Girls in Jega Get the Talk on GBV and Periods: A Step Forward in Kebbi's Tough Fight Against Violence

Jega, Kebbi State – October 19, 2025 – Last week, a group of Community Safety Partnership (CSP) folks from Jega Local Government Area showed up at Government Girls Secondary School here in town. They pulled together this awareness session for the young girls—maybe a couple hundred students crammed into the hall—to break down gender-based violence (GBV), how to spot it, report it, and get help if it happens. They didn't stop there; they threw in chats on menstrual hygiene and health, handing out sanitary pads to make sure the girls could handle their periods without missing school or stressing out. It was one of those straightforward events that felt needed, especially in a place like Kebbi where these issues hit hard but don't always get the spotlight.

The session wrapped up around midday on October 14, with CSP members—local volunteers trained by Partners West Africa Nigeria (PWAN)—leading the talks. They covered the basics: what counts as GBV, from physical hits to emotional stuff like harassment, and laid out the steps to report it through hotlines or police desks set up for that. Support services got a shoutout too—the ones run by state agencies or NGOs that offer counseling or legal aid. On the health side, they talked periods like it's normal (which it is), showing how to stay clean and why it matters for skipping class less. Each girl walked out with a pack of pads, courtesy of PWAN's funding. One student, 15-year-old Fatima Usman, told me later, "I knew some about violence from home, but not the numbers or where to go. And the pads? Game-changer—no more hiding in class."

This wasn't some big flashy thing; it was hands-on, with role-plays and Q&A that kept the girls engaged. PWAN, the group behind CSP in Kebbi, posted about it on X and Facebook right after, tagging #PartnersNigeria #PWAN #CSP #EndGBV #GirlsEmpowerment #KebbiState #CommunitySafety. Their updates showed pics of the crowd, smiling faces holding pads, and quotes from facilitators stressing "knowledge is power." It's part of a bigger push by PWAN, which has been running these CSP setups since 2022—local networks of community leaders, teachers, and youth who spot risks and step in early on safety issues.

Jega's no stranger to this kind of need. It's a quiet agricultural spot along the Niger River, with about 150,000 people mostly farming rice and cotton, but underneath, GBV simmers. Back in 2023, a state survey by the Kebbi Ministry of Women Affairs found 45% of women here had faced some form of violence—higher than the national average of 30%, per NBS data from last year. Things like early marriage, domestic beatings, or harassment at markets hit girls especially hard; over 25% of secondary school dropouts in Kebbi tie back to period shame or abuse fears. Cholera and floods steal headlines, but GBV? It's the quiet killer, pushing women into silence and cycles of poverty. In Jega, where schools like this one serve 800 girls from nearby villages, events like this feel like a direct hit—getting info to the source before trouble starts.

Zooming out, Kebbi's dealing with a GBV spike that's not unique but feels heavier in the northwest. Nationwide, UNICEF pegged 2024 cases at 11,000 reported, but experts say it's 10 times that since most go unreported—fear of stigma or retaliation keeps it buried. In northern states like Kebbi, cultural norms around "family matters" make it worse; a 2025 WHO report flagged 60% underreporting here, linked to low education and economic dependence. Add insecurity—bandits in nearby LGAs like Danko-Wasagu snatching women for ransom—and you've got a mix that traps girls. Menstrual health piles on: Only 40% of Kebbi schools have proper facilities, per a 2024 Education Ministry audit, so girls miss up to 20% of classes monthly, widening that dropout gap.

The CSP program's smart because it builds local muscle. PWAN kicked it off with training in 2023, hitting 10 LGAs including Jega, where CSP teams now do monthly outreaches. This school session was one of five this quarter—others hit boys on consent and communities on bystander roles. It's funded by USAID and EU grants, totaling ₦500 million over three years, focusing on survivor-centered stuff like mental health referrals. PWAN's exec director, Kemi Okenyodo, jumped on X post-event: "We're teaching girls to recognize danger, speak up, and stay safe." And yeah, the pads distribution? That's practical—Nigeria-wide, 1 in 10 girls skips school during periods, but free supplies cut that by half in pilot spots like this.

But let's keep it real: One session's a start, not a fix. Girls left buzzing, but how many will actually use those reporting lines? Kebbi's got a GBV desk in Birnin Kebbi, but Jega's 100 km away—transport's a hassle, and follow-up's spotty. A July 2025 audit by the National Human Rights Commission found only 30% of reported cases in Kebbi led to convictions, thanks to weak policing and cultural pushback. Teachers at the school mentioned off-record that some parents still see GBV talks as "Western," pulling kids out early. And menstrual aid? Great, but without ongoing stock or education for boys and dads, it fizzles.

The bigger picture? This ties into Nigeria's uneven war on GBV. The 2015 Violence Against Persons Prohibition Act (VAPP) is law federally, but Kebbi's domestication dragged till 2023, and enforcement's thin—budget for women affairs is just 2% of state spend. Floods this year displaced 10,000 in Jega alone, cramming families into camps where abuse risks jump 40%, per NEMA reports. Insecurity amps it: Lakurawa raids in Bunza last month abducted three women, and survivors often face double stigma. Positives? Governor Nasir Idris bumped funding for safe houses to ₦200 million in August, and PWAN's linking CSP to apps like the national GBV hotline (08000-333-333). But gaps yawn: Rural clinics lack counselors, and data's shaky—Kebbi's reporting system only caught 20% of 2025 cases so far.

For the girls at GGSS Jega, though, it landed. Fatima's friend, Aisha, 14, said, "I didn't know emotional stuff counted as violence. Now, if my uncle yells like that again, I'll tell a teacher." That's the win—seeds planted. But scaling? CSP needs more legs: Train 500 more volunteers by year-end, per PWAN's plan, and integrate into school curriculums. Partner with KSADP for economic hooks—microloans for girls post-school, cutting dependence that fuels abuse. Federally, enforce VAPP with teeth: Mandatory training for police, like the Lagos model that bumped convictions 25%. Stateside, Kebbi could mandate period products in all schools, as Kaduna did last year—cost's low, impact's high.

Events like this one remind you why they matter: In a town where girls grow up fast, a few hours of straight talk can shift everything. PWAN's not stopping; they're eyeing similar runs in Argungu next month. But until the systems catch up—hotlines that answer, courts that convict, communities that back it—it's on folks like these CSP members to keep pushing. Jega's girls deserve more than awareness; they deserve action that sticks. Till then, sessions like this are the bridge, one pad and one story at a time.