Nigerian actress Kemi Afolabi posted a short, stark message on her Instagram story this week:
“Do not allow anyone to take your life, guard it with all your being. Be it in marriage, friendship, courtship or any kind of relationship.”
The post lands in the middle of a heated national conversation after President Bola Tinubu’s recent clemency for Maryam Sanda, a woman convicted of killing her husband.
Afolabi’s warning is both a moral exhortation and a cultural provocation: who gets mercy, who gets castigated, and how should society respond when lethal violence happens behind closed doors?
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Maryam Sanda’s pardon and why people are talking
Maryam Sanda was convicted in 2020 for killing her husband, Bilyaminu Bello, in a case that captured national attention. This month, she was granted a presidential pardon.
The decision immediately reignited public debate, but about clemency policy, how the courts treat domestic violence, and whether pardons are sometimes used to paper over deeper failures in policing, prosecution and social support for victims.
For many Nigerians, the raw facts matter: the court record, the circumstances that led to the killing, whether there was provocation or a history of abuse, and how the legal process unfolded.
For others, the discussion has shifted to the political optics of a pardon, who benefits from mercy and why, and whether the clemency system is fair or capricious.
The Ajimobi pardon and the Ibadan lawyer
This is not the first time a high-profile clemency in southern Nigeria has produced moral outrage.
In 2019, shortly before the end of his term, Oyo State Governor Abiola Ajimobi granted a pardon to Yewande (Fatoki) Oyediran, an Ibadan-based lawyer who had been convicted and jailed for stabbing her husband to death.
That pardon prompted intense commentary about influence, due process and whether the governor’s prerogative of mercy is exercised transparently.
Reporting at the time noted the pardon followed petitions and a review committee, but critics argued optics and connections played a role. Some reports said the woman relocated to the UK after her release.
The two stories, Sanda’s recent pardon and Yewande Oyediran’s earlier clemency, sit awkwardly together. They show clemency’s double life: sometimes read as compassion, sometimes as favouritism; sometimes restorative, sometimes politically expedient.
Kemi Afolabi’s admonition
Afolabi’s post, “Protect your life, no matter the relationship”, performs several functions at once. A warning that tells people, especially those in intimate relationships, to prioritise safety.
A critique: it implicitly questions societies or families that pressure people to stay in damaging or dangerous partnerships. A moral clarion: it pushes back against any public impulse to excuse violence by foregrounding a simple ethical baseline: life is sacrosanct.
What this means for survivors, families and state
For survivors: The message from Afolabi resonates because many feel the system doesn’t protect them. Strengthening hotlines, shelters, rapid-response policing, and legal aid must be priorities.
For families: The emotional, social and economic pressures that keep people in dangerous relationships need to be addressed: stigma, economic dependence, and lack of community support are repeated drivers.
For the state: There’s a governance lesson about transparency. If pardons are to remain legitimate tools, their application needs to be demonstrably fair and well-documented.
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