How Nigerian Women Pay the Price for Infertility Because Of Wombs on Trial

"They say I am the reason God closed our home to children," Juliet whispers, eyes fixed on the cracked concrete beneath her feet. “But nobody has ever asked my husband to get tested.”

At 35, Juliet has been called many names — barren, cursed, incomplete. Her crime? Eight years of marriage without a child.

In her southsouthern village, that makes her less than a woman. Less than a wife. In some eyes, less than human.

Yet she is not alone.
Across Nigeria, from Lagos high-rises to rural hamlets, millions of women live under quiet siege — condemned not by science, but by culture, ignorance, and deep-rooted patriarchy that sees infertility as a woman’s shame, regardless of the facts.

But the facts are staggering — and irrefutable.

The Science: A Shared Responsibility
Globally, infertility affects 1 in 6 people. According to the World Health Organization, male factors contribute to nearly 50% of infertility cases. In some regions, including Sub-Saharan Africa, the male contribution may be even higher — due to untreated infections, poor semen quality, and environmental factors.

Yet in Nigeria, infertility is almost exclusively seen as a woman’s failure.

Dr. Amaka Onwuli, a gynecologist in Abuja, calls it "medical gaslighting on a societal scale."

“When a couple can’t conceive, the woman is subjected to invasive tests, prayers, even exorcisms. The man, meanwhile, is congratulated on his patience.”

Many men refuse to be tested, fearing the results could damage their masculinity. Some even fake semen test results, knowing that the blame will always fall elsewhere.

The Stigma That Bleeds
The stigma surrounding infertility in Nigeria is both cruel and enduring. Women are branded as witches, prostitutes, or spiritually cursed. Some are beaten, divorced, or disinherited.

In certain communities, women who fail to conceive are excluded from burial rites, family gatherings, and communal leadership.

“They told me I brought bad blood into the family,” says Bimpe, a 42-year-old teacher whose husband left her after five years of childlessness. “His new wife got pregnant two years later. But no one knows — she had IVF with donor sperm. His sperm count was zero.”

Even when male infertility is confirmed, women are often pressured to keep the secret, to protect their husband’s honor, and suffer in silence.

The result is a crushing emotional toll. Studies link infertility in Nigerian women to clinical depression, suicidal ideation, and chronic anxiety.

The Real Fertility Crisis
At the 2025 World Population Day event in Calabar, the National Population Commission (NPC) broke its silence:

“It is unfortunate that women are unfairly blamed for infertility in Nigeria,” said Alex Ukam, NPC Federal Commissioner for Cross River.

“We must begin to challenge this narrative with facts, empathy, and dignity.”

The theme of this year’s observance — “The Real Fertility Crisis: The Pursuit of Reproductive Health Agency” — reflects a shift in global thinking. The issue isn’t just population numbers, but whether individuals have the power, freedom, and resources to make informed reproductive choices.

The data is worrying. Fertility rates are dropping — not just due to biology, but rising unemployment, insecurity, and lack of affordable healthcare, especially for young Nigerians.

“The real crisis is not the number of births,” said Andrew Kirima of UNFPA, “but the number of people who don’t have agency over their reproductive lives.”

A Culture That Refuses to Look Inward

Despite overwhelming evidence, many families and religious institutions cling to damaging beliefs. In some churches, infertile women are made to confess “hidden abortions.” In others, they are told to sow seeds of faith, sometimes amounting to months of salary.

In polygamous households, women are pitted against each other like contestants in a cruel lottery — with motherhood as the prize. Those who don’t win are discarded.

And in-laws, emboldened by culture and silence, often lead the charge.

“His mother told me to leave quietly so her son could try again,” says Grace, 39, who endured six failed IVF cycles. “But he was never tested. Never. The problem was never me.”

Toward Justice and Healing

But experts say policy without cultural change is hollow.

“We need to break this monopoly of blame,” says Dr. Onwuli. “That starts with educating men and women, especially in faith-based and traditional institutions, that infertility is a shared issue — not a gendered crime.”

It also means making fertility care affordable. Most fertility clinics in Nigeria are private and prohibitively expensive. IVF costs upwards of ₦1.5 million ($1,500) per cycle — far beyond the reach of most citizens.

Access must be matched with protection. Laws should safeguard the rights of infertile women — especially in marriage, inheritance, and property ownership.

What If We Believed Women?
What if, instead of shaming women for childlessness, we stood by them?

What if, instead of questioning their womanhood, we questioned a culture that demands motherhood as the price of identity?

What if men took the test — and took responsibility?

Juliet is still waiting. Not just for a child, but for a country that will see her differently.

“Maybe I’ll be a mother. Maybe not. But I deserve peace. I deserve respect. I deserve to be whole.”

Until then, too many wombs across Nigeria remain on trial — judged, punished, and silenced — for a verdict that was never theirs to bear alone.

•Onwumere is Chairman Advocacy Network On Religious And Cultural Coexistence (ANORACC)

Writer’s Note:

This article was produced with support from reproductive health experts, testimonies from fertility patients, and data from the National Population Commission (NPC), the UNFPA, and the WHO. Some names have been changed to protect privacy.

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