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Justice Josephine Oyefeso to champion work-life balance and women’s empowerment at global legal webinar

Hon. Justice Josephine Efunkumbi Oyefeso of the Lagos State High Court is set to take centre stage at an international webinar focused on advancing women’s leadership in law and achieving true work-life balance.

The event, themed “Enhancing Work-Life Balance and Accessibility in Court Settings,” is organised by the National Association of Women Judges of Nigeria (NAWJN) in collaboration with the International Association of Women Judges (IAWJ).

Justice Oyefeso will lead discussions on maternity leave and career breaks, the caregiver role and its impact on women’s professional growth, and real-life case studies of courts and organisations with dedicated family-support facilities.

Organisers say the one-day virtual gathering aims to help women in the legal profession overcome career stagnation while managing family responsibilities. The forum will also push for family-friendly court environments and promote mental well-being among female judges and lawyers.

Justice Oyefeso, a trailblazer in the Nigerian judiciary, brings decades of experience to the conversation. She earned a Bachelor of Arts degree in History from the University of Lagos, followed by an LLB from the University of Warwick, UK, and an LLM from the University of Lagos.

After being called to the Nigerian Bar in 1986, she practised law with Babalakin & Co. before venturing into the banking sector, where she rose to become Company Secretary and Legal Adviser. Her judicial career began in 2001 when she was sworn in as a Judge of the Lagos State High Court.

Over the years, Justice Oyefeso has served in multiple divisions — from Commercial and Family Law to Criminal, Civil, and Lands — and was once a designated EFCC Judge. She also serves as an Alternative Dispute Resolution (ADR) Judge and was the immediate past Chairman of the Lagos Multi-Door Courthouse Governing Council.

A CEDR Accredited Mediator and Fellow of the Institute of Chartered Mediators and Conciliators (ICMC), she continues to champion fairness, inclusion, and justice reform both within and beyond the courtroom.

Her participation in the upcoming international webinar underscores her lifelong commitment to empowering women in law — proving that leadership and compassion can coexist at the highest levels of justice.

📅 Date: Thursday, 13th November, 2025.
🕙 Time: 10:00 AM (WAT).
💻 Platform: Zoom / YouTube Live.

Join Zoom Meeting
https://us06web.zoom.us/j/82458329448?pwd=VPuCDEzKjbXav76Yh0PVo8pLaxYPQq.1

Meeting ID: 824 5832 9448
Passcode: WILILTEAM

Join via YouTube:
https://youtube.com/live/TBwt0vGHAF0?feature=share

Inside Nigeria’s Forgotten Camps: The silent crisis of women fighting to survive in Makurdi and beyond

In the heart of Makurdi’s abandoned Ultra Modern International Market, over 5,000 displaced people now call the empty stalls home.

They fled Yelewata community in Benue State after armed herdsmen attacked on June 13, leaving their homes in ruins.

The once-bustling marketplace has turned into a crowded camp, offering shelter but little hope.

Behind the noise of daily survival lies a darker reality—unwanted pregnancies and unsafe abortions are on the rise.

Health workers describe the situation as “a ticking time bomb,” warning that desperation has turned into dangerous behavior.

In the camp, privacy is scarce and emotions run high. Many seek comfort in each other to escape fear and loneliness.

“We just want to feel alive again,” one young man said quietly. “Despite everything, we are still human.”

But unprotected sex has led to a wave of unwanted pregnancies and secret abortions.

Recently, volunteers cleaning the camp’s refuse dump made a horrifying discovery—foetuses hidden among the trash.

A health worker said a man outside the camp allegedly performs crude abortions for desperate girls.

“Some nearly die from complications,” he said. “Others just keep taking the risk.”

With HIV-positive residents in the camp, medical experts fear a rise in infections if the trend continues.

The camp’s manager, Robert Nyom, confirmed the grim discoveries, calling them “deeply disturbing.”

Benue’s Commissioner for Women Affairs, Theresa Ikwue, also expressed concern, promising stronger awareness campaigns for women and girls.

Humanitarian groups like the Red Cross say they’ve handled several abortion-related emergencies, most caused by untrained quacks.

“We’ve seen at least ten cases this month,” a Red Cross worker revealed. “These girls need real care, not silence.”

The Commissioner pledged to work with aid partners to improve education and distribute reproductive health supplies.

“Governor Alia remains committed to the safety and dignity of our displaced citizens,” she said.

As night falls over the camp, life appears normal—children play, women cook, men talk in small circles.

But beneath this fragile calm lies a silent cry for help—one echoing across Plateau and beyond.

In Plateau State, thousands of displaced families live scattered in schools, churches, and small rented rooms.

No official camps exist, no accurate records, and almost no consistent government aid.

Many women give birth on bare floors. Others face hunger, illness, and fear with no medical help.

Fifteen-year-old Ngunret dreams of returning to school, but war has stolen her future. “I wish my family was together again,” she whispers.

Aid agencies say government promises rarely turn to action. A ₦10 billion resettlement fund announced years ago never arrived.

Despite laws protecting displaced persons, most women still live without safety, privacy, or healthcare.

In the absence of the state, churches, teachers, and local volunteers have become the true heroes.

They share food, offer lessons, and comfort mothers through childbirth in impossible conditions.

But compassion alone cannot rebuild lives. These women need security, structure, and sustained support.

Until real action replaces broken promises, the displaced women of Benue and Plateau will keep fighting—alone, unseen, but unbroken.

Their resilience tells a story of pain and power—a reminder that behind every statistic lies a heartbeat still refusing to give up.

Billions for “Repentant” Terrorists, Nothing for Girls They Destroyed: Outrage as Borno funds fall on wrong side of justice

SaharaReporters’ new findings have ignited public anger across Nigeria. Documents show that Borno State spent a staggering N6 billion in just 18 months rehabilitating so-called “repentant” Boko Haram fighters.

The money, meant for disarmament and reintegration, keeps flowing. Between January and September 2024, N3.45 billion was spent — almost the entire budgeted amount. Another N7.4 billion is already set aside for 2025.

Yet, the bombs still fall. The deaths still rise.

Soldiers in the Northeast say this policy is killing them. They accuse the government’s “repentant” fighters of leaking military secrets back to Boko Haram commanders.

“These men tell terrorists everything,” one soldier said. “They expose our weapons, routines, and even the location of our armoury.”

Despite this, the spending continues. In 2025 alone, N2.6 billion was used for “livelihood support” for the same ex-fighters. Official records show N758 million was spent between July and September.

Meanwhile, the real victims — girls and women abducted, raped, and enslaved by Boko Haram — are forgotten.

A new Amnesty International report reveals that one year after its #EmpowerOurGirls campaign, Nigeria has done almost nothing to help survivors. Many are starving, homeless, and without counselling or education.

“Not one survivor has received real reintegration support,” said Isa Sanusi, Amnesty International’s Director in Nigeria. “These girls are invisible to the government.”

Thirteen-year-old GP*, who escaped Boko Haram after her father’s murder, now sells firewood to survive. Another survivor, AN*, said she was flogged for trying to escape and now begs for food and shelter.

While billions flow to men who once terrorised the country, the children they destroyed still sleep in fear.

Governor Babagana Zulum of Borno has warned that Boko Haram and ISWAP are regrouping. He admits the state has received over 300,000 “repentant” fighters. He also admits not all are truly reformed.

Security experts say the policy is backfiring. Insurgents keep returning to the battlefield. Soldiers keep dying. Survivors keep suffering.

And still, the money flows.

In a country where the victims beg for bread and the villains get millions, justice feels like the only thing that never gets funded.

The question Nigerians are now asking: who really deserves rehabilitation — the killers, or the children they left broken?

The Rural Lawyer’s Reality – Welfare challenges beyond the cities

By Chinelo Ofoegbunam

Introduction – Law Beyond the Skyline

When people picture the Nigerian lawyer, the image that comes to mind is often that of a sharply dressed professional navigating the busy courts of Lagos, Abuja, or Port Harcourt. The lawyer who drafts high-stakes contracts for multinational clients or argues in fully air-conditioned courtrooms before a judge with access to digital case files. Yet, this image, though glamorous—is a narrow reflection of legal reality.

Across Nigeria’s small towns and rural communities, thousands of lawyers labor quietly under vastly different conditions. These are the legal practitioners who wake up to unpredictable power supply, travel long distances on poor roads to reach understaffed courts, and work in areas where clients struggle to afford basic legal representation. Their experiences rarely make headlines, but their struggles and resilience form an essential part of the Nigerian legal story.

The welfare challenges facing rural lawyers are not just about low income—they touch on dignity, access, opportunity, and survival. Their journey exposes a profound gap between the urban legal elite and the practitioners sustaining justice delivery in less glamorous corners of the country.

1. The Unseen Backbone of Justice

In the bustling cities of Lagos, Abuja, or Port Harcourt, the image of the Nigerian lawyer is one of sophistication, crisp suits, digital tools, sleek offices, and access to clients who can afford their expertise. But far from the glow of city lights, in the quieter corners of Nigeria’s towns and villages, another kind of lawyer exists, one less seen, less celebrated, yet equally vital to the soul of justice. These are the rural lawyers, the silent sentinels of equity, who carry the weight of justice to places the spotlight never reaches.

They are the bridge between the ordinary citizen and the formal justice system — the ones who mediate land disputes that could otherwise spark violence, draft tenancy agreements for farmers and traders, and help families navigate inheritance or custody issues. In many communities, the rural lawyer is not just a legal adviser; they are the voice of law and order, the person people run to when all other options seem impossible. Without them, justice would remain an abstract idea, something distant, inaccessible, and out of reach for millions.

Yet, despite their indispensable role, these lawyers often work under conditions that would make even the most passionate professional question their calling. Many operate from modest chambers — small offices with wooden desks, flickering bulbs powered by noisy generators, and shelves filled with aging law reports. In numerous rural courts, there are no functioning libraries, no stable electricity, no internet access, and sometimes not even a working restroom. The most basic amenities that urban lawyers take for granted — a printer, a photocopier, or a stable Wi-Fi connection — are considered luxuries in these environments.

A young lawyer practicing in Kogi, Taraba, or Ebonyi might handle dozens of cases each month armed with nothing more than handwritten notes and personal resolve. Filing documents can mean traveling miles to the nearest town with a functional court registry. Court sittings are often delayed because the judge is unavailable, the court clerk is absent, or power outages have disrupted proceedings. Days of preparation can be undone by a single adjournment, and what should have been a productive week becomes one more exercise in endurance.

Yet, they persevere — not because it is easy, but because someone must keep justice alive beyond the cities. For many rural lawyers, the practice of law is not just a career; it is a calling of service, a commitment to bring the rule of law to communities that might otherwise be forgotten. Their resilience in the face of adversity is a quiet testament to the ideals of justice itself.

The tragedy, however, is that their contributions often go unnoticed. There are no awards for the lawyer who spends years resolving land feuds in rural villages or for the advocate who walks miles to court in the rain to defend a farmer wrongfully accused. Their victories are not televised, and their names rarely appear in the newspapers. But without them, the foundation of justice delivery in Nigeria would crumble.

Rural lawyers are not simply footnotes in the legal profession — they are its spine. They embody the principle that justice must not be the privilege of those who live near courthouses or have the means to hire the most prominent firms. They are the unseen backbone of justice, standing firm where systems are weak, and ensuring that the law, however imperfect, continues to serve even the most remote corners of society.

2. Economic Realities – When Clients Can’t Pay

If the city lawyer’s challenge is competition, the rural lawyer’s struggle is survival. While their counterparts in urban centers charge consultation fees, or retain corporate accounts that guarantee steady income, the rural lawyer must navigate a far more unpredictable economic terrain. Their clients are not CEOs or multinationals but market women, farmers, teachers, artisans, and civil servants, ordinary Nigerians whose lives depend on daily earnings.

In these communities, legal representation is often viewed not as a right but as a privilege, sometimes even as an extravagance. A lawyer’s service is appreciated, but rarely budgeted for. A villager might walk into a lawyer’s office with a genuine case but no money to pay for it. Payment, when it comes, may not be in cash at all—perhaps in the form of a bag of rice, a basket of yams, or a goat offered as gratitude for legal counsel.

For many rural lawyers, this is not an occasional occurrence—it is a routine reality. They are constantly balancing compassion with survival, ethics with necessity. Turning away clients in genuine need feels morally wrong, yet representing everyone for free is unsustainable. It’s a delicate, daily negotiation between professional duty and personal welfare.

This irregular income pattern creates a ripple effect on every aspect of life. Rent, electricity, transportation, and even office supplies become constant sources of worry. The stress of uncertain pay is compounded by the fact that court appearances, documentation, and travel all demand resources. The result is a cycle where lawyers pour energy into service but rarely see a proportional return on their labor.

Many adapt out of sheer necessity. A rural lawyer might spend the morning in court, the afternoon notarizing documents, and the evening teaching at a nearby secondary school to supplement their income. Others diversify into related services—acting as local mediators, drafting land agreements, or assisting in community arbitration. The creativity with which they survive is remarkable, yet it is born of struggle, not choice.

The emotional toll of this economic instability runs deep. There is pride in being called “Barrister,” but behind the title often lies quiet frustration. Some lawyers are forced to practice without proper chambers, working from their homes or public spaces. Others, after years of hardship, reluctantly leave the profession to pursue more stable sources of income. In those moments, dreams nurtured in law school give way to the harsh arithmetic of survival.

And yet, within this economic struggle lies a story of resilience. Many rural lawyers have turned adversity into innovation—forming cooperative networks to pool resources, sharing office spaces, and mentoring one another to build stronger community-based practices. Some are experimenting with digital tools, using WhatsApp or social media to reach clients and share legal knowledge.

Their stories reveal that poverty does not define professionalism—commitment does. While their challenges are real, so too is their determination to uphold the dignity of the legal profession, even in environments where the odds seem insurmountable.

Ultimately, the economic welfare of rural lawyers is not just a matter of income; it is about respect for their labor and recognition of their indispensable contribution to justice delivery. A society that expects justice in every corner must also ensure that those who bring it there can live with dignity.

3. Infrastructure and Accessibility – The Road Less Travelled

Imagine traveling all the way from Abuja-FCT to Dutse-Jigawa State for (Hearing) a very important court sitting only to be told that the court would not sit for whatever reason.

For rural lawyers, getting to court is often an ordeal. Roads leading to many courts are riddled with potholes, sometimes impassable during rainy seasons. Some lawyers travel over 50 kilometers to attend a single court session—only to arrive and find that the matter has been adjourned because of power failure or the absence of a judge.

The absence of digital systems further compounds the problem. Where urban courts are beginning to adopt e-filing and case management systems, rural courts still rely on manual registers and physical files. For lawyers in these environments, the time and effort spent tracking files or waiting endlessly for adjournments directly translate to lost income and declining morale.

Electricity is another daily battle. Law offices operate on generators, often at unsustainable costs. Internet connectivity is patchy, limiting access to research databases or virtual client meetings. Without technology and reliable infrastructure, rural lawyers are effectively left behind in a profession that is rapidly digitizing.

4. Professional Isolation and Limited Growth – The Lonely Path of the Rural Practitioner

While the physical struggles of rural law practice are visible—dusty roads, power outages, inadequate infrastructure—there exists another, quieter battle that eats away at professional growth: isolation. It is the kind of loneliness that is not just social but intellectual; the feeling of practicing law at a distance from the pulse of the profession.

For many rural lawyers, opportunities to engage with colleagues, mentors, or professional communities are few and far between. There are no networking dinners, no bustling chambers with senior lawyers to learn from, and no easy access to specialized workshops or training programs that urban practitioners often take for granted. Instead, many find themselves operating in near solitude—drafting pleadings, handling clients, and arguing cases with little feedback or peer support.

This isolation slowly creates an invisible ceiling. While city lawyers engage in collaborative discussions on emerging legal trends—tech law, intellectual property, and global arbitration practices—the rural lawyer is often left out of these conversations. Not for lack of ability, but for lack of access. A lawyer practicing in a small town may have the same intelligence and drive as one in Lagos, but without exposure to evolving legal markets or access to technology, the gap widens with each passing year.

Over time, this lack of connection can stunt professional development. Without mentorship or collaboration, many rural lawyers feel trapped in routine work—drafting land agreements, handling minor disputes, or representing clients in small claims. The spark that once burned brightly in law school gradually dims under the weight of repetition and isolation. What should be a dynamic profession risks becoming static for those on the margins.

Yet within this isolation lies an often-overlooked strength. Rural lawyers possess something many urban practitioners have lost—deep community connection. They understand the social fabric of their communities, the nuances of local disputes, and the cultural realities that shape conflict resolution. They are, in a very real sense, the custodians of grassroots justice.

If properly supported, these lawyers could play a transformative role in bridging the gap between traditional dispute mechanisms and formal legal structures. They could lead innovations in community-based arbitration, local governance compliance, and rural legal literacy—areas critical to national development but often neglected.

The path forward is not to uproot rural lawyers from their communities in search of relevance, but to empower them where they are. Through mentorship networks that reach beyond city borders, digital collaboration platforms, and inclusive professional associations that amplify their voices, isolation can be replaced with integration.

The lawyer in a remote part of Benue or Yobe deserves the same access to knowledge, exposure, and respect as one in a corporate tower in Victoria Island. Their work may take place far from the spotlight, but their impact on justice delivery is profound. The challenge and opportunity lies in ensuring that the brilliance of rural lawyers does not go unseen simply because they practice in places where the world rarely looks.

5. Welfare Gaps – Beyond Income

The welfare challenges faced by rural lawyers go beyond financial hardship. The lack of access to healthcare, insurance, and mental health support adds another layer of vulnerability. Long commutes, irregular schedules, and constant exposure to stress without relief mechanisms can lead to burnout and health problems.

In some regions, the absence of formal welfare structures leaves lawyers to fend for themselves during emergencies or old age. Without pension plans or group insurance, a sudden illness or accident can erase years of effort. This systemic neglect creates a silent exodus, many rural lawyers eventually relocate to cities or abandon private practice altogether in search of stability.

If Nigeria’s justice system is to function equitably, the welfare of rural lawyers must be given the same priority as judicial reforms. A profession cannot thrive if a significant portion of its members are left struggling in silence.

7. Rethinking Welfare – Practical Solutions for a Neglected Class

Improving the welfare of rural lawyers requires more than sympathy; it demands structural change. Practical solutions include:

Legal Resource Hubs: Establish well-equipped legal centers in each judicial district, with libraries, internet access, and research tools.

Subsidized Technology Grants: Support rural lawyers with affordable digital devices and internet data packages to integrate them into the digital legal economy.

Strategic Mobile Training Units: Bring Continuing Legal Education (CLE) to rural communities through periodic workshops and virtual platforms.

Partnership Incentives: Encourage urban firms to partner with rural lawyers on regional briefs, fostering mentorship and knowledge exchange.

Health and Insurance Programs: Create cooperative-based welfare schemes offering health insurance, retirement savings, and emergency funds.

Advocacy on different modes of healthcare and price subsidization: We need traditional and holistic approaches (Ayurveda, yoga, herbal, homeopathy, Acupuncture), Physical activity and exercises (Walking, Hiking, Street and bodyweight training, dance-based workouts, Pilates, outdoor activities), Mental and Emotional Well-being (Mindfulness, meditation, Art therapy, Cognitive training, Journaling), and Modern Healthcare approaches (Preventive care, digital health, telemedicine, personalized medicine, Integrative Medicine)

These measures would not only improve individual welfare but also strengthen justice delivery in underserved areas.

8. Technology as the Bridge

The digital revolution offers unprecedented opportunities to close the welfare gap between urban and rural lawyers. Virtual court proceedings, online legal research databases, and digital communication platforms can connect lawyers across distances.

Rural practitioners can now collaborate with city-based firms on joint cases, attend online training, and access international legal resources—all without relocating. The key is inclusion: ensuring that rural lawyers have affordable internet access, adequate training, and the confidence to embrace digital tools.

Technology can turn isolation into opportunity—making geography less of a barrier and talent more of a determinant of success.

9. The Role of Legal Communities and Institutions

Lawyer welfare is not an individual battle; it requires collective responsibility. Local bar branches, law societies, and professional associations can play a pivotal role by creating mentorship networks that intentionally include rural members.

Regular outreach programs, welfare grants, and representation for rural lawyers in key decision-making bodies can give them a stronger voice. Inclusion, visibility, and recognition are themselves powerful welfare tools—they restore dignity and belonging.

Conclusion – Justice Beyond the Cities

The welfare of Nigerian lawyers must be seen through a wider lens—one that includes those working in the shadows of the nation’s urban glow. Rural lawyers are not lesser professionals; they are the unsung custodians of justice for millions who live far from the spotlight.

If the legal profession truly values equity, its welfare structures must reflect it. Infrastructure, fair remuneration, training, and safety should not depend on geography. By investing in rural lawyers’ welfare, Nigeria strengthens not just a segment of its legal community but the foundation of its entire justice system.

A nation’s justice is only as strong as its most isolated lawyer. And when the rural lawyer thrives—safe, supported, and respected, justice finally reaches every corner of Nigeria.

Connect with me on Social Media:

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Justice For Ochanya: The girl Nigeria failed, By Olufunke Baruwa

Some stories refuse to fade, not because they are pleasant, but because they pierce the conscience of a nation. The story of Ochanya Ogbanje is one of them. It is a wound that refuses to heal, a mirror held up to a society that preaches virtue yet practises violence, that pledges protection but delivers betrayal.

In 2018, Nigeria was forced to confront a tragedy that should have shaken its moral foundations. Thirteen-year-old Ochanya, a bright and spirited girl from Benue State, died from complications arising from years of sexual abuse allegedly perpetrated by a university lecturer, Mr Andrew Ogbuja, and his son, Victor. For five years, from the age of eight until her death, she endured repeated violations in a home where she was supposed to be safe.

The details were horrifying, the betrayal unimaginable. Ochanya’s aunt, the lecturer’s wife, had taken her in to give her access to better education. Instead, the child was subjected to systemic sexual abuse that destroyed her health and ultimately took her life. When she died on October 17, 2018, the autopsy revealed that she suffered from vesicovaginal fistula (VVF) and other complications caused by prolonged sexual assault.

Her death sparked outrage. Civil society groups, women’s rights organisations, and concerned citizens took to the streets demanding justice. Hashtags trended: #JusticeForOchanya became a rallying cry. It seemed, for a moment, that Nigeria would finally rise to confront the epidemic of child sexual abuse and gender-based violence, particularly against women and girls, that had for too long been met with silence and shame.

Yet, seven years later, justice remains elusive and Ochanya’s murderers remain free.

Since 2018, the wheels of justice have turned so slowly that they might as well be stationary. The elder Ogbuja, who was charged with rape and culpable homicide, has remained in and out of court in Makurdi. The younger one, Victor, fled and has never been apprehended by the police, who say they don’t know where he is. Recent reports, however, by active citizens place him somewhere in Lagos living freely under a new identity as a recording artist. The trial, marked by endless adjournments, technicalities, and procedural delays, mirrors the dysfunction of Nigeria’s criminal justice system, one that too often re-traumatises victims while protecting perpetrators through inertia.

The Anatomy of Institutional Failure

In 2022, after four years of legal battle, the High Court in Benue State acquitted the lecturer of culpable homicide and rape, citing a lack of sufficient evidence directly linking him to the child’s death. The prosecution’s case, the judge ruled, was “inconclusive.”

How does a justice system arrive at such a word when a child dies from sustained sexual assault? What does it mean for the countless others who suffer in silence, who may never make the news, who will never have hashtags raised in their names? What does this mean for organisations like the Braveheart Initiative for Youth and Women in Edo State, who work tirelessly to secure convictions against perpetrators of sexual violence?  “Inconclusive” is not just a legal verdict; it is a national indictment. It exposes a system that fails to protect the innocent, that allows predators to exploit loopholes, and that normalises impunity through bureaucracy.

Ochanya’s story sits at the intersection of Nigeria’s most profound failures: of law, of governance, and of culture.

At the legal level, her case underscores how the justice system remains inaccessible and ineffective for victims of gender-based violence. The burden of proof in sexual offences is onerous, especially when evidence is destroyed over time or when witnesses are intimidated into silence. The police are often ill-equipped to handle such sensitive cases; prosecutors lack the resources to sustain lengthy trials; judges, overwhelmed by case backlogs, sometimes fail to prioritise crimes against women and children.

At the institutional level, the agencies mandated to protect children from the National Agency for the Prohibition of Trafficking in Persons (NAPTIP) to the state ministries of women affairs are underfunded and underpowered. Social welfare departments, where they exist, are grossly inadequate. Child protection laws, though progressive on paper, rarely translate into action at the community level.

And at the cultural level, the silence surrounding sexual violence remains deafening. Victims are blamed; families are pressured to withdraw cases; communities close ranks to protect perpetrators, especially when they are powerful or influential. In Ochanya’s case, the accused was not a faceless stranger; he was a respected lecturer, a man of status in his community. That power dynamic is often enough to silence victims and embolden predators.

Justice Delayed, Justice Denied

The slow pace of Ochanya’s case is emblematic of a broader pattern. In Nigeria, cases of sexual violence against minors frequently languish in the courts for years, if they are filed at all. The Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act (VAPP Act) of 2015 was a landmark law, but its enforcement remains patchy and inconsistent across states. Only about 30 states have domesticated it, and even where it exists, implementation is weak.

In many police stations, officers still lack training on how to investigate sexual offences. Victims are asked intrusive questions or told to “settle” with perpetrators. Medical examinations, which are crucial for evidence, are often delayed or unaffordable. Families, faced with stigma and the financial burden of legal pursuit, give up. And so, the cycle continues.

Each unpunished assault sends a message that the lives of Nigeria’s girls are expendable. Each acquittal without accountability chips away at the public’s faith in justice. Each silence becomes complicity.

A Child Betrayed By Society, A Call For Systemic Change

Ochanya’s story is not just about one family’s cruelty; it is about a nation’s abdication of duty. Nigeria’s Constitution and child protection laws guarantee every child the right to safety, dignity, and education. Yet in reality, millions of children, especially girls, grow up where abuse is normalised and justice is a privilege.

Ochanya should have been alive today, perhaps a university student, a young woman chasing her dreams. Civil society has kept Ochanya’s memory alive, but advocacy cannot be left to NGOs alone. The government must lead the establishment and funding of sexual offences courts in every state, ensuring survivors have access to free legal aid and medical care, and prosecuting perpetrators regardless of their social standing.

Justice for Ochanya must spark reform. First, child protection systems must be strengthened so that every school, community, and local government has trained officers who can identify and respond to abuse. Second, specialised gender-based violence courts — like those in Lagos, Ekiti, and the FCT — should be expanded nationwide to expedite trials and shield victims from further trauma. Third, education must include consent and body-safety training, so children understand that their bodies belong to them and that reporting abuse is an act of courage, not shame.

Religious and traditional leaders must also be held accountable for what they condone. Their silence in the face of abuse is violence in itself. The media and the public must keep these cases in the spotlight until justice is done; the court of conscience must not adjourn.

Children like Ochanya must never again suffer in plain sight, unseen until death. Her story should be a catalyst for reform and a reminder that until justice is done, Nigeria remains a nation in moral debt to her and her family.

May Ochanya’s soul rest in peace.

The Law, The Knight and His Son: How legal technicality helped men who ‘defiled’ 13-year-old Ochanya to death walk free as calls for justice continue

On October 17, 2018, Ochanya Ogbanje died at the age of 13 from Vesicovaginal Fistula (VVF), a condition that causes the bladder to bypass the urethra into the vagina.

She developed VVF, which is more commonly caused by surgical complications and labour, after she had been repeatedly raped by Victor Ogbuja, her nephew and Andrew Ogbuja, her aunt’s husband.

But today, both Ogbujas — Andrew and his son, Victor — walk free without consequence.

HOW IT STARTED

Ochanya was born in 2005 to her parents in Ogene-Amejo in Benue State as the last of 11 children. At age 5, her parents sent her to live with Felicia Ogbuja, her aunt, so she could get educated.

Her parents were part of the about 32% of the residents of Benue who were designated to be monetarily poor by the National Bureau of Statistics in 2019.

Rose and her husband decided to help Ochanya escape the fate of the about 260,000 children that were out of school in the state.

But by 2012, Ochanya developed a complication. According to Rose Ogbanje, her mother, Ochanya was taken to a hospital in Okoga Benue where she spent six days and began convalescing.

However, her complications would return with a stronger force. She started to urinate and pass out faecal waste without control.

Rose told the BBC in 2021 that at the peak of her incontinence, Ochanya had to wear pampers for as long as four months.

When her condition became too serious, her parents decided to take her to a hospital in Otukpo in Benue State. She was taken to the Restorer of PathCare Foundation to be taken care of.

According to a 2018 report by Pulse, the reason for her sickness came to light when Enuwa Magarate, the owner of the health foundation where she was taken to, began to look into the cause the matter.

Ochanya was transferred to the Federal Medical Center in Benue, where doctors continued to look after her.

The BBC quoted Margaret to have reported how the doctors said her condition was due to repeated sexual abuse through her anus and vagina.

On October 17, 2018, she gave up the ghost at the young age of 13.

JUSTICE EVASION BASED ON TECHNICALITY

Victor Ogbuja was first caught by Winifred Ogbuja, Ochanya’s cousin and a sister to the perpetrator, according to an account of the events published by Bukky Shonibare, the executive director of Invictus Africa.

Winifred had done what a sibling would do and reported her brother to their parents who let him off with a ‘scolding’. Andrew, the father of the family of eight, then joined in the act.

When the matter was to be prosecuted, however, Victor had vanished. As of press time, he remains on the run and is yet to be found.

Two court cases were instituted against the Ogbuja family — one criminal and one civil. The National Agency for the Prohibition of Trafficking in Persons (NAPTIP) instituted the civil suit against Felicia for negligence.

Felicia was eventually convicted in 2022. Mobolaji Olajunwo, the judge who presided over the matter in Benue, sent Felicia to jail on the accounts that she was negligent and failed to protect the child.

She also obstructed justice by preventing Winifred, the daughter who had witnessed Victor raping the victim, from testifying. She was sentenced to just five months in prison though after pleading for leniency.

Under the Trafficking in Persons (Prohibition) Enforcement and Administration Act, 2015, the offences for which Felicia Ogbuja was convicted are clearly defined and punishable by law.

Section 13(4)(b) of the Act provides that “any person who omits to do anything that is reasonably necessary to prevent an act of trafficking in persons commits an offence.”.

Section 15(1) prescribes that anyone who aids, abets, or facilitates such an offence is liable on conviction to imprisonment for up to two years, or to a fine not exceeding N250,000, or both.

In addition, Section 38 of the Act states that “any person who, without lawful excuse, obstructs or interferes with an authorised officer of the Agency in the performance of his functions under this Act commits an offence and is liable on conviction to imprisonment for a term not exceeding five years or to a fine not exceeding N500,000, or to both.”

Andrew, on the other hand, was arrested in 2018, according to a BBC report. He began facing trail on October 10, 2019 at the Benue State High Court on a four-count charge which were premised on alleged rape and cupable homicide.

Andrew denied these charges in court and pleaded that he was not guilty. In April 2022, the Benue State High Court discharged and acquitted him of the four-count charge of rape on the basis that the counsel failed to prove the allegations beyond a reasonable doubt.

He noted that investigators, which were men of the Nigeria Police Force, failed to conduct a medical examination on Andrew to match his samples with those in the medical reports presented in court.

The judge also pointed out inconsistencies in the two autopsy reports submitted as evidence. While one from the Federal Medical Centre in Makurdi stated that Ochanya died of natural causes, another from the Nigerian Police Forensic Laboratory in Lagos linked her death to complications from sexual abuse.

Meanwhile, Ochanya herself had been recorded on tape narrating the circumstances of her own abuse. When the victim died, she was just a JSS 1 pupil of Federal Government Girls College, Gboko, Benue State.

CONVICTIONS ARE QUITE RARE

Despite the increasing awareness on the plights of victims of sexual violence across Nigeria, conviction rates remain low. Data from the National Bureau of Statistics show that between May 2023 and April 2024, an estimated 1.4 million people experienced sexual offences, including rape.

In Lagos alone, authorities recorded 5,624 cases of sexual abuse between August 2022 and July 2023. NAPTIP, on the other hand, received 1,278 reports of sexual and gender-based violence in the Federal Capital Territory within the same year.

But the number of offenders who actually face justice is small in comparison.

Per NAPTIP’s Sexual Offenders Register, only about 426 offenders have been convicted nationwide, with over 1,090 cases still in court.

A fact-check by ICIR Nigeria found that from 1973 to 2019, the country recorded just 65 rape convictions in total. Even in states with high reporting levels, such as Lagos, the government reported just over 120 convictions for all forms of sexual offences in 2024.

Meanwhile, state-run reporting channels often fail to provide adequate support for victims.

Just recently, FIJ reported that the names of several convicted sexual offenders were missing from both state and federal sexual offenders’ databases. The platform also reported that the report button for sexual offences on NAPTIP’s website was broken — and, as of press time, had still not been fixed.

This article, written by Timileyin Akinmoyeje, was originally published by FIJ on 25.10.2025

Nigerian human rights lawyer Funke Adeoye shines globally, wins 2025 IBA Outstanding Young Lawyer Award

Funke Adeoye

Nigerian human rights lawyer and justice reform advocate, Funke Adeoye, has made the nation proud once again by winning the prestigious 2025 Outstanding Young Lawyer Award from the International Bar Association (IBA).

The award, one of the most respected global recognitions for young legal professionals, celebrates lawyers under 35 who have demonstrated exceptional excellence, ethical leadership, and a strong commitment to advancing justice and human rights.

Adeoye, Founder and Executive Director of Hope Behind Bars Africa, was selected from a global pool of top nominees for her groundbreaking work in access to justice, criminal justice reform, and the use of technology to transform legal aid delivery.

Through her organisation, founded at just 26, Adeoye has spearheaded life-changing interventions that provide legal representation to wrongfully incarcerated persons and empower marginalised communities. Her work has directly improved access to justice for thousands of inmates while inspiring systemic reforms across Nigeria’s justice sector.

At the IBA Annual Conference in Toronto, Canada — where the award was presented — global legal leaders celebrated her as a symbol of innovation, integrity, and courage in human rights advocacy.

In her acceptance speech, Adeoye dedicated the award to young African lawyers and human rights defenders “working tirelessly to uphold justice in difficult environments.”

“This recognition is not just about me,” she said. “It represents every young lawyer who believes that, despite the challenges, the law remains a powerful tool for social transformation.”

A graduate of the University of Benin and the Nigerian Law School, Adeoye also holds an MSc in International Human Rights Law from the University of Oxford as a Commonwealth Scholar.

Known for her passion for justice innovation, she continues to champion the integration of technology and human rights principles in legal systems across Africa.

Her victory not only spotlights her personal excellence but also marks a major milestone for a new generation of African lawyers redefining the global legal landscape — where justice meets innovation, and the law serves humanity.

Enugu Lawyers set to storm Abuja for exclusive networking meetup hosted by Barrister Ugochukwu Nwodo

It’s going to be a night of brilliant minds and bold ideas as the Enugu Lawyers Forum, Abuja Chapter, gathers for an exclusive meeting and networking event on Friday, November 14.

The event, hosted by the dynamic legal luminary Barrister Ugochukwu Nwodo, promises to bring together some of the most vibrant legal professionals from Enugu extraction practising in the nation’s capital.

According to the organisers, the meeting will serve as a platform to strengthen professional ties, discuss legal innovations, and chart new strategies for career growth and community impact.

The Enugu Lawyers Forum has, over the years, evolved into one of the most influential regional groups within the Nigerian Bar, known for fostering mentorship, unity, and collaboration among lawyers across all levels of practice.

Chairperson of Enugu Lawyers Forum, Barr. Juliet Ekene Okoye, known for her passionate advocacy and forward-thinking leadership, said the gathering will not just be another routine meeting but “a refreshing moment for lawyers to connect, share ideas, and inspire one another toward professional excellence.”

Justice Adenike Coker to lead powerful conversation on women, work, and balance in the judiciary

Trailblazing judge Hon. Justice Adenike Josephine Coker is set to spark an inspiring conversation on gender roles and women’s advancement in the legal world.

On November 13, she will headline a virtual event themed “Enhancing Work-Life Balance and Accessibility in Court Settings,” organised by the National Association of Women Judges of Nigeria (NAWJN) in partnership with the International Association of Women Judges (IAWJ).

Justice Coker will address pressing issues, including gender roles, the impact of caregiving on women’s careers, and how both practical and institutional support can help women thrive.

The one-day gathering aims to empower women in the judiciary to overcome career stagnation while maintaining a healthy work-life balance.

With nearly four decades in law, Justice Coker brings unmatched insight and experience to the conversation.

A graduate of the University of Lagos and King’s College London, she has served 24 years on the Bench, presiding over key divisions — from Criminal to Commercial, Family, and Civil matters in both Lagos and Ikeja.

Her impressive career includes leading roles as Head of the Family Court, Fast Track Commercial Division, and the EFCC Assets Freezing Orders Judge.

She also chairs the Lagos State Prison Decongestion Committee and previously led the review of the state’s Criminal Law, completed in 2020.

Recently, she made history once again by being seconded to The Gambia’s judiciary, where she now sits at Bakau Mile 7 Court.

Justice Coker’s upcoming address promises to challenge stereotypes, inspire reform, and spotlight how women judges can lead change from the bench to the home front.

Legal professionals, advocates, and gender equality champions are already buzzing online, calling the event “a must-attend conversation for every woman in law.”

Mark your calendars — November 13 is set to redefine what it means to balance justice, family, and the fight for equality.

Date: Thursday, 13th November, 2025.
Time: 10:00 AM (WAT).
Platform: Zoom / YouTube Live
Join Zoom Meeting
https://us06web.zoom.us/j/82458329448?pwd=VPuCDEzKjbXav76Yh0PVo8pLaxYPQq.1
Meeting ID: 824 5832 9448
Passcode: WILILTEAM
Join via YouTube:
https://youtube.com/live/TBwt0vGHAF0?feature=share

Law and Artificial Intelligence: Risks and Opportunities

By Folarinwa M. Aluko

Distinguished Senior Advocates, Elders and Members of the NBA Calabar Branch, Artificial intelligence may not be the first technology to unsettle the law, but it is the first to mimic its reasoning. Every major technological wave over the course of human history has redrawn the boundaries of legal practice, ethics, and the marketplace. The invention of the printing press extended the Lawyer’s reach beyond the spoken word. The telegraph and telephone collapsed distance while the personal computer and the internet increased access to information. Each technological leap has augmented and reshaped the practice of Law in ways that were measurable and obvious.

AI is different. It presses on something deeper, the lawyer’s intellectual sovereignty which is based on the ability to decide what the law means and why. By reading, predicting, and drafting in languages that sound like ours, AI trespasses on the lawyer’s sacred ground of legal interpretation, blurring the line between judgment and suggestion.

The amount of processing power stored accessible to the average User is simply astounding. A few months ago, while consulting for a UK-based private equity firm preparing to acquire a portfolio of Nigerian Fintech companies, I was asked if I could “run a predictive analytics model on the target companies’ IP filings and contract dispute histories to forecast litigation risk?”

That was a fair question from a team accustomed to data-driven due diligence. But the honest answer was less flattering. Our “database” for such information isn’t a single, queryable platform. The only way to conduct that due diligence was through painstaking manual searches, because the relevant data is scattered across a maze of court registries, fragmented filings at Ministries, Departments and Agencies; and archives that are both unstructured and largely offline.

In truth, Nigerian data isn’t ready for anyone, much less an algorithm. The point here for the legal profession is that while foreign Law Firms use AI to interpret data, we are still struggling to create it. Yet we keep speaking of innovation as if the data framework plugin already exists. We have mastered the vocabulary of technology but not its infrastructure. That is the illusion of progress our profession must confront. Every young Lawyer who has spent hours searching a dusty registry knows this truth. Our challenge is not ignorance of technology but the stubborn endurance of paper.

Two Kinds of Policy, and Why the Difference Matters

There are two distinct layers of governance through which law must engage AI.

The first is a National AI Agenda. This refers to a public framework, defining the limits of acceptable behavior across sectors, setting standards for privacy, transparency, liability, and accountability. It governs what the State and its Citizens, real or incorporeal, may build and how those systems should behave.

Nigeria already has fragments of this architecture in the National Information Technology Development Agency Act and the Nigeria Data Protection Act 2023. Yet these frameworks, often conceived secretly and in haste, blur constitutional lines. Privacy is a residual matter reserved for the states. A national law may set guiding principles, but state-level legislation is better suited to reflect local realities and safeguard rights. We do not need another sweeping federal statute filled with good intentions but bad outcomes, we need a coordinated system that empowers States to regulate responsibly while ensuring that both data and the machines that process it remain accountable. In Countries like the United States, France, and China, such laws anchor a National Strategy while the States build predictability for investors and innovators.

The second layer is an AI Policy for the Legal Profession. This refers to a narrower, but more demanding policy level that translates broad technology principles into obligations of competence, confidentiality, and professional integrity. This Policy should dictate how Lawyers in the Legal Profession and the Justice Sector, can use AI responsibly: how client/user data is stored, how AI tools are used, how AI-generated research is verified, and how algorithmic evidence is authenticated in Court.

Nigeria needs both layers. A National Policy cannot substitute for professional ethics, and Bar Guidelines cannot shoulder the responsibility of state regulation. The National Law sets the floor while the Professional Policy builds the ceiling. These frameworks should only be designed after a period of rigorous public advocacy and debate that ensures inclusion, participation and public ownership.

The Psychology of Leapfrogging

Nigerian optimism often suffers from the Leapfrog Fallacy, the belief that we can vault over necessary stages of development simply because we can see the summit. It’s an illusion of progress that masks the absence of preparation.

This pattern is reinforced by two cognitive biases. Present Bias drives our hunger for immediate recognition, the prestige of announcing a “national AI strategy” over the slow, unglamorous work of building infrastructure. Overconfidence Bias convinces Policymakers that (good) intention can replace systems. That we can legislate a Digital Future into being by Committee, Decree or Faith.

The result is a policy mirage. We celebrate the announcement, neglect the architecture and organize Roundtables and Workshops to discuss why our Systems keep failing: this is the Nigerian Strategy for public policy.

We announce the launch of ‘Digital Filing’ supplying computers to Registries that rely entirely on paper filing and wonder why no one uses the new system?

There are no shortcuts to achieving justice or building technological systems. To transition into a digital environment, we need to have built the internal capacity to sustain the shift. Our underlying realities demonstrate the mismatch between rhetoric and reality. For context, Nigeria’s internet penetration rate supposedly stands above 65%, yet stable high-speed broadband which is the oxygen of modern AI, is available to less than a quarter of Users.

The national grid, with an installed capacity of 13,000 MW, produces less than 5,000 MW on an average day. Anecdotally, more than 95% of Court Judgments, especially from lower courts, are not available as scanned documents while less than 5% of appellate case law is structured in a machine-readable format. AI cannot run on ambition alone. Every skipped step must eventually be climbed, or else we run the risk of failure before we even begin.

To be fair, there are glimmers of progress. Platforms such as LawPavilion and Legalpedia provide judgments from Appellate Nigerian Courts in searchable formats, and some state judiciaries, including Lagos, Oyo and FCT are piloting e-judgment repositories.

The Architecture of Readiness

Like the foundation of a building, each layer of technological maturity must set before the next is laid. The pathway from manual systems to digital intelligence has at least five levels: digitization, connectivity, automation, analytics, and intelligence, with each layer supporting the next.

Digitization turns paper into machine-readable text. Connectivity allows systems to talk to one another. Automation codifies routine processes for efficiency. Analytics extracts insight from multiple data sets. Only then can intelligence (learning systems that predict and adapt) emerge meaningfully.

Nigerians are known for thinking and talking in grand visions while ignoring the quiet discipline of details, forgetting that the devil we fear in development usually hides in the very minutiae we overlook. In 2025, Nigeria hovers somewhere between the first and second rung, yet our discourse, impatient and aspirational, begins at the fifth. When policy vaults ahead of practice, the result is hollow modernity: the appearance of advancement without the substance of readiness.

Legal Logic vs. Machine Logic

Law and AI reason in different languages. Law is normative in that it asks what is right, what is fair, what fits within principle. AI on the other hand, is probabilistic, it asks what is likely, based on prior patterns. Legal reasoning in Nigeria is intensely contextual, steeped in oral argumentation and cultural nuance. AI, however, flattens context into data points. A model trained on foreign legal corpus will misinterpret our statutes, cultural nuances and native intelligence.

For AI to serve our justice system, it must learn law and be trained on local judgments, statutes, and idioms, and fine-tuned to reflect the norms of Nigerian practice. Otherwise, we risk automating misunderstanding at scale.

Ethics as Risk Management

Ethics in the legal profession is not a static code, it is a dynamic system of risk management on which the integrity of the entire system relies. Therefore, each ethical risk introduced by AI requires a corresponding human control. We will examine a few

  1. Accuracy and Automation Bias: Machines generate plausible text with extraordinary confidence, the problem is that confidence is not truth. This danger is compounded by our learned Automation bias. Automation bias is the psychological tendency to trust machines over ourselves, compounds the danger.

A lawyer who accepts an AI-generated case summary without checking the underlying judgment abdicates their duty of competence. Verification must now be part of ethics: a disciplined skepticism that treats every AI citation as unverified until proven otherwise.

  • Confidentiality and Data Integrity: Uploading client materials into public AI tools is not convenience, it is a breach of privilege. Rule 19 of the Rules of Professional Conduct for Legal Practitioners (2023) makes this duty explicit, extending confidentiality to “any information acquired in the course of professional employment.” When such data is uploaded to public AI models hosted on foreign servers, the lawyer risks breaching not only ethics but data residency obligations.

The duty of confidentiality extends beyond sealed lips and locked filing cabinets to server configurations, encryption standards, and data residency. With AI, Ethical compliance demands technological literacy, in essence, Lawyers must know not only what AI can do but where their Client’s data goes when it does it.

  • Bias and Fairness: An algorithm trained on historical data inherits historical inequities. Bias amplification in AI is not hypothetical; it is structural. When the system learns from skewed sources, it reproduces those distortions at scale.

Ethical lawyering now requires vigilance against confirmation bias, our own tendency to seek data that supports our case. AI can make this bias invisible by embedding it in the data itself. Ethical practice must therefore include bias audits, impact assessments, and transparent review processes.

  • Cognitive Offloading and the Atrophy of Judgment: The most subtle danger posed by AI is cognitive. Overreliance on AI fosters cognitive offloading: the gradual outsourcing of memory, synthesis, and analytical reasoning. We saw this before, when calculators dulled our instinct for numbers.

The slippery slope begins with small conveniences such as letting the AI find citations or summarize arguments, over time, the brain adapts to disuse. This atrophy of judgment erodes the lawyer’s defining skill which is the ability to synthesize law, fact, and human consequence into reasoned judgment. In a profession built on discernment, to surrender judgment is to surrender identity.

  • Accountability and Oversight: Even when AI is used responsibly, its decisions must remain attributable to a human actor. The principle of non-delegable responsibility is timeless: if your brief cites a fabricated case, you stand liable for disciplinary action, not the algorithm. Maintaining “the lawyer’s mind in the loop” means designing workflows that ensure oversight, documentation, and traceability for every machine-assisted task.

The courts have yet to rule definitively on whether AI-generated materials meet the authentication standards of Section 84 of the Evidence Act. Until judicial or procedural clarity emerges, prudence demands that every AI-assisted document be verified and authenticated by a human lawyer before filing. The machine may assist, but only the Lawyer should certify. The challenge lies in proving the provenance and integrity of AI-generated materials under Section 84(4) Evidence Act, which demands proof of the device and operator, which, in the case of cloud-based AI, are often beyond the user’s control.

Earlier this year, a content creator client used an AI tool to draft an agreement with an international distribution company. The AI, trained primarily on U.S. templates, inserted a clause that was unenforceable under Nigerian copyright law and detrimental to that Client’s interest. Fortunately, the client sought legal review before execution, and the clause was removed. The lesson here was not technological failure, but professional complacency, a reminder that while AI can assist, it can never absolve the lawyer of the duty to think.

This approach echoes the emerging global consensus reflected in the American Bar Association’s 2024 Guidelines on AI and Professional Responsibility and the Council of Bars and Law Societies of Europe’s 2023 AI Charter, both of which emphasize human accountability, transparency, and competence as non-negotiable principles.

These risks are not theoretical. They unfold daily in law offices, court registries, and boardrooms where decisions depend on both machines and men. The question is not whether AI will enter the profession, but how we can meet it on our own ethical terms.

Building Justice by Design

Colleagues of the NBA Calabar Branch, artificial intelligence in Nigeria is not merely a question of technology; it is a question of justice. Use-case scenarios demonstrate that AI’s most transformative potential for Nigeria lies in Equitable Access and not in Elite Efficiency.

Imagine, for instance, an AI-powered assistant that helps a trader in Aba understand the need to register a limited liability company over a business name, or guides a farmer in Odukpani through the basics of a land lease in Efik, Ibibio, or Pidgin English.

Contrary to popular belief, Nigeria’s legal profession is under-lawyered, not over-lawyered. Far too many Nigerians go through life without meaningful access to legal services. Properly designed AI can bridge that gap by explaining rights, simplifying procedures, and directing users to Legal Practitioners for real counsel.

This vision aligns with Section 36 of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (1999), which guarantees every citizen access to justice. If AI can expand that access responsibly, then it becomes an instrument of constitutional realization, not disruption. This is what justice by design means: deploying technology to make rights not only known but usable. If the law is to remain a tool of empowerment, not exclusion, then it falls to us as lawyers to shape the use of AI in ways that extend justice, not automate inequality.

Recommendations

What NBA Calabar (and every Branch of the Bar) can do

  1. Digitize Locally: Each Branch of the Bar ought to initiate a digitization program within its jurisdiction, consistent with the Bar’s constitutional duty to promote access to justice under Section 3 of the NBA Constitution. The project should include the compilation and scanning of judgments from the High Court, Magistrate Courts, and Tribunals. A local database, however modest, becomes a building block for a National repository.
  2. Connect Institutions: Each Branch ought to foster collaboration between the Courts, Ministries, and Agencies like the Corporate Affairs Commission and the Land Registry. Advocate for data-sharing protocols and interoperable systems. A connected ecosystem is what allows legal data to become legal intelligence.
  3. Learn, Re-learn and Unlearn: Branches of the NBA have a responsibility to integrate AI Literacy, Data Ethics, and Automation Psychology into Branch Continuing Legal Education (CLE). Organize workshops to help members understand not only how to use AI, but when not to. Competence in this era includes knowing the limits of technology and the irreducible value of human judgment.
  4. Govern Responsibly: Work with the NBA National Executive Council to establish Branch-driven ethical guidelines on AI use. These guidelines should cover verification standards, data protection, and disclosure obligations. The guidelines should be inclusive and led by public debate and interrogation for the Bar to take ownership.
  5. Localize Innovation: Encourage collaboration with Nigerian developers and Universities to train AI models on Nigerian legal data and local languages. The law’s voice must sound like the people it serves. Let Calabar be known not only for its festivals but also for pioneering locally trained legal models that understand our idioms and realities.

Legal Intelligence comes before Artificial Intelligence

The real risk before us is not that AI will replace the Nigerian lawyer, but that lawyers, dazzled by the illusion of effortless competence, may forget why judgment matters. The opportunity, however, is far greater: to design a profession where intelligence, human, artificial, and yes, even spiritual (because as Africans we know some cases defy logic alone), work together in partnership.

If every Branch begins with its own house, digitizing, educating, and governing responsibly, we will not merely adapt to the age of AI; we will define it.

In conclusion, every revolution in technology has posed a question of relevance for the legal profession. The printing press threatened the Scribes; the typewriter threatened Law Clerks; the Computer threatened the Legal Researcher. Each time, the profession adapted and deepened. The danger with AI is subtler. It will not make lawyers obsolete; it will make unthinking lawyers redundant.

We cannot automate what we have not yet articulated. Before we build artificial intelligence, we must build legal intelligence; ensuring that our systems, our ethics, and our minds are fit for purpose. Only then will technology serve justice, not the other way around.

Thank you Mr. Chairman, Branch Exco and the distinguished members of the NBA Calabar Branch for this invitation.

Presented at the October 2025 Meeting of the Nigerian Bar Association, Calabar Branch

Folarinwa Aluko is a legal practitioner and partner in the Law Firm of Trumann Rockwood Solicitors. He can be reached at [email protected] or by phone at 08038601052.

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