My Husband B3ats Me and Starves Me of S3x – Divorce-Seeking Woman Tells Court
Marriage, for many Nigerians, is not just a private contract between two individuals but a deeply social and cultural union that carries the weight of family expectations, religious obligations, and societal scrutiny. For Jennifer Ojeka, a woman from Benue State, her marriage was supposed to be a sanctuary — a place of love, intimacy, and shared dreams. Instead, according to her testimony before an Upper Area Court in Makurdi, it became a theater of pain, physical abuse, and emotional deprivation.
In a country where divorce remains stigmatized, especially for women, Jennifer’s decision to speak up in a court of law and seek the dissolution of her marriage is not just a personal act of self-preservation but a profound commentary on how Nigerian society must confront domestic violence, marital neglect, and the still-taboo subject of s3xual rights within marriage.
This report takes you beyond the courtroom judgment to examine the legal framework governing divorce in Nigeria, the social and religious implications of dissolving a marriage, the mental and physical health consequences of abuse, and what Jennifer’s case tells us about the changing face of gender relations in Nigeria.
Jennifer Ojeka approached the Upper Area Court sitting in Makurdi with a petition for divorce against her husband, Joseph Ojeka. Her petition, supported by oral testimony, alleged that Joseph physically assaulted her at any slight provocation, leaving her in fear for her safety, denied her conjugal rights and used s3x as a tool of control, and failed to honor marital obligations, leading to an irretrievable breakdown of their union.
Jennifer told the court that she had tried to make the marriage work through dialogue, prayer, and interventions from family members, but all efforts were in vain.
The court noted that Joseph, the respondent, refused to appear in person despite being served with summons. Instead, he merely sent an account number where his bride price could be refunded, signaling his tacit acceptance of the divorce.
Presiding judge Rose Iyorshe ruled that the marriage had broken down beyond repair, citing irreconcilable differences, persistent abuse, and neglect of conjugal duties as sufficient grounds for dissolution under the Calabar marriage law and custom, which governed the union.
The judge ordered Jennifer to return the bride price — a customary requirement symbolizing the formal end of the marriage — and declared the marriage legally dissolved.
Jennifer’s case highlights the sometimes-complex intersection between customary law, statutory law, and religious expectations in Nigeria. Nigeria operates a plural legal system, where marriage can be contracted under customary law, statutory law, or religious law.
In this case, because Jennifer and Joseph’s marriage was under the Calabar marriage law and custom, the court had to apply customary legal principles to determine the dissolution process. Bride price refund is one of the hallmarks of this process — without it, a woman is often considered still “married” under custom even if she has separated from her husband physically.
Jennifer’s testimony sheds light on an issue that remains disturbingly common: domestic violence. According to research by the National Demographic and Health Survey, at least 30% of Nigerian women have experienced physical violence by a spouse or partner. Yet, most cases go unreported due to fear of stigma, economic dependency on the abusive spouse, pressure from extended family to stay and “endure,” and religious counsel that frames divorce as sinful or dishonorable.
Jennifer’s courage to speak up represents a growing shift in Nigerian society where women are less willing to suffer in silence and are increasingly turning to courts for redress.
While public conversations on domestic violence are growing louder, marital neglect and deprivation of intimacy remain less discussed, yet they are legally significant. Nigerian family law recognizes denial of conjugal rights as one of the grounds for divorce. This is because s3xual intimacy is considered an essential part of the marriage contract.
Jennifer’s claim that she was starved of s3x underscores the psychological abuse that can come from a spouse deliberately withholding intimacy as a form of punishment or control. Family law experts note that such behavior can be classified as emotional cruelty, which has severe effects on mental health, including depression, anxiety, and feelings of rejection.
The judge’s order that Jennifer refund the bride price reopens the ongoing debate about whether bride price perpetuates women’s subordination. Critics argue that bride price reinforces the perception that women are “property” purchased by their husbands, discourages women from leaving abusive marriages because families feel compelled to repay what was given, and enables men to feel “entitled” to obedience, including over women’s bodies.
However, defenders of the practice say it is a symbolic gesture of respect to the bride’s family and helps formalize marriage. Jennifer’s case shows both sides of the argument: the return of the bride price freed her legally, but the process itself may have felt transactional, reducing a complex emotional journey to a financial settlement.
Domestic abuse does not just leave physical scars; it deeply affects survivors’ mental health, self-esteem, and trust in relationships. Experts say victims of abuse often go through hypervigilance, shame and guilt, isolation, and trauma bonding that keeps them attached to the abuser due to cycles of abuse and reconciliation.
Jennifer’s statement that she had “tried everything possible” suggests she likely went through cycles of hope and despair before choosing divorce as her last resort.
In the past, women who divorced were often ostracized and branded as disobedient. But Nigerian society is slowly changing. Social media platforms now amplify survivor stories, sparking conversations about the need for women to leave toxic marriages rather than “die in silence.”
Jennifer’s case may encourage other women in similar situations to seek legal help rather than endure abuse.
Jennifer’s case raises critical policy questions about how Nigeria addresses domestic violence and protects women. Recommendations include strengthening implementation of the VAPP Act, providing free legal aid, establishing safe shelters, mandatory counseling for abusers, and public awareness campaigns that destigmatize divorce and teach that marriage is not a license for abuse.
Jennifer Ojeka’s story is one of courage and liberation. Her decision to take her pain to court and seek justice is a bold declaration that marriage should not be a prison. It is a call to Nigerian society to rethink harmful cultural norms that force women to remain in abusive homes.
Her victory in court is not just a legal triumph but a moral statement: women have the right to safety, dignity, and intimacy within marriage — and when those are denied, they have the right to walk away.