As part of our continued commitment to ending Gender-Based Violence (GBV) and advancing human rights, Shades of Us marked the 2024 16 Days of Activism with a powerful storytelling initiative titled: “Picture This: Captions for Change.”
This online competition ran from November 15 to December 10, 2024, across all our social media platforms. We invited our community to pause, reflect, and create—using a single powerful image as a spark for change. Participants submitted original short stories and poems that spoke to themes of resilience, justice, and transformation in the face of GBV.
We received 86 submissions from across the country. From these, 11 finalists were selected, and two winners emerged. The winners received ₦10,000 each, while all finalists were awarded ₦5,000 and featured on our platforms for their strong, creative contributions.
Now, we are proud to present the top 20 stories (in no particular order) that moved us deeply. Each piece is a powerful reminder of the courage it takes to speak out and the impact that words can have.
Read the stories here—and remember:
Words have power. Words can heal. Words can change the world.
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Name: Oluwalayomi Rebecca
Handle: Oluwalayomi2024
As I stood there, battered, my mind recalled the past few months when everything seemed perfect. Then, for the first time ever, Tayo put his hands on me.
"It is normal, Busola," Mother said. Of course, she would say that, I thought, as my mind recalled the countless days she had been beaten mercilessly by my monster of a father.
Despite everything, she never left.
Now, standing in front of the mirror, I could not help but notice how similar our injuries were. Not in appearance, but in the fact that we were both victims of a crime we did not commit.
Love.
Name: Nengi Laderi
Handle: laderinengi
Wrenching, I blinked back tears as I beheld my bloodshot eyes and once-pretty face, bruised beyond recognition.
My mind showed flashbacks of Ade warning me—his harsh tone and livid eyes as he grabbed me by the collar and beat me mercilessly.
Panting like a wild predator, he ignored my distress. I have lost my sense of identity and worth by forgiving my abusive husband.
I reached for my phone with trembling hands and dialed the distress line of the Women’s Rights Advancement and Protection Alternative (WRAPA).
When the person on the other end picked up, I coughed up blood amidst screams, “This has to stop!”
Name: Pepple Ire Zoe
Handle: zoe_pepple
He warned her never to step outside again, because he feared the bruises he had given her would be seen.
She tried to escape, but he grabbed her by the neck. She resisted and pushed him against the wall. This made him even more furious, and he pounced on her like an animal, beating her until the dawn of a new day.
The bruises that appeared on her face and body were not new. They were the reappearance of the old wounds she thought had healed.
Sad and broken, she thought, “Why me?”
Name: Ogooluwa Akinsanya
Handle: _ogo.oluwa
I always believed that my husband was a demigod. I was told to always remain silent, even when my body screamed in agony.
Most times, I believed that it was the result of his declining business. But suddenly it occurred to me—it was him.
He kept telling me that this was his way of showing love. But could love be agonizing?
I decided to break free from it, even when nobody supported me. I was abandoned, isolated, and rejected.
But in the end, I was free. My body is a testament of freedom—a proof of hope. My scars are my stories.
Name: Favour Ajoke
Handle: favourjakee
My father's love language was physical touch.
To him, physical touch meant torture, and his touch left bruises on my mother’s body.
As if a touch needed to be harder—more than caressing—a few punches, hard enough to send the babies in my mother’s womb away, like the aborted dreams of Nigerians.
And I would watch my mother cry her lungs out, but she would say, “For my children, I will endure.”
Name: Elizabeth Mercy Adaji
Handle: Elizabeth Mercy Adaji
Everything screamed at her—the walls in the room, his disapproving frown, and his endless nags.
Her cheeks were soiled with tears as his hand loomed over her face, defiantly, like a curse.
She was too weak to fight for herself, and she could not match his strength when his hands grabbed her neck.
He held her in a chokehold until she was terribly battered, and her face became a representation of blue-black.
She is a woman, broken mentally and physically.
If only tears were a redemption offering—but they are not.
What can redeem her now is her present decision.
Name: Nathaniel P. Nkwaps
Handle: Nathaniel P. Nkwaps
The silence in the room was as loud as the tension that created it.
Her trembling fingers traced the edge of her cheek where his hand had left its mark.
She had stayed, hoping for a change, believing in her shield. But the cycle of anger and apologies continued.
She looked into his eyes, searching for a shred of humanity left.
Then it struck her—reality clawing its way to the surface.
A light, as deep as the darkness she embraced… This was not love.
And with her bruised heart, she walked away, choosing herself, her peace, her freedom.
Name: Graceyglory Crypto Corner
Handle: Graceyglory Crypto Corner
Here she was, staring at the positive pregnancy test.
Instead of joy, fear consumed her as her partner flatly denied responsibility.
When she shared the news, his rejection turned into fury. Every word he spoke cut deeper than the last.
The days that followed were a blur of heated arguments and escalating violence. He used her pregnancy as a weapon, knowing she had no one to turn to.
One night, bruised and broken, she sat alone, tears streaming down her face.
In that moment of despair, she resolved to choose herself and her unborn child.
With newfound strength, she is determined to create a brighter future.
Name: Ahmad Sani
Handle: Ahmad Sani
Her husband's voice, once gentle, now carried a bitter edge.
"Why do you wrong me?" he demanded.
The question hung heavily in the air, igniting a storm within her.
Words flew. Accusations were traded. The once-peaceful room erupted into chaos.
The fight raged on, leaving behind a trail of hurt and anger.
When the dust settled, only the sound of her silent tears echoed through the empty space.
Name: Serene Edward
Handle: Serene Edward
Here I am, lost in regret.
The man I married has become a shadow of pain.
He shrinks me with every glance—his words are harsh, his hands unforgiving.
I once believed in a love that would last.
I stood proud, promising forever.
But now, I wake up to wounds, both seen and unseen—wounds on my face and in my heart.
Each day brings a new mark of despair.
My fairytale is shattered.
A love has turned dark.
Name: Precious
Handle: odozziaku
Who will I tell my story to?
Naira and Kobo—that is all I was worth.
This time around, he hit me because I made his bathwater a little too hot.
Who would believe that Pastor Ephraim is a woman beater?
Who would I tell?
The perfect couple, indeed.
I was his Mummy G.O. in church, his cook in the kitchen, his lady in the parlor, his whore in the bedroom, and his punching bag behind the camera.
Who will I tell my story to?
Name: Asmocrafts Photo Verified
Handle: ashola_art
Titi thought marriage would be her escape from poverty.
But the man who vowed to love and cherish her became a monster.
Daily insults turned into violent blows.
Fear consumed her as she endured the pain regularly, hiding her bruises.
One day, after a particularly brutal attack, she looked in the mirror, tears streaming.
"This is not my life," she whispered.
With courage she did not know she had, Titi packed her things and left—choosing freedom over fear.
Today, she is rebuilding her life and advocating for women trapped in similar nightmares.
“Freedom,” she says, “is worth every tear shed.”
Break free…
Name: Ayoola Bolanle
Handle: bolanle9702
I know of a woman who may never hear again.
She became deaf from the resounding slaps of her husband.
Now, the only language she understands is noise.
It started with glares and threats.
Then came the violence—her mere presence was enough to provoke him.
Eventually, another woman was born: one whose pride has been torn and who still prays for her destiny to be redesigned.
Name: Jochebed
Handle: jochebed.airede
I have always looked like my mother.
Maybe that is why nothing is ever good enough for Papa.
Not my grades. Not my hobbies.
Not even my body.
Even when Mama was alive, nothing was enough.
But I have learned that there are no bigger shoes to fill than a ghost’s.
I became her replacement the day we buried her—Ash Wednesday.
With my face still streaked with tears and soot, I saw how Papa looked at me now—like a lion looks at a zebra.
Now, my brother is beginning to look too much like my father.
He fights with women in the market like a wrestler.
He snatches food from my hands without a “thank you.”
If Papa dies, he will take his place.
But why would he not?
Would I not eat my cake if I could have it too?
Name: Diamond
Handle: diamond_is_a_gem
"Hide under the bed, Dara."
"Why, Mummy?"
"Hide and seek. Now hide before the boogeyman gets you."
As soon as her daughter did, Simi went to face the boogeyman.
A slap across the cheek sent her flying to the ground.
By a stroke of luck only, he did not break her neck.
A red streak from her head added color to the broken tiles.
For twenty-five years, this had been her lot—drinking continually from the cup of his wrath.
“Your barrenness is to blame,” they said.
Five years after the child came, she was now certain he wanted her life.
Name: Ayomikun
Handle: omidan_ay
At first, it was the way he would not stop nagging.
I would stand there, quiet, convincing myself it was just a bad day.
Love endures, does it not?
But bad days turned into bad weeks.
His temper became a storm I could not escape.
The arguments grew louder, and his words became harsher.
Still, I stayed, hoping.
"He will change."
Then came the day he raised his hand.
Oh, my spirit shattered before my body did.
He apologized—of course, he always did. But the cycle continued.
Now I sit here, my eyes swollen from tears, torn between two choices.
Should I return to my father's house, or should I stay and endure this endless pain?
Kò yé mí. (I do not understand.)
I would stand there, quiet, convincing myself it was just a bad day.
Love endures, does it not?
His temper became a storm I could not escape.
Still, I stayed, hoping.
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