Then, gently, the subject turned personal, and Nwosu began to speak about one of the darkest chapters of her life: a marriage marred by sustained physical violence.
Her account is raw, the kind of memory many survivors would rather carry in silence. But Nwosu chose to speak. She wanted the story out, she said, as a warning and as a lifeline for anyone trapped in the same situation.
“If you take it once, forget it,” she told Adesanya, repeating a line she’d used before and one that landed like a hard truth. “You must be ready to take it for the rest of your life.”
A Calm Day, a Door Smashed
Her recollection is not cinematic in the way films are made, of course. There was a dreadful domestic ordinary: a day she did not want to quarrel, a man’s temper flaring, and the sudden escalation that turned a household into a battleground.
She remembers going to the kitchen to boil water. Her husband broke the kitchen door. He struck her; a strand of hair came away with blood. “I didn’t know where I got this strength from,” she said, describing the shock of her own reaction.
In a later moment that still trembles in her voice, she recalled seizing a pistol in the heat of fury, a turning point when she says she was ready “to kill him” and didn’t care about the consequences.
The episode left scars, physical, yes, but also the deep, private wounds of humiliation and fear. “My neighbours saw me naked,” she said, and in that sentence is everything a public figure often fights to hide: the embarrassment, the loss of privacy, the sense that one’s dignity has been stripped in front of others.
Why She Chose to Speak
For Nwosu, telling the story was never about revenge or performance. It was, she said, about truth-telling and caution.
She pushed back against the social-media currency of public complaints that sometimes reduce violence to a post, a hashtag, or a viral snippet. “We go on social media and put pictures: he slapped me; he did this; he did that,” she told Ayo.
But real violence, she warned, is different: it breaks things, it breaks lives, and it demands action rather than applause.
Her blunt counsel is both practical and moral: when the abuse is “too much,” you must move. She spoke about readiness, not to be dramatic, but to be pragmatic: the moment you accept the first blow as something you must bear, you are making a choice to live with that risk forever.
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"I don't believe marriage is a do-or-die affair... I plaited 'Bob-Marley' and he drew me; honestly one strand came out with blood... I picked pestle, I was ready to..."
— @𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗷𝗼𝗯𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗯𝗼𝘆 (@OneJoblessBoy) October 25, 2025
Veteran Nollywood star, Ngozi Nwosu tells the sad story of a previous abusive relationship. pic.twitter.com/tKQc0YAC0l
Behind The Silence
Nwosu’s testimony also points to wider cultural currents that make leaving hard. In Nigeria, as in many places, marriage is often framed as sacred and indissoluble.
Social pressure, religious narratives, and economic realities conspire to keep many women in abusive relationships.
For public figures, the stakes are double: the fear of scandal, the blur of private pain and public persona, the knowledge that every confession becomes grist for gossip mills.
By speaking openly, she pushes back against the shame that isolates victims. She refuses to be the private sufferer and instead claims the role of witness, and of witness-provider for others.
READ: How Osuofia in London and Living in Bondage Captured What It Means to Be Nigerian
What Her Story Asks Of Us
Ngozi Nwosu’s interview is a call to both individual and collective action. Individually, it asks people in abusive relationships to consider the long term: to ask whether a first assault is a one-off or the start of a pattern.
Collectively, it calls for a culture that stops normalising violence in marriage, and institutions that treat domestic abuse with seriousness.
Nwosu also challenges performative responses. Posting a photo, she suggests, is not the same as building a safety plan, seeking medical care, involving authorities, or accessing the legal and psychological help that survivors need.
Her story emphasises that what victims need first and most is protection, practical options, and nonjudgmental support.
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How to Survive Domestic Violence
You don’t, you flee! Survivors of domestic violence need compassionate, confidential help from friends, family, community groups, medical professionals, and specialist agencies.
If you or someone you know is in immediate danger, local emergency services should be contacted. Many countries and cities also have NGOs and shelters that can guide survivors through safety planning, legal options, and counselling.
In Nigeria, organisations working to support survivors include domestic-violence response teams and women’s rights NGOs that offer counselling, legal aid, and advocacy.
Anyone seeking help should consider reaching out to trusted local services or community leaders who can provide direct referrals. If you’re in Lagos, report to the Domestic and Sexual Violence Agency – DSVA, Ikeja
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