I read the heartbreaking front-page story of Thursday, November 6, 2025. A man set his wife and five children—including a grandchild—on fire, killing them all, because he suspected infidelity.
The report revealed that this was not the first time abuse had occurred.
The man had a history of violence and had even been jailed for abusing his wife.
Yet, that same wife went to court to plead for mercy on his behalf, leading to a reduced sentence of only three months.
Every day, hospitals and family houses in our country witness women living in torment at the hands of men they call husbands.
Many end up scarred, permanently disabled or dead.
Yet, when their abusers are finally arrested and the cases reach courts, a painful pattern repeats itself: The same women who were beaten, humiliated, and terrified, now stand before judges—begging for mercy for the men who nearly killed them.
So why should a woman beg a judge to overlook an intentional violence?
Because, society has conditioned women to protect marriages, even at the risk of losing their lives.
A courtroom is not a place where abusers are recycled back into homes to continue their cycle of terror. It is a place for justice.
Someone, once shared this story with me after we discussed abuse in marriage.
I share it now here: For 12 years, Baaba believed marriage meant endurance. She endured insults, punches, sleeping on the cold floor, etc, just to keep her marriage.
Everyone told her, “A good wife keeps her home.” But no one ever told Kojo, “A good husband keeps his hands to himself.”
One night, after a violent attack that left her in the hospital, the police arrested Kojo.
There were no lies this time. No makeup to hide bruises. No covering up.
When the case finally went to court, the pressure began: “Save my son,” her mother-in-law cried.
“Forgive and withdraw the case,” the church elders urged.
“You want your children to grow without their father?” friends whispered. And Kojo, standing in the courtroom with practiced tears, pleaded: “Baaba… please… have mercy.”
When the judge asked Baaba to speak, she stood up.
Her voice was steady—the voice of a woman who had finally stopped drowning.
She said: “My Lord, for years, I protected his image more than my own life.
Today, I choose the law over lies, safety over fear, and my children over shame. I do not stand here for revenge. I stand here to breathe.”
The courtroom went silent. For once, Baaba was not begging for mercy for him—she was demanding mercy for herself and for her children.
Kojo was sentenced according to the law.
After hearing that story, I concluded: we must all be like Baaba.
But what about the women who cannot speak up? Who protects them?
Society must act. Families must stop forcing women back into dangerous marriages.
Women are not sacrificial lambs.
We are human beings—God’s creation—not objects to be beaten, burnt or buried. When violence enters a marriage, mercy must not stand in the way of justice.
Stop pleading for men who never pleaded with their fists.
Mavis Kyerewaa Asiamah Wiafe
President, Care Foundation Ghana.
0243957399
