suicide in Nigeria

Monday night. A young student scrolls through her phone, reading about yet another classmate who attempted suicide. She stares at the screen long after, heart pounding, not just from grief or fear, but from wondering: If I ever get to that place, will I be helped… or arrested?

In Nigeria, people who survive suicide attempts can still be arrested. Imagine that, waking up in a hospital after trying to end your pain, only to face the threat of jail instead of therapy.

A Country in Crisis, Still Pretending Everything Is Fine

Mental health is slowly finding its way into national conversations, but the statistics are loud enough to drown out the silence. According to WHO, around twenty million Nigerians live with mental health conditions. Thousands die by suicide every year, while hundreds of thousands more attempt it and survive. Yet, barely a fraction ever receive care.

Experts have long said the problem is not only access, but attitude. Nigeria has fewer than two hundred psychiatrists serving over two hundred million people, and most of those professionals are concentrated in urban centres. In other words, a country where young people are drowning in economic stress, loneliness, and anxiety has almost no lifeguards.

Still, the law acts as if the real issue is morality. Under sections of the nation’s Penal and Criminal Codes, attempting suicide is a criminal offence. Instead of treating distress as a health emergency, we treat it like a crime scene.

The Fear That Keeps People Silent

In many homes, the words “mental health” are whispered, not discussed. Religion, culture, and shame still define how people understand depression. A woman battling thoughts of suicide may be told to “pray harder.” A young man overwhelmed by despair may be accused of weakness. Families often cover up suicide attempts to avoid social stigma, and hospitals sometimes record suicide deaths as “accidents” to protect reputations.

Then there is the fear of arrest. Survivors avoid seeking medical attention because they do not want police involvement. So the cycle continues; silence, secrecy, and suffering. What should be a conversation about care becomes a story of punishment.

A Law That Belongs to the Past

The conversation is beginning to shift. Nigeria’s National Assembly is currently debating the Suicide Decriminalisation Bill, which seeks to replace punishment with prevention. The bill aims to repeal colonial-era laws that treat attempted suicide as a crime and instead position it as a public health issue.

Supporters of the bill argue that no compassionate society should punish pain. They believe decriminalisation would encourage people to seek help earlier and allow families to speak openly. It would also help hospitals collect more accurate data on suicide, making it easier to design prevention programmes that actually work.

Globally, countries that view suicide through a public health lens, not a criminal one, record lower suicide rates. When survivors are treated as patients, not offenders, they are more likely to heal.

What Real Change Could Look Like

Nigeria has promised to decriminalise attempted suicide by the end of 2025, but promises alone will not save lives. True change will require funding, education, and community-driven awareness.

We need more trained counsellors in schools, workplaces, and local health centres. Religious and traditional leaders must help shift public perception from condemnation to care. Mental health should be integrated into the national health insurance scheme so people can seek therapy without shame or financial fear.

If mental health is treated as a human right rather than an afterthought, we might finally see fewer obituaries written for people who only needed someone to listen to them.

The Human Cost of Looking Away

Behind every statistic is a name. A young woman who could not afford therapy. A student buried under pressure to succeed. A father who lost his job and his sense of purpose. These stories fade from the news, but they do not fade from the families who live with the aftermath.

We often say “check on your friends,” but it takes more than check-ins. It takes policy, compassion, and courage. Because until surviving suicide stops being treated like a crime, healing will remain a privilege for the few who can afford it.

Choosing Compassion Over Condemnation

The truth is simple. Punishing people for trying to die does not stop suicide; it only pushes it further into the shadows. Nigeria stands at a crossroads. We can keep pretending that silence is strength, or we can build a society where asking for help is not a crime.

If we truly believe every life has value, then our laws must start acting like it.


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