts. But on that fateful day, domestic routine turned deadly.

A woman, Aisha Idris, was brut@lly k!lled — allegedly by her husband, Idris Kurma — because she refused to grind groundnuts to make kuli-kuli, a traditional Northern snack. What began as a simple domestic disagreement spiraled into a fatal act of violence that has since sent shockwaves across the region and reignited national conversations about patriarchy, poverty, and the culture of silence around domestic abuse in rural Nigeria.

Residents of Goda still speak in hushed tones when recounting what happened. Aisha, known for her cheerful smile and industrious nature, had reportedly told her husband that she was exhausted after working in the field earlier that day. According to neighbours, Idris had demanded that she grind groundnuts that evening to make kuli-kuli, a crunchy snack made from roasted groundnuts and enjoyed across Northern Nigeria.

When she hesitated — saying she would do it the next morning — witnesses claimed that Idris’s temper flared. In what neighbours described as a “fit of rage,” he allegedly struck her multiple times before she collapsed.

Aisha was later confirmed dead. The quiet of the village turned to chaos. Mothers wailed, elders shook their heads, and children looked on in disbelief. In a society where domestic issues are often “handled within the home,” this death crossed a line that could no longer be ignored.

Following the incident, local vigilantes and police officers from the Shanono Divisional Command swiftly arrested Idris Kurma and transferred him to the Kano State Criminal Investigation Department.

On Thursday, October 31, 2025, he was arraigned before Justice Musa Dahiru of the Kano State High Court on a one-count charge of culpable homicide, contrary to Section 221 of the Penal Code.

The charge read in court stated:

“That you, Idris Kurma, on or about the 14th day of October 2025 at Goda village, Shanono Local Government Area, did cause the death of your wife, one Aisha Idris, by beating her with intent to cause her death, and thereby committed an offence punishable under Section 221 of the Penal Code.”

The accused pleaded not guilty.

Inside the packed courtroom, a heavy silence filled the air. Idris, a lean man in his late thirties, stood in the dock wearing a faded brown kaftan. His eyes, restless but subdued, flicked briefly toward the gallery where two of Aisha’s relatives sat — her younger brother and a distant cousin. Neither returned his gaze.

Prosecution counsel Barrister Lamido Abba Soron Dinki, a seasoned state prosecutor, read the charges and immediately requested an adjournment to prepare witnesses. He noted that the state would be calling at least five witnesses, including neighbours, local police officers, and the medical examiner who conducted Aisha’s autopsy.

The defence counsel, a court-appointed lawyer, requested that the accused be remanded pending trial. Justice Dahiru obliged, ordering that Idris be remanded in Kano Correctional Centre and adjourning the case to December 12, 2025, for continuation of hearing.

The judge’s words were brief but powerful:

“This is a case that touches the sanctity of life. The law will take its full course.

At the heart of this tragedy lies a food item that has deep cultural and economic significance in Northern Nigeria — kuli-kuli. Made from groundnuts, salt, pepper, and spices, the snack is fried into crispy shapes and sold in local markets and along highways. It is both a source of nutrition and livelihood, particularly for rural women who make and sell it to support their families.

For many women in rural Kano, kuli-kuli production is their main source of daily income. They buy groundnuts from local farmers, grind them manually or with rudimentary machines, and fry the mixture into crunchy bars or balls. Profits are small but consistent, often helping to pay for children’s school fees or household necessities.

In Aisha’s case, it was a task she performed regularly — part of the domestic and economic burden many northern women carry quietly. But on that day, fatigue, frustration, and perhaps a sense of being overworked led her to resist. That act of resistance, however ordinary, became fatal.

Days after the incident, Goda village remained wrapped in sorrow. The dusty roads were quiet; women covered their heads in black scarves; men gathered in small clusters at the mosque, murmuring prayers for Aisha’s soul.

At her family compound, her mother, Hajia Zainab, spoke between sobs:

“She was my first daughter. She worked so hard. Even when she was sick, she would still go to the farm or fry kuli-kuli. I never thought this would be how her story ends.”

Her brother, Suleiman, was more direct, his voice trembling with anger:

“We grew up seeing men beat their wives here. People would say, ‘it’s normal, it’s discipline.’ But look at where that ‘discipline’ has brought us — to the grave.”

His words pierced through the communal silence that often blankets domestic violence in northern communities.

Sociologists and rights advocates argue that Aisha’s death reflects a larger pattern of gender-based violence, especially in rural parts of Nigeria’s North-West and North-Central regions.

According to a 2024 report by the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) and UN Women, nearly 37% of married women in Northern Nigeria have experienced physical or psychological abuse from their spouses. However, fewer than 10% report such cases to authorities.

The reasons are complex — cultural norms, religious misinterpretations, economic dependence, and fear of social stigma. In many Hausa-speaking communities, domestic matters are considered private. Women who speak out are often accused of “disrespecting their husbands” or “bringing shame” to their families.

Dr. Safiya Gambo, a gender sociologist at Bayero University, Kano, explains:

“Violence is often normalized as a method of control in patriarchal households. When poverty and stress are added to the equation, tempers explode. What happened in Goda is not isolated — it’s a symptom of a society where women’s labor is taken for granted, and their pain is unseen.”

Beyond cultural norms, economic pressure plays a huge role in many domestic conflicts. With inflation rising and rural poverty deepening, men often project frustration onto their wives.

A 2025 economic survey by the National Population Commission revealed that Kano State ranks among the top five states in Nigeria with the highest levels of rural poverty. Most families in villages like Goda depend on subsistence farming, small-scale trading, or seasonal labor.

For many households, even grinding groundnuts is not a trivial act — it’s tied to income, survival, and the daily struggle for sustenance. When wives resist such tasks, husbands may interpret it not as fatigue, but as defiance.

An elder in the community, Malam Bashir, shared this view soberly:

“Men are under pressure. Some have no money, no land, no job. When a wife refuses to do something small, it feels like disrespect. But we must learn that anger destroys everything.”

The charge brought against Idris Kurma — culpable homicide punishable with death — falls under Section 221 of the Penal Code, which applies in Northern Nigeria.

The section states that:

“Whoever commits culpable homicide punishable with death shall be punished with death.”

However, in practical terms, many homicide cases in Northern Nigeria end with reduced sentences or plea bargains, especially where intent is contested or evidence is circumstantial. Prosecutors must prove beyond reasonable doubt that the accused intended to cause death or knew that his actions were likely to cause death.

In this case, legal analysts believe the prosecution’s task will hinge on eyewitness testimonies and medical evidence confirming the cause of Aisha’s death.

Barrister Soron Dinki, speaking outside the court, said:

“The state will ensure that justice is done. This is not just about one woman — it is about setting a precedent that life must be respected, no matter how poor or remote the village.”

Aisha’s death is part of a disturbing rise in domestic homicides across Nigeria. In 2024 alone, over 680 women were reported killed by intimate partners, according to data compiled by CLEEN Foundation and the Federal Ministry of Women Affairs. Most of these cases occurred in low-income or rural households where women’s rights awareness is minimal.

In Kaduna, a man was sentenced to life imprisonment in May 2025 for stabbing his wife to death after she refused to cook yam. In Sokoto, another woman was beaten into a coma for disobeying her husband’s order to stop working at a tailoring shop.

Human rights lawyer Inibehe Effiong, commenting on these incidents, said:

“These are not isolated events. They are by-products of structural inequality — where women’s autonomy is crushed, and violence becomes a language of control.”

At Shanono main market, where Aisha often sold kuli-kuli, her absence is still felt. Fellow traders describe her as hardworking and kind. Fatima Bala, who shared a stall with her, said:

“We used to fry together and talk about our children. That day she was tired, she told me her hands were paining her. I told her to rest. Now she is gone.”

Another trader, Rabiatu, added:

“We are not safe. Many of us endure beating every day. We need people to come and teach our men that anger is not strength.”

Their voices, trembling yet defiant, highlight the silent suffering endured by thousands of women whose labor keeps rural economies alive.

The case has sparked debate among Islamic scholars and traditional leaders in Kano. Many have condemned the act, urging men to exercise patience and compassion in marriage.

Imam Haruna Musa, of Shanono Central Mosque, addressed his congregation:

“Islam does not permit violence against women. The Prophet (peace be upon him) never raised his hand against his wives. We must return to mercy, not anger.”

Traditional ruler District Head of Shanono, Alhaji Abdulkadir Sule, has also pledged to work with women’s groups to launch awareness campaigns on domestic peace and mutual respect in households.

Several NGOs, including the Kano Women Development Initiative (KWDI) and Global Rights Nigeria, have called for the swift prosecution of the case. KWDI’s Director, Hafsat Garba, stated:

“Aisha’s case must not be buried under silence. We will follow this trial until justice is delivered. Rural women deserve protection and respect.”

The group has also started a community outreach program in Shanono to educate both men and women on conflict resolution, gender equality, and the legal implications of domestic assault.

The story, first reported by Linda Ikeji’s Blog, quickly went viral on Nigerian social media platforms. Thousands of comments poured in, many expressing anger and disbelief that a life could be lost over something as trivial as kuli-kuli.

Hashtags like #JusticeForAisha and #EndDomesticViolenceNow trended for days, drawing attention to the pervasive issue of intimate partner violence in Nigeria.

A popular X (formerly Twitter) user wrote:

“She said she was tired. He said it was disrespect. This is not culture; this is cruelty.”

Experts argue that what happened to Aisha underscores a broader systemic invisibility of women’s labour in Nigerian households. Tasks like cooking, farming, grinding grains, and childcare are seen as “duty,” not “work,” despite their immense economic value.

A 2023 UNDP report estimated that unpaid care work by Nigerian women contributes over ₦25 trillion annually to the national economy — yet, this labour remains unrecognized and unprotected.

Dr. Gambo observes:

“Aisha’s refusal to grind groundnuts was not defiance; it was exhaustion. But in a culture where women cannot say ‘I am tired,’ silence becomes a survival strategy.”

Aisha left behind three children — all under the age of 10. They are now under the care of her mother, Hajia Zainab, who has become both caregiver and mourner.

She said softly:

“They ask me, ‘Where is Mama?’ and I cannot answer. How do you tell children that their father killed their mother? How?”

The children now live in a small mud house at the edge of the village. Local women take turns bringing them food. For them, the word “kuli-kuli” will forever mean something more than a snack — it will be a reminder of loss.

The Kano State Ministry of Women Affairs has promised to assist the family and to provide legal follow-up on the case. Commissioner Hajia Lami Yusuf announced plans to establish a Rural Women’s Safety Desk in partnership with local governments.

She said:

“We cannot continue to normalize the killing of women over domestic disputes. Aisha’s story must lead to reform.”

There are also calls for the Domestication of the Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act (VAPP) in all Northern states. While Kano has yet to fully adopt the law, activists argue it could provide a stronger legal framework for addressing cases like Aisha’s.

As Idris Kurma awaits trial in the Kano Correctional Centre, his fate now lies in the slow but deliberate hands of the justice system. The case is expected to draw national attention during hearings, as prosecutors build their argument around intent and brutality.

Legal analysts predict that, if convicted, Idris could face the death penalty or life imprisonment, depending on the court’s final determination.

But for Aisha’s family, justice is not merely a sentence — it is a recognition that her life mattered.

As the sun sets over the farmlands of Shanono, smoke rises again from clay stoves. Women grind groundnuts, cook dinner, and prepare for another day. But in every corner, there is a whisper — a quiet fear that tomorrow, another quarrel might end in tragedy.

Aisha’s death is more than a crime story. It is a mirror held up to a nation’s conscience — forcing Nigerians to confront how deeply ingrained violence and gender inequality have become.

In the final analysis, her story asks a painful question:
When will women’s exhaustion be seen as human, not defiant?