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Rescued Oyo pupil recounts ordeal in captivity, says: ‘I’m not afraid to return to school’

15-year-old Bello Hassan, one of the school children, abducted from schools in Oriire Local Government Area of Oyo State, on Wednesday, recounted his 56-day ordeal in captivity with a message of courage, saying, “I’m not afraid to return to school.”

The young boy described how he and other victims walked for an entire day to the kidnappers’ camp and lived under trees before they were rescued.

Hassan spoke with journalists in Ogbomoso on Wednesday shortly after he and other rescued pupils and teachers were released from the Ladoke Akintola University of Technology Teaching Hospital, where they had received medical treatment and psychological support.

He recalled that he was writing a test when armed men stormed his school and forced the pupils and teachers into the forest at gunpoint.

“When I was in captivity, I was scared that my parents were at home and there was nobody to save me. I was in school writing a test when the gunmen invaded the school. When we saw the guns with the gunmen, we were scared, and they ordered us to march out and follow them,” he said.

According to Hassan, the victims trekked throughout the day before arriving at the kidnappers’ hideout around 7 p.m., after which they were moved from one camp to another.

“We didn’t know where they took us, and we trekked for a day. We got to their location around 7 p.m. They moved us from one location to another for days,” he said.

He said the abductors initially asked the female victims to prepare meals before taking over the cooking themselves.

“They cooked rice for us. They asked the females among us to cook for us, and later they started cooking for us. Whenever rain was about to fall, they covered us with nylon because we stayed under the tree,” Hassan said.

The teenager explained that although the kidnappers did not physically assault the pupils, they regularly flogged the teachers and imposed strict restrictions on the captives.

“The gunmen didn’t beat us, but only flogged our teachers. They didn’t allow us to play around or do whatever we liked,” he added.

Asked whether he witnessed the killing of two teachers, identified simply as Mr Michael and Deacon, Hassan said he did not, explaining that they were killed at a different location.

Read Also: AFTER THE RESCUE (PART IV A): Beyond the Celebration |The Victory, the sacrifice and the lessons Nigeria cannot afford to forget

Read Also: AFTER THE RESCUE (Part IV B): Fifty-Six Days | What the survivors’ accounts reveal about life in captivity—and the changing character of organised kidnapping

Read Also: The Untold Cost of the Oriire Rescue: Family seeks answers over how army lieutenant died in Oriire rescue

“No, I didn’t witness it. They were killed in another place,” he said.

Hassan also disclosed that the abductors communicated in English, Hausa and other languages.

Despite the traumatic experience, the teenager said he was not afraid to resume his education.

“Since my return, I am not afraid. If God wills, I will return to school in the area,” he said.

Hassan was among the 44 pupils and teachers rescued on July 10 after spending 56 days in captivity following the May 15 attack on three schools in the Ahoro-Esiele and Yawota communities of Oriire Local Government Area.

The victims were subsequently admitted to the LAUTECH teaching hospital, Ogbomoso, for medical evaluation and psychological rehabilitation before being discharged.

See the video here.

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AFTER THE RESCUE (Part IV B): Fifty-Six Days | What the survivors’ accounts reveal about life in captivity—and the changing character of organised kidnapping

By Law & Society Magazine Investigations

For nearly two months, the forest became a classroom without lessons, a home without shelter and a prison without walls.

The pupils and teachers abducted from three schools in Oriire Local Government Area measured time differently from the rest of the country. Outside the forest, each passing day was marked by press briefings, appeals from anxious families, political interventions and the steady accumulation of public pressure for their release. Inside, survival became the only calendar that mattered.

Much of what occurred during those fifty-six days may never be known in its entirety. Security agencies are unlikely to disclose every operational detail surrounding the rescue, while criminal proceedings against those arrested may yet reveal additional evidence about the structure and methods of the group responsible. Even so, the accounts now emerging from survivors provide an unusually detailed picture of how the captives lived, how the abductors exercised control and why the Oriire ordeal deserves to be understood as more than another kidnapping story.

Among the most revealing accounts is that of Mrs. Rachel Alamu, the principal of Community High School, who spent the entire period in captivity alongside her colleagues and pupils.

Her recollection of those weeks strips away any lingering notion that the victims were merely held somewhere in the forest while negotiations progressed elsewhere.

The captives, she recalled, spent much of their ordeal exposed to the elements. They slept in the open, enduring heavy rain and intense heat with little protection. Teachers who had begun that Thursday morning preparing for another school day suddenly found themselves responsible for frightened children in conditions where food, comfort and certainty had all disappeared. Their immediate concern was no longer education but keeping the pupils calm, preserving hope and helping them endure another day.

The younger children presented particular challenges. According to Mrs. Alamu, some were beaten whenever they cried or made noise. In the unfamiliar environment of the forest, ordinary childhood instincts—fear, confusion and the search for reassurance—could provoke violent reprisals. The teachers therefore assumed a role far removed from the classroom, attempting to shield the children emotionally while having little control over the circumstances surrounding them.

Her account also provides an important insight into the thinking of the kidnappers themselves.

Mrs. Alamu disclosed that two teachers, Mr. Michael Oyedokun and Mr. Esiyan Adegboye, were deliberately killed during the period of captivity. She said the abductors believed the killings would increase pressure on the authorities to meet their demands because the kidnapping had already attracted widespread public attention across Nigeria and beyond.

That explanation deserves careful consideration.

If the principal’s account accurately reflects the kidnappers’ intentions, the murders were not random acts of violence. They formed part of a deliberate effort to influence events outside the forest by raising the human cost of delay. The captors understood that every development would reverberate far beyond the immediate scene of the crime. Families were waiting. Schools had closed. The media was reporting each new development. Public anxiety was growing. In that environment, the killing of hostages became another means of applying pressure.

Such conduct reflects a pattern increasingly observed in organised kidnapping and terrorist activity across several conflict zones. Violence is used not only to control those in captivity but also to shape the decisions of governments, communities and families watching events unfold from a distance. The immediate victims are the hostages, but the intended audience is often much larger.

That distinction is significant because it illustrates how organised kidnapping has evolved in Nigeria. Criminal groups no longer rely solely on concealment or the threat of force. Many display a sophisticated awareness of the public environment in which they operate. They understand that the abduction of schoolchildren attracts intense attention, that prolonged captivity heightens political pressure and that acts of brutality can amplify fear well beyond the community directly affected.

The Oriire survivors’ accounts suggest that the kidnappers appreciated those realities.

They knew people were watching.

They knew the country was counting the days.

And, according to Mrs. Alamu, they believed that increasing the suffering of their captives would strengthen their bargaining position.

That should concern policymakers every bit as much as the weapons carried by the abductors.

It suggests that future responses to mass kidnappings must address not only the operational challenge of locating hostages but also the broader strategy through which criminal groups attempt to manipulate public pressure and government decision-making.

For the rescued pupils and teachers, however, those larger questions belonged to another world.

Their immediate challenge after leaving the forest was learning how to return to ordinary life.

Medical teams examined them shortly after their rescue, while psychological support was initiated before they were reunited with their families. Those interventions were both necessary and timely. Specialists in child trauma have consistently observed that prolonged captivity can leave emotional and psychological effects that persist long after physical injuries have healed. Children may struggle with disrupted sleep, anxiety, difficulty concentrating or fear associated with places and experiences that remind them of captivity. Adults who survive similar ordeals often confront comparable challenges.

Recovery therefore extends far beyond the day of rescue.

It continues in homes where parents gradually rebuild a sense of safety, in classrooms where teachers encourage children to rediscover routines interrupted by violence and in communities learning to trust that schools can once again be places of learning rather than targets for armed men.

That process had scarcely begun when events elsewhere in the country offered a sobering reminder that the danger confronting Nigerian schools had not disappeared.

Even before the relief surrounding Oriire had fully settled, another group of armed men attacked Government Secondary School in Dekina Local Government Area of Kogi State during the ongoing NECO examinations, abducting the school principal, an examination official and several students. Security agencies quickly launched rescue operations and succeeded in recovering one of the students, but the incident underscored a difficult truth.

Oriire had demonstrated that large-scale rescue operations are possible.

It had not ended the threat against Nigerian schools.

Watch out for Part IV C.

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Another Sex-for-Grades Scandal: NANS demands transparent probe into UNIZIK lecturer allegation, renews call to end campus sexual abuse

For years, Nigeria has declared war on the “sex-for-grades” culture. Yet, from one campus to another, fresh allegations continue to expose a crisis that laws, dismissals and public outrage have failed to extinguish.

A fresh allegation of sexual misconduct involving a lecturer at Nnamdi Azikiwe University (UNIZIK), Awka, has reignited concerns over the persistence of the “sex-for-grades” culture in Nigerian tertiary institutions, prompting the National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS) to demand an immediate, transparent investigation and renewed safeguards for students.

The controversy follows the circulation of videos and reports alleging that a lecturer fled through a laboratory window after students reportedly confronted him over an alleged encounter with a female student inside his office. The allegations have not been independently verified, and the university is yet to publicly conclude any disciplinary process.

In a statement issued by its National President, Comrade Akinteye Babatunde Afeez, NANS described the allegations, if established, as a grave abuse of professional ethics and a betrayal of the trust reposed in academic staff.

The students’ body said it would not tolerate any form of sexual harassment, abuse of authority or exploitation within Nigeria’s higher institutions, insisting that campuses must remain safe environments for learning rather than places where students fear intimidation or coercion.

“NANS will not tolerate any form of harassment, abuse of power, or sexual misconduct within our institutions. Our campuses must be safe spaces for learning, not hunting grounds for predators,” the association said.

According to NANS, students had petitioned the university’s Vice-Chancellor following the incident. The association pledged support for the female student involved and any other witnesses, while calling for protection against intimidation, victimisation or retaliation during any investigation.

It urged the university management to conduct a transparent inquiry and impose appropriate disciplinary measures should the allegations be substantiated.

The association also called on UNIZIK to strengthen its reporting mechanisms, disciplinary procedures and institutional safeguards to encourage victims to report sexual misconduct without fear.

“We will not be silent while our sisters are violated and our campuses are turned into places of fear. Justice must be served. Silence is complicity,” Akinteye said.

A Persistent National Problem

The latest allegation comes despite years of heightened public attention to sexual harassment in Nigerian universities.

Over the past several years, allegations against lecturers in institutions including the University of Lagos, the University of Calabar, the Federal University Lokoja and other tertiary institutions have resulted in suspensions, dismissals, internal disciplinary proceedings and, in some cases, criminal investigations.

The issue gained national prominence following investigative reports exposing alleged “sex-for-grades” practices in parts of Nigeria’s university system, triggering widespread public outrage and renewed calls for stronger institutional accountability.

In response, many universities have adopted zero-tolerance policies, established confidential reporting channels, strengthened disciplinary procedures and created safeguarding mechanisms designed to protect students who report abuse.

The Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC) has also investigated and prosecuted a number of cases involving allegations of abuse of office and sexual exploitation within educational institutions, reinforcing the message that lecturers who exploit their positions may face both disciplinary and criminal consequences.

Lawmakers Push Tougher Sanctions

The latest controversy also comes against the backdrop of ongoing legislative efforts to tackle sexual exploitation in tertiary institutions.

The Sexual Harassment of Students (Prevention, Prohibition and Redress) Bill, passed by the National Assembly, proposes stiff penalties—including prison terms—for educators found guilty of demanding or obtaining sexual favours from students under their authority. The proposed legislation also seeks to strengthen reporting mechanisms and narrow the scope for claims of consent in lecturer-student relationships where clear power imbalances exist.

Although advocates have welcomed the proposed reforms, many argue that legislation alone cannot eradicate the problem without consistent enforcement, institutional transparency and effective protection for complainants and witnesses.

Beyond One University

For student groups and education advocates, the latest allegation is about more than one lecturer or one institution.

It raises broader questions about whether Nigerian universities have done enough to dismantle cultures of silence, protect vulnerable students and hold perpetrators accountable.

Legal experts have long observed that sexual harassment within universities is not merely a disciplinary issue but may also amount to abuse of authority, workplace misconduct and, depending on the circumstances, criminal conduct under existing Nigerian law.

As investigations continue, attention is likely to focus not only on the outcome of the UNIZIK case but also on whether it prompts stronger institutional reforms capable of restoring confidence that university campuses are places of learning, dignity and safety rather than environments where students feel compelled to endure exploitation in pursuit of their education.

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Autopsy or Burial? Mary Habila’s death leaves court, family and investigators facing a difficult choice

Student groups back forensic examination as family seeks immediate burial, raising wider questions about justice, public confidence and unexplained deaths.

A family’s wish to bury their daughter, students’ demand for scientific answers and a police investigation still awaiting closure have placed the death of Miss Mary Habila before one of the most difficult questions in criminal justice: when an unexplained death attracts widespread public concern, who decides whether the search for answers should continue?

That question has taken on fresh significance following the decision of Habila’s family to reject an autopsy and seek the release of her body for burial, even as the National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS) and the National Association of University Students (NAUS) threw their support behind calls for a thorough and transparent investigation into the circumstances surrounding her death.

Habila, a staff member of the David Umahi Federal University of Medical Sciences (DUFUMS), Uburu, Ebonyi State, died on June 27 while serving as part of the immediate staff attached to the Minister of Works, Engr. David Umahi.

In a joint statement signed by NANS Senate President, Senator Ibeabuchi Moses Onyia, and NAUS President, Comrade Meshach Nwankwo, the student organisations expressed sympathy with Habila’s family while urging investigators to establish the facts through a process that is independent, professional and free from external influence.

The organisations endorsed the Minister of Works’ request for a forensic autopsy, describing it as the most credible means of determining the actual cause of death.

“We will always uphold a strong aversion to injustice. However, it is only fair that everyone is presumed innocent until proven guilty. We can only await and monitor the outcome of an unbiased investigation,” the student leaders said.

They urged Nigerians to resist speculation and allow investigators to complete their work before drawing conclusions.

The associations also appealed for protection for all potential witnesses and cautioned against using the incident to promote personal or political interests.

Family Asks Court to Release Body

In an affidavit filed before the High Court of Ebonyi State, Habila’s father, Mr. Tanko Habila Wisdom, asked the court to permit the immediate release of his daughter’s remains for burial.

Although he acknowledged efforts to determine the cause of death, he stated that the family would not consent to an autopsy, saying they wished for her body to remain intact.

The affidavit also indicated that the family no longer wished to participate in further police investigations and did not suspect foul play.

That position differs from the earlier stance of the Ebonyi State Police Command, which had indicated that a post-mortem examination would assist investigators in determining the cause of death, as well as from the Minister of Works, who has consistently maintained that a forensic examination would help remove uncertainty surrounding the case.

The court has yet to determine the family’s application.

When Private Grief Meets Public Interest

The disagreement over whether an autopsy should proceed has transformed the matter into more than a family dispute.

Legal practitioners say forensic examinations perform functions that extend beyond satisfying relatives. They assist investigators in determining whether a death resulted from natural causes, accident, suicide or criminal conduct and often provide evidence capable of confirming or eliminating suspicion.

In cases attracting exceptional public attention, lawyers note that an autopsy can also protect innocent persons from unfounded allegations by replacing speculation with medical evidence.

Several senior lawyers contacted by Law & Society Magazine observed that justice is best served when investigators rely on verifiable scientific findings rather than public opinion or competing narratives.

They explained that while the wishes of next of kin deserve respect, the State also has a responsibility to investigate deaths whose circumstances remain unclear, particularly where public confidence in the outcome depends on an objective determination of the facts.

Social Media Has Delivered Verdicts. The Law Has Not.

The case has generated intense discussion across social media, with numerous commentators urging an independent forensic examination.

Many have argued that a scientifically conducted autopsy would either establish that Habila died from natural causes or uncover evidence requiring further criminal investigation.

Others have urged restraint, warning that allegations circulating online should not be mistaken for evidence and that no individual should be condemned outside the judicial process.

For legal observers, the debate illustrates a growing challenge in the digital age: public opinion often forms long before investigators complete their work.

Yet criminal justice depends on evidence, not assumptions.

A Test of Confidence in the Justice System

Whatever the eventual outcome, the questions arising from Mary Habila’s death now extend well beyond one family or one public official.

The case has become a test of how Nigeria’s justice system responds when private tragedy, public curiosity and the search for truth collide.

Whether the court ultimately permits an autopsy or grants the family’s request for immediate burial, many lawyers believe the overriding objective should remain the same: ensuring that every lawful step capable of establishing the truth is carefully considered before the case reaches its final chapter.

For now, one question continues to resonate far beyond Ebonyi State: Can justice be fully served when the medical questions surrounding an unexplained death remain unanswered?

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Constitutional democracy under threat across Africa, AfBA warns, urges judiciary to stand firm against abuse of power

The President of the African Bar Association (AfBA), High Chief Ibrahim Eddy Mark, has warned that constitutional democracy across Africa is facing mounting threats from political interference, attacks on judicial independence, disregard for court decisions and the gradual erosion of civic freedoms, calling on judges and lawyers to defend the rule of law with courage and integrity.

In a goodwill message to the 2026 Annual Conference of the Nigerian Law Society, Mark said the challenges confronting constitutional governance across the continent require renewed commitment from the Bench, the Bar, civil society and all defenders of justice.

Addressing the conference themed “Constitutional Democracy and the Role of the Judiciary,” the AfBA President described the judiciary as the indispensable guardian of constitutional order, warning that democracy cannot survive where courts are weakened or their authority undermined.

“History teaches us that the strength of any democracy is measured not merely by the conduct of elections but by the fidelity of its institutions to constitutional principles,” he said, stressing that an independent, impartial and courageous judiciary remains the final refuge of citizens seeking justice against arbitrariness and abuse of power.

While acknowledging that many African countries have made progress in democratic governance, Mark cautioned that constitutionalism across the continent remains “a work in progress.”

He identified persistent threats including attacks on judicial independence, disregard for court decisions, constitutional manipulation and shrinking civic space as obstacles to democratic consolidation, insisting that these developments should inspire collective action rather than resignation.

According to him, the legal profession has a historic responsibility to serve as the conscience of society by defending constitutional governance, promoting access to justice and ensuring that constitutions remain living instruments for protecting the rights and dignity of citizens.

“The legal profession has always stood as the conscience of society,” he said, reaffirming AfBA’s commitment to promoting the rule of law, defending judicial independence, protecting human rights and strengthening legal institutions across Africa.

Mark commended the Nigerian Law Society for choosing a conference theme that transcends national boundaries, noting that debates on constitutional democracy and judicial independence have become increasingly relevant across the continent as African democracies grapple with evolving political, economic and institutional pressures.

He expressed optimism that the deliberations would generate practical recommendations capable of strengthening Nigeria’s constitutional democracy while offering useful lessons for other African jurisdictions confronting similar governance challenges.

The AfBA President also reaffirmed the Association’s commitment to deepening collaboration with the Nigerian Law Society in promoting justice, defending human rights and strengthening legal institutions throughout Africa.

Ending on a reflective note, Mark observed that constitutions alone cannot preserve democracy unless institutions remain strong and those entrusted with protecting them act with courage.

“While constitutions are written on paper,” he said, “constitutional democracy is sustained by the integrity of institutions and the courage of those entrusted with their preservation.”

His remarks come at a time when debates over judicial independence, constitutional governance and the rule of law have intensified across several African jurisdictions, with legal practitioners increasingly warning that the resilience of democratic institutions will depend not only on constitutional guarantees but also on the willingness of governments and citizens alike to respect the limits of public power.

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Houses for Judges, Questions for Justice: New judicial estate reopens independence

President Tinubu says secure housing strengthens judicial independence. Critics argue that how judges receive official benefits matters as much as the benefits themselves, raising fresh constitutional questions about the separation of power

The inauguration of 20 official residences for judges of the Federal Capital Territory High Court has reignited one of the most enduring constitutional debates in Nigeria’s justice system: Can judicial independence be strengthened through executive-funded welfare, or does such largesse risk creating the appearance of judicial dependence?

For the Tinubu administration, the answer is straightforward. Secure accommodation, improved welfare and a conducive working environment, it argues, are indispensable to ensuring that judges can dispense justice without fear or favour.

For a number of constitutional lawyers and judicial reform advocates, however, the issue is considerably more complex. They contend that while judges deserve decent housing, security and other conditions of service, the manner in which such benefits are provided is just as important as the benefits themselves, particularly in a constitutional democracy where governments are among the judiciary’s most frequent litigants.

President Bola Tinubu restated his administration’s position on Wednesday while inaugurating the housing estate constructed by the Federal Capital Territory Administration (FCTA) for judges at Katampe, Abuja.

Represented by the Attorney-General of the Federation and Minister of Justice, Chief Lateef Fagbemi, SAN, the President said judicial independence extends beyond constitutional guarantees and must be reinforced through policies that protect the dignity, welfare and security of judicial officers.

“We cannot expect judges to dispense justice without fear or favour if their comfort, security and peace of mind are left to chance. True judicial independence is built on the dignity of our judicial officers,” he said.

The President noted that the newly commissioned estate follows the completion of 10 housing units each for judges of the Court of Appeal and the Federal High Court. He added that his administration had also commenced residential projects for judges of the National Industrial Court and the Code of Conduct Tribunal, describing the initiatives as part of a deliberate effort to strengthen one of the pillars of Nigeria’s constitutional democracy.

The development comprises 20 fully furnished five-bedroom duplexes with boys’ quarters and supporting infrastructure, including recreational facilities, neighbourhood shopping areas, standby power, perimeter fencing and an event centre.

The Chief Judge of the FCT High Court, Justice Husseini Baba-Yunusa, welcomed the project, describing judicial welfare as “an institutional necessity” capable of improving productivity, personal security and the effective administration of justice.

FCT Minister Nyesom Wike said the project forms part of a larger 40-unit estate, assuring that the remaining houses would be completed before the end of President Tinubu’s first term.

The Other Constitutional Conversation

Beyond the commissioning ceremony, however, the project has revived a debate that has simmered within Nigeria’s legal community for years.

At the centre of that discussion is not whether judges deserve decent accommodation. Few legal practitioners dispute that proposition.

The more difficult question is whether official residences, luxury vehicles and other welfare benefits should be provided through highly public executive initiatives involving political office holders, or through institutional mechanisms that place greater distance between the Bench and the Executive.

Among the most outspoken critics is Prof. Chidi Anselm Odinkalu.

Odinkalu has repeatedly argued that public ceremonies in which governors or other executive officials hand over expensive houses and luxury vehicles to judges risk undermining public confidence in judicial independence.

According to him, the concern is not that judges should live in poor conditions. Rather, he argues that benefits forming part of judicial remuneration ought to be transparently funded through constitutionally approved judicial budgets instead of appearing as executive benefaction.

He has also questioned why housing and official vehicles are sometimes presented as discretionary executive gestures when judicial funding ought to flow through institutional budgetary processes designed to preserve the separation of powers.

Odinkalu has further pointed to the Code of Conduct for Judicial Officers, particularly provisions requiring judges to avoid relationships or situations capable of creating an appearance of partiality, arguing that public displays of executive generosity towards judges may weaken public confidence in the courts, especially where governments are frequent litigants.

Financial Autonomy or Executive Benevolence?

Similar concerns have been raised over the years by Femi Falana, who has consistently argued that judicial independence cannot be fully realised without genuine financial autonomy as guaranteed under the Constitution.

Falana has repeatedly maintained that the Executive should faithfully implement constitutional provisions guaranteeing financial independence for the judiciary rather than exercising significant influence over judicial funding.

Constitutional lawyer Jiti Ogunye has likewise argued that public confidence in the justice system depends not only on the actual independence of judges but also on institutional arrangements that visibly insulate the judiciary from political influence.

For many legal scholars, that distinction is fundamental.

Judicial independence has both an institutional and a perceptual dimension. A judge may remain entirely impartial in fact, yet public confidence may still be weakened if institutional arrangements create an impression of indebtedness to one arm of government.

That concern is particularly significant in Nigeria, where election petitions, corruption prosecutions, disputes involving governments and constitutional challenges routinely place the Executive before the courts.

How Other Democracies Approach Judicial Welfare

Comparative constitutional practice suggests that the debate is not unique to Nigeria.

Across many Commonwealth jurisdictions, judges receive official residences, housing allowances, enhanced security and transport where necessary. The crucial distinction, however, is that these benefits are generally administered through established judicial remuneration systems, independent commissions or institutional budgetary frameworks rather than through public presentations by political office holders.

The objective is not merely to protect judicial independence, but to reinforce public confidence that judges neither owe nor appear to owe personal obligations to those exercising executive power.

A Test of Public Confidence

The debate ultimately goes beyond bricks, mortar or official vehicles.

Nigeria’s Constitution guarantees the independence of the judiciary because courts frequently determine disputes involving governments, elections, public finance and individual liberty. For that guarantee to command public confidence, many constitutional scholars argue that judicial officers must not only be independent—they must also be unmistakably seen to be independent.

Supporters of the Katampe project contend that secure accommodation protects judges from intimidation, improves their welfare and strengthens the administration of justice.

Critics counter that the same objective should be pursued through institutional arrangements that eliminate any perception of executive patronage.

Wednesday’s commissioning therefore represented more than the opening of another housing estate.

It reopened an enduring constitutional question that extends beyond one administration: where should a democracy draw the line between legitimate judicial welfare and the appearance of executive influence over an independent judiciary?

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Mass abductions: Who gave birth to these demons? By Funke Egbemode

HOW many mass abductions have we recorded in Nigeria since Chibok in 2014? Can you count them? What kind of people are we? What kind of minds wake up every morning to meticulously plan how to steal someone’s child, lock them away in a forest, expose them to hunger, rain, mosquitoes, fear and uncertainty for weeks?

At what point did cruelty become a profession in Nigeria, indeed a sector of the economy?

These are question that have refused to leave the lips of many Nigerians. Really, what kind of people have we become?

What kind of human beings look at a toddler, a child, a young girl, an old woman, and see not innocence but opportunity?

The abduction of the Oriire children and countless other kidnapping incidents across Nigeria have dragged us to a frightening place where the safety of a child is no longer guaranteed by the walls of a home, the gates of a school, or even the sacred environment of a place of worship.

Children who should be worrying about homework, friendships, examinations and dreams are learning words that no child should know: ransom, kidnappers, captivity, survival.

A child should know the comfort of a mother’s embrace, not the coldness of a forest floor. A child should know the sound of a school bell, not the sound of gunshots.

A child should know bedtime stories, not the frightening whispers of criminals discussing their fate as he shivers and his empty stomach twists and rumbles.

What kind of sickness has entered the heart of a society where human beings can keep children under the rain and scorching sun for 56 days and still sleep at night?

How these people sleep, function? Are they even still human, these men who walk past crying children, bewildered women and helpless men and negotiate their fates on a phone? Are these human beings?

A healthy society does not produce such monsters. Maybe it’s time to admit we are no longer what the creator created.

Read Also: The Untold Cost of the Oriire Rescue: Family seeks answers over how army lieutenant died in Oriire rescue

A healthy society does not tolerate such evil but here we are, for years suckling these demons. Do humans breastfeed demons? Tell me.

A healthy society does not become used to the suffering of its own people.

And yet, Nigeria appears to be fighting a battle not only against criminals with guns but against a dangerous disease of indifference, muttering ‘It is well’ and ’ we will get out of it’. Pray, tell me how.

Before tears of one family dries, there is sorrow in a dozen more, and before you finish writing one story, it has become yesterday’s news. The pain of one community becomes another statistic. Another kidnapping happens, another outrage erupts, another promise is made, and then the nation moves on, in fear, uncertainty until the next tragedy arrives.

Yes, the sun comes out every morning and the birds sing but isn’t this the end of the world? How did the evil roaming our streets become a endless stream of stories and condolence government statements and ‘may this never happen again’ prayers?

Every time a child is kidnapped, there is a mother whose heart stops every time her phone rings. There is a father who walks around pretending to be strong while silently falling apart inside. There are siblings who look at an empty chair at the dining table and wonder if their brother or sister will ever return. Yet for the abductors, it just another day in business, a mere money making venture.

Demons everywhere, brazen, daring.

They have now expanded their business territory to examination halls, turned our schools into hunting grounds. What kind of wickedness makes people storm a place where children are writing examinations and decide that those children’s futures are worth destroying?

The WAEC examination is not just another school activity. For many Nigerian children, it is a bridge between poverty and possibility. It is a document that can open doors, determine careers and shape destinies.

The teenager sitting in an examination hall is not just a student. That child carries the dreams of parents who have sacrificed everything. That child carries the hope of a family waiting for a better tomorrow.

So what kind of person looks at a room full of young people trying to build their future and thinks: “These are my targets”?

What kind of darkness convinces someone that destroying innocent lives is a path to wealth or power?

Who gave birth to these demons?

And perhaps the most painful question is how did we get here?

How did criminals become so bold?

How did they acquire the confidence to walk into communities, attack churches, kill worshippers and abduct people during moments meant for prayer and peace, force people to abandon their ancestral homesteads.

Didn’t the Yorubas have a saying: Ese kii se lasan’. Tragedies do not occur without a reason. And that if a fire burns and crosses the river, there is a power behind it.

The church, the mosque, the school, the home – these are supposed to be places of refuge. They are supposed to represent safety. But when criminals begin to invade even sacred spaces, it tells us that something has gone terribly wrong.

A society where people cannot pray without fear, travel without fear, sleep without fear or send their children to school without fear is a society crying for healing, desperately.

But perhaps one of the most disturbing issues is the suggestion that some of these criminal networks may enjoy support, protection or sympathy from people who should know better.

If anyone — for political advantage, financial benefit or personal ambition – sponsors, protects or negotiates with evil people, then that person is not simply playing politics. That person is gambling with the future of a nation.

Because what kind of political victory is achieved by destroying children?

What kind of power is gained from the tears of widows?

What kind of influence is built on the blood of innocent people?

A person who uses the suffering of citizens as a ladder to climb into power is not a leader. That person is part of the sickness.

And if are allowed to travel, receive support, celebrate victories and operate with confidence while ordinary Nigerians live in fear, then the question must be asked: who is failing whom?

This is not just about security forces. It is about the entire ecosystem that allows evil to survive, thrive.

A criminal does not operate successfully without weaknesses around him. There are informants. There are financiers. There are people who know and keep quiet. There are those who benefit from chaos.

The tragedy is that the victims are always the weakest.

The farmer. The student. The worshipper.

The mother. The child.

Never the powerful.

Nigeria must confront this sickness honestly. We cannot continue to describe every tragedy as “unfortunate” and move on.

Some things are not just unfortunate; they are unacceptable.

A nation must protect its children because children are the future walking in human form.

A nation must protect its elderly because they are the memory of society.

A nation must protect its women because they are the foundation of families. When a society fails these groups, it is not just facing insecurity. It is digging its own pit.

So again, the question remains:

Is this the land of the sick or what?

Because a healthy nation cannot watch its children disappear and respond with only prayers and condolences.

A healthy nation cannot allow evil men become more organised than the institutions created to stop them.

A sane nation cannot become a place where survival and resilience are considered an achievement. Resilience cannot and should not replace resistance in the face of evil.

Nigeria is not short of good people. We are not short of brave citizens. We are not short of men and women who want peace.

But goodness has remained too silent for too long and now evil has become confident.

The battle for Nigeria’s soul is not only about defeating criminals with weapons. It is about defeating the culture of acceptance that says, “This is how things are now.” No. This is not the Nigeria we knew, the Nigeria we inherited. This is a demon-infested conglomerate.

This must never become a new normal because a child crying in a forest is not normal.

A teenager kidnapped from an examination hall is not normal.

A worshipper killed during prayer is not normal. An old man beheaded by criminals is not normal.

A nation must know when it is bleeding and Nigeria is deathly pale, right now.

The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.

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From ‘Ghost’ Agencies to World Cup Vote? Fresh questions trail another controversial 2026 budget allocation

Nigeria’s 2026 budget has become the subject of another spending controversy after a N6.44 billion appropriation for a “Presidential Support Group for the 2026 World Cup qualifiers” drew attention despite the Super Eagles’ failure to qualify for the tournament, reigniting debate over transparency and fiscal discipline in the country’s appropriation process.

The latest controversy comes barely weeks after public debate over other disputed appropriations, including allocations linked to projects critics said fell outside the statutory mandates of certain agencies and concerns over funding earmarked for entities whose legal or operational status has been questioned.

Together, the controversies have revived a familiar question: How do questionable budget lines repeatedly find their way into Nigeria’s annual spending plans despite worsening economic conditions and growing demands for transparency in public finance?

The World Cup allocation has drawn attention because Nigeria’s Super Eagles failed to qualify for the 2026 FIFA World Cup, prompting questions over why such a substantial provision remained in the budget and whether any public funds were, or are intended to be, committed under that heading.

Former Vice President Atiku Abubakar, who weighed in on the controversy on Wednesday through his spokesman, Phrank Shaibu, described the appropriation as difficult to justify.

“How does a serious government budget N6.44 billion for presidential support for World Cup qualifiers after the country had already been eliminated?” he asked.

“What competition was the money intended to support? Who inserted the provision, who approved it, and who was expected to benefit from an expenditure whose stated purpose had already ceased to exist?”

According to the statement, the allocation was reportedly intended to cover logistics, camping and match bonuses connected with Nigeria’s World Cup qualifying campaign.

Whether the appropriation was ultimately released, remains dormant or was intended for another purpose has yet to be publicly clarified by the relevant authorities. The controversy has nevertheless renewed calls for greater transparency in the preparation, amendment and implementation of the national budget.

The questions come at a particularly difficult moment for Africa’s largest economy.

Across the country, millions of Nigerians continue to grapple with soaring food prices, high unemployment, declining purchasing power and widespread infrastructure deficits. Public hospitals struggle with inadequate funding and medical personnel shortages. Many public schools require urgent rehabilitation, while communities across several states continue to demand better roads, electricity, potable water and stronger security in the face of persistent attacks by terrorists, bandits and kidnappers.

Against that backdrop, governance experts have repeatedly argued that every poorly explained appropriation carries an opportunity cost. Resources committed to projects whose necessity or legal basis cannot easily be justified are resources unavailable for critical investments capable of improving the daily lives of citizens.

The controversy also feeds into broader concerns that have trailed successive federal budgets over alleged insertions, duplications and allocations that appear disconnected from the statutory responsibilities of some beneficiary institutions. Those concerns have fuelled repeated calls for stronger legislative scrutiny, more transparent budget preparation and greater public accountability throughout the appropriation process.

Nigeria’s Constitution vests the power of appropriation in the National Assembly, but constitutional lawyers have consistently argued that this responsibility extends beyond approving expenditure. It also requires lawmakers to ensure that public funds are allocated lawfully, prudently and in ways that advance the public interest.

Atiku said the latest appropriation reinforced public perception that sections of the national budget had become susceptible to expenditures lacking a clear and defensible public purpose.

He urged the National Assembly to investigate the provision, establish whether any funds have been released under the budget line and ensure that, where appropriate, resources are redirected towards more pressing national priorities.

The latest controversy is likely to intensify debate over whether Nigeria’s budgetary process has become sufficiently transparent to inspire public confidence or whether more far-reaching reforms are required to eliminate questionable allocations before they become law.

For many observers, the issue extends beyond one disputed budget line. It goes to the credibility of a public finance system expected to balance limited national resources against overwhelming national needs. At a time when government continues to urge citizens to make sacrifices in the interest of economic recovery, every controversial appropriation inevitably raises a broader question: Are public resources being deployed where Nigerians need them most?

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AFTER THE RESCUE (PART IV A): Beyond the Celebration |The Victory, the sacrifice and the lessons Nigeria cannot afford to forget

By Law & Society Magazine Investigations

History has a habit of preserving only the moment of triumph.

It remembers the embraces at the end of an ordeal, the relieved smiles, the official commendations and the photographs that reassure a weary nation that hope has not entirely abandoned it. The quieter, more complicated stories that follow rarely command the same attention. They unfold after the television cameras have departed, after the congratulatory statements have been issued and after the country has turned to the next crisis.

The rescue of the pupils and teachers abducted from three schools in Oriire Local Government Area has already secured its place among Nigeria’s most remarkable security operations in recent years. Fifty-six days after heavily armed terrorists invaded schools in the community and marched dozens of children and their teachers into the forest, the victims were brought home alive through a coordinated operation involving the Armed Forces, intelligence agencies and other security institutions.

For parents who had lived through almost two months of uncertainty, the reunion was nothing short of extraordinary. The operation restored children to their families, revived hope in communities that had feared the worst and demonstrated that determined intelligence gathering, sustained operational planning and inter-agency cooperation could still produce results against criminal groups that many Nigerians had begun to regard as almost untouchable.

The rescue deserved every expression of gratitude it received.

Yet no serious investigation into an event of this magnitude should end where the celebration begins.

Oriire is more than the story of children who came home. It is also the story of teachers who never did, of security personnel whose families exchanged anxious waiting for irreversible loss, of survivors attempting to rebuild lives interrupted by terror and of institutions now confronted with responsibilities extending well beyond the success of a single operation.

These are not separate stories. Together, they reveal what organised kidnapping leaves behind long after the hostages have regained their freedom.

The return of the abducted pupils marked the conclusion of one phase of the crisis. The more demanding work begins afterwards: prosecuting those responsible, supporting survivors, honouring those who died, strengthening vulnerable schools and ensuring that the conditions which allowed such an attack to occur are not simply left in place until another community faces the same nightmare.

That broader perspective matters because Oriire did not occur in isolation.

Mass abductions have become one of the defining features of Nigeria’s security crisis. Independent conflict monitors have documented hundreds of incidents involving schools, highways, farming communities and rural settlements, illustrating how kidnapping has evolved into an organised enterprise capable of disrupting education, economic activity and public confidence across large parts of the country.

Against that national backdrop, the Oriire operation stands out for what it achieved. It also presents an opportunity to examine what effective rescue operations can—and cannot—accomplish.

Military operations recover hostages.

They cannot, on their own, erase trauma. They cannot prosecute offenders. They cannot compensate bereaved families. They cannot restore public confidence in schools without sustained institutional action. Nor can they prevent future attacks unless the lessons drawn from one operation shape the response to the next.

Those responsibilities belong to the wider machinery of constitutional government.

They belong to investigators who must prepare criminal cases capable of securing convictions in court. They belong to prosecutors who must demonstrate that terrorism and kidnapping carry real legal consequences. They belong to policymakers responsible for improving school security and intelligence gathering. They belong to governments whose constitutional obligation to protect life does not end when rescued victims step out of the forest.

The human cost of Oriire illustrates why those obligations matter.

While families across Oyo State celebrated the return of their children, other families were preparing for burials.

Two teachers abducted during the attack did not survive captivity. Mr. Michael Oyedokun, a Mathematics teacher, was killed in the kidnappers’ camp. Mr. Esiyan Adegboye also lost his life before the rescue operation reached its conclusion. Their deaths transformed what had begun as a mass kidnapping into a tragedy from which some families would never fully recover.

The rescue itself claimed further lives.

Lieutenant Felix Ademe Isaac of the Nigerian Army, Private Silas Musa of the 81 Battalion and Sergeant Abena John Jerome of the Nigeria Police Force died during the operation. Lance Corporal Adamu Hussain sustained injuries while participating in the mission.

Their sacrifice received national recognition. The Senate observed a moment of tribute and urged the Federal Government to ensure the prompt payment of statutory death benefits, pensions, insurance claims and every entitlement due to their families. Those resolutions acknowledged an essential principle that is sometimes overlooked in public discussions of national security: the State’s duty to those who defend it extends beyond ceremonial honours.

The death of Lieutenant Isaac has since drawn particular public attention after members of his family disclosed that they were still seeking a clearer official account of the circumstances surrounding the young officer’s final mission. Reports have differed on whether the fatal incident involved explosives encountered by a military convoy or a landmine allegedly planted by the terrorists. Operational details may legitimately remain confidential where national security requires it, but communication with bereaved families, prompt fulfilment of statutory obligations and institutional accountability remain integral to the covenant between the nation and those it asks to serve in dangerous circumstances.

The constitutional promise of security is measured not only by the protection afforded citizens but also by the manner in which the Republic remembers those who pay the highest price in defending them.

That promise extends equally to the children whose education was interrupted, the teachers whose lives were permanently altered, the communities left to recover from collective trauma and the families of those who never returned from the operation.

The photographs celebrating the rescue captured an important national achievement.

They did not, and could not, tell the whole story.

To understand what Oriire means for Nigeria, it is necessary to look beyond the images of reunion and examine what the survivors themselves revealed about life inside the forest, what the conduct of the kidnappers says about the changing character of organised violence and why the events of those fifty-six days continue to raise difficult questions about justice, accountability and the future of school safety in Nigeria.

Those accounts begin where the celebrations ended.

Watch out for Part IV B

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Echoes of Trauma: The stories pain tells us

Most people think anger is what destroys relationships. It isn’t. What destroys us first is the story we begin to believe once anger takes hold.

By Lillian Okenwa

Have you ever noticed that two people can experience exactly the same event and come away with completely different conclusions?

A friend walks past without saying hello. One person assumes they were distracted. Another spends the rest of the day wondering what they did wrong. A spouse comes home unusually quiet. One assumes they have had a difficult day at work. The other becomes convinced the marriage is in trouble.

A manager sends a brief message asking an employee to stop by the office. One thinks, “Perhaps there’s something we need to discuss.” Another immediately imagines losing their job. Nothing has changed except the meaning each person attaches to the moment.

We rarely respond to life exactly as it unfolds. More often, we respond to what we believe it means. Those meanings are not always formed by the present. Many are shaped by experiences we have carried for years.

Perhaps one of trauma’s greatest consequences is not what it makes us remember. It is what it teaches us to assume.

Pain has a narrator.

Left unattended, it slowly begins explaining the world for us. Before long, we are no longer seeing people simply as they are. We are seeing them through old disappointments, old betrayals, old rejections and old fears. The stories our wounds whisper become so familiar that we stop recognising them as stories. They begin to feel like facts.

Psychologists have observed an interesting pattern. People carrying unresolved anger or emotional pain are far more likely to interpret other people’s actions as intentionally hostile, even when those actions are ambiguous. Pain alters perception before it alters behaviour. It teaches us to assign motives where there may only have been misunderstanding or circumstance.

Read Also: Echoes of Trauma: Life on Hold — The waiting that changes us (I)

Read Also: Echoes of Trauma: Life on Hold — The waiting that changes us (Part 2)

That helps explain why someone who has lived through betrayal struggles to trust genuine kindness. Someone raised under constant criticism hears condemnation in ordinary correction. A person who has repeatedly been abandoned experiences every delayed reply as another rejection. Someone whose confidence has been eroded interprets honest feedback as proof that they will never be enough.

The event may be ordinary. The meaning attached to it is anything but.

This explains why two siblings raised in the same home often remember their childhood differently. It explains why two colleagues leave the same meeting with completely different impressions. It explains why one person walks away encouraged while another leaves deeply offended, even though they heard the very same words.

Many of life’s fiercest battles are fought long before voices are raised. They begin in the stories we tell ourselves. Think about how many relationships have been damaged, not by what someone intended, but by what another person believed they intended.

“She didn’t greet me.”

“He ignored my message.”

“They left me out.”

“They’re talking about me.”

Perhaps they are.

Perhaps they are not.

The tragedy is that wounded hearts often stop asking which is true. They reach a verdict before the evidence arrives.

Perhaps one reason this subject resonates so deeply with me is that I am a lawyer. We live in a world of case files. Every case begins with questions. Who is responsible? What happened? When did it begin? What evidence is available? What is the history? No responsible judge delivers judgment before examining the facts.

Yet outside the courtroom, many of us do exactly that. We sentence people in the court of our hearts without hearing their side of the story. We assume motives. We fill in missing details. We convict on the strength of memories that belong to someone else, somewhere else, years earlier.

How many friendships have ended over an assumption? How many marriages have grown cold after two wounded people kept responding to stories neither of them intended to tell?

How many families no longer speak because each side became convinced, they already knew what the other meant? Trauma has a remarkable way of recruiting the present to replay the past.

The person standing before you today may not be the one who hurt you years ago. Yet if the wound remains unhealed, your heart may struggle to recognise the difference. This reaches beyond individual lives. Communities carry wounds. Nations do too.

Years of violence, insecurity, corruption, broken promises and disappointment leave more than economic or political scars. They shape expectations. People begin anticipating betrayal before trust, disappointment before hope and exploitation before sincerity. Every rumour sounds believable because it fits a story they have heard too many times before.

Nigeria has endured enough hardship to make suspicion understandable. Understandable, however, is not the same as healthy.

No family flourishes where suspicion becomes the default response. No workplace thrives when every decision is viewed through distrust. No nation can build lasting confidence if fear becomes the lens through which every action is interpreted.

Unhealed pain rarely remains private. It spills into conversations, relationships, institutions and communities until suspicion begins to feel normal. Healing invites us to see people as they are rather than through the wounds we carry.

That is not easy. Our minds naturally search for patterns. They try to protect us from being hurt again. Yet protection can slowly become distortion. We begin expecting from new people what old experiences taught us to fear.

A delayed response becomes rejection.

Constructive criticism sounds like condemnation.

A disagreement feels like betrayal.

An honest mistake is interpreted as deliberate disrespect.

Without noticing it, we stop responding to the present. We respond to echoes from the past. This may be one of trauma’s least recognised consequences. It does not simply preserve painful memories. It reshapes ordinary moments until they begin to resemble old wounds.

Healing, then, is not only about feeling better. It is about seeing more clearly.

Perhaps the hardest question any of us will ever ask is not, “Why did they do that?”

A more difficult question is this: “Is this what actually happened, or is this the story my pain is telling me?” That question demands humility.

Sometimes we discover that our greatest prison is not the wound itself. It is the story the wound has continued to tell.

Healing begins the day we become willing to question the narrator.

A lawyer and equity advocate, Lillian can be reached at [email protected]

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