Beyond the headlines: what the Nana Akua Addo case says about violence against women in Africa

When Ghana’s Criminal Investigations Department confirmed it was investigating allegations by Rosemond Akua Adobea, known as Nana Akua Addo, it set a high-profile case in motion. She petitioned the CID on August 20, alleging physical, emotional and economic abuse by her husband, Harold Norman, who was arrested a week later and granted police enquiry bail. His scheduled court appearance was postponed after his lawyer said he had been admitted to hospital. Mr Norman has not been convicted of any offence, and his lawyers have said the matter is under investigation by the police domestic violence unit and subject to legal proceedings.

The case became public in early October, when video footage began circulating online. Ms Adobea said, through her lawyers, that the material was leaked without her consent, and she asked media houses not to share it because it shows one of her children. Africa First Magazine has respected that request. Police said a case involving the couple had already been handled by the Domestic Violence and Victim Support Unit (DOVVSU) in July. The Gender Minister has since visited her and her family, and the CID says it is working with the ministry to provide social welfare support.

A continental pattern

The case unfolds against grim statistics. According to the United Nations, around 50,000 women and girls worldwide were killed by intimate partners or other family members in 2024. Africa had the highest rate, at 3 per 100,000 women and girls, compared with 0.5 in Europe. That meant an estimated 22,600 victims in Africa alone. The true figure is probably higher, since data on these killings remains patchy across the continent. UN data also suggests that women in Africa are more likely to be killed by family members than by partners.

Behind these numbers are recent events that have driven people into the streets. In Kenya, thousands marched through Nairobi on June 1, demanding that the government declare a national crisis over femicide. Organisers gave ministers a 40-day ultimatum. In South Africa, police found the bodies of nine women east of Johannesburg over two months, prompting vigils and memorial runs, even though the government declared gender-based violence and femicide a national disaster in 2025. In Cameroon, one campaign group has recorded 56 killings since the start of 2026, and the law does not recognise femicide as a separate crime from murder.

Ghana’s own reckoning

Ghana is not exempt. According to the Ghana Statistical Service, physical violence against women is most prevalent in the Central Region, at 44.6%. The same research urges that DOVVSU, the family courts and district gender desks be properly staffed and resourced. Officers have long pointed to the strain: one regional coordinator has said Ghana has too few domestic violence courts, and that a lack of office space harms confidentiality for victims.

What must change

Four demands recur across these countries. Femicide should be defined in law, so that killings of women are counted and punished as such. Specialist units and courts need funding, so that cases do not stall. Survivors need shelter and welfare support long before a crisis reaches the cameras. And communities, including faith and traditional leaders, must stop treating abuse as a private matter. Ghana’s own statisticians recommend engaging traditional and religious leaders to challenge the norms that reinforce violence and discourage reporting.

A view from the diaspora

For Africans abroad, cases like this one are rarely distant. They are followed closely on social media and in family group chats, often with a mix of anger and recognition. These challenges do not stop at the airport. In July, a mother, Nothabo Zandile Tshuma, and her two daughters, Natalie, 15, and Nala, five, were found dead at their home near Bedford. The case is before the courts, and what matters here is what it shows about the protection women have when they live abroad.

For African women in the diaspora, the law can be a strong shield, but only if they can reach it. In the UK, controlling and coercive behaviour is a criminal offence, and abuse is not limited to physical violence. Yet many women do not report early. Some fear for their immigration status or their finances. Others fear the judgement of their community, or what an arrest would mean for the family’s name. Many in the diaspora know how heavily the pressure to protect a family name, a public image or a community’s reputation can weigh on a woman who is thinking of speaking out. That pressure does not disappear at the airport. It travels with us. Relatives and friends may see the warning signs and say nothing, because abuse is still treated as a private matter.

Borders add another layer. Families often have ties to more than one country, and that can slow justice when a suspect leaves. The answer is early reporting, services that understand these pressures, and faster cooperation between countries.

The diaspora also has real power. It can fund shelters and legal support, back local organisations doing the work, and refuse to treat abuse as gossip. It can insist that survivors are believed while the courts do their work, and that no one is judged on the strength of a viral clip. The change required is not only legal. It is a change in what we are prepared to stay silent about, at home and abroad. Silence protects only the person causing harm.

If a woman must choose between her safety and her family’s reputation,

then we have to ask ourselves what we are really protecting, and who we are failing.