When Mexico’s President Claudia Sheinbaum was groped during a public appearance in Mexico City, the world gasped but not in surprise. The footage showed a man reach for her neck, trying to kiss her as cameras rolled. She moved away, shaken but composed, later saying: “If they do this to the president, what will happen to all women in our country?”
Her words echo far beyond Mexico. They speak to a truth women across the world and especially across Africa know too well. Because if power, visibility, and security cannot protect the president of a nation, what hope does a market woman in Lagos or a student in Nairobi have? This is the unspoken reality of sexual harassment in Africa. It is not confined to class, title, or setting. It is an everyday violence woven into the social fabric of our lives.
The Many Faces of Harassment
In African societies, harassment often wears normalcy as disguise. It is the bus conductor who brushes against a woman “by mistake” or the manager who suggests “friendship” in exchange for a promotion or the politician who uses power and access to violate boundaries without consequence.
For example, in Nigeria, the public saga involving Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan (Kogi Central) and Senate President Godswill Akpabio serves as a chilling, real-time illustration of the institutional impunity and power imbalance that fuels the crisis of sexual harassment in Africa. Senator Akpoti-Uduaghan, one of the few women in the National Assembly, accused the Senate President of harassment, alleging he linked political favors to her compliance.
Her petition was dismissed by the Senate Ethics Committee on procedural grounds, even as moves were made to suspend her over an unrelated disagreement. This response, widely condemned, captures the familiar script: protect the powerful, punish the woman who speaks. It reinforces a deeper fear—that when a woman seeks justice from the system, she is far more likely to meet retaliation than accountability.
The Psychology of Harassment
At its core, harassment is about power, not attraction. It is a performance of dominance, an assertion that a man’s desire outweighs a woman’s autonomy. Psychologists describe it as a learned behavior, one reinforced by cultures that prize male control and female compliance.
Across Africa, boys are rarely taught about consent, but girls are constantly warned to be careful. The result is that responsibility shifts from the perpetrator to the victim. Mothers train daughters to shrink their light instead of fathers teaching sons to respect boundaries. Patriarchy does not just shape behavior; it shapes perception. It decides who is believed, who is blamed, and who is broken.
Harassment also thrives on what researchers call cultural permission. These are the subtle social signals that say “it is not that bad.” Every joke that objectifies women, every meme that mocks survivors, every friend who looks away contributes to a quiet ecosystem where violence grows unchecked.
Harassment Is Everywhere
To talk about sexual harassment in Africa only in the context of workplaces is to miss its full scale. It follows women from offices to schools, from parliaments to public buses. In markets, it is whispered; in bars, it is shouted. Male authority figures exploit access, knowing women often have little power to say no. Women adapt constantly, planning their routes, clothes, and tone of voice just to stay safe.
This constant vigilance carries a cost. Feminists call it the fear tax. Women pay it daily in anxiety, lost confidence, and the quiet exhaustion of being alert to danger in ordinary life. It drains productivity, limits participation, and reinforces inequality. The African Development Bank estimates that gender-based violence, including harassment, costs economies up to 3.7% of GDP annually. It is a silent economic crisis rooted in gendered disrespect.
The System That Enables It
Institutions across Africa often serve patriarchy better than justice. Police officers dismiss complaints as “domestic issues.” HR departments prioritize reputation over reform. Court systems stretch cases until victims give up. Even religious leaders, while condemning immorality, often preach forgiveness without demanding accountability.
Harassment survives because the system protects those who commit it. It is easier to silence a woman than to confront a powerful man. It is easier to tell girls to adapt than to tell men to change.
What Will It Take?
Ending harassment requires more than teaching boys to behave. A radical reimagining of power, and how it is expressed, shared, and checked, is essential. Parents must raise sons to see women as full human beings. Institutions need to value safety as much as performance. Cultures must stop enabling women’s silence.
When President Sheinbaum said, “A line must be drawn,” she was not just talking about Mexico. She was speaking for every woman who has been touched, taunted, or terrified into submission.
Until that line is drawn across boardrooms, churches, schools, and homes in Africa, sexual harassment in Africa will remain not just a women’s issue but a mirror reflecting how little society values women’s humanity.
The change we need will not come from awareness alone but from courage — the courage to confront, to believe, and to act.
And so, the question is no longer what will it take — it is how long we will allow women to suffer in silence. Women are already paying the price. The world must decide: will it finally act, or continue to look away?
