In Nigeria today, justice does not always move at the same speed for everyone. Sometimes, it crawls. Other times, it simply looks the other way. And nowhere is this contradiction more visible than in the stories of Chidinma Ojukwu and Sadiya Umar Farouq.
In June 2021, the country was gripped by the shocking death of Usifo Ataga, a prominent businessman. The arrest of Chidinma, a 24-year-old undergraduate at the time, quickly turned into a national spectacle. She was young, stylish, and visible—a face that fit easily into headlines. But as the news cycle moved on, her life did not.
Four years later, she remains in detention, attending court proceedings, her youth gradually slipping away behind the walls of a prison facility. Now 28, the rhythm of normal life has been replaced by adjournments, legal arguments, and long periods of waiting. The world she once knew—of friends, social life, ambitions—has faded into memory. Whether she is ultimately found guilty or not, the reality is that time has already been taken from her, and it cannot be restored.
Her story stands as a harsh reminder of what happens when a person becomes entangled in crime or even the suspicion of it. Life does not just slow down; it halts completely. Every decision, every mistake, every association suddenly carries consequences that can define an entire future.
Yet, while one part of the justice system moves with heavy weight on individuals like Chidinma, another part appears remarkably flexible when power is involved.
Recently, a court in Abuja issued an arrest warrant for former minister Sadiya Umar Farouq, who is facing allegations of diverting $1.3 million and ₦746 million meant for Nigeria’s poorest citizens under a social intervention programme. The case, filed by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, raises serious concerns—not just about the alleged act itself, but about how such cases are handled.
Despite the gravity of the allegations, court appearances have been missed, explanations have been offered, and the process has slowed. Requests for travel on medical grounds, legal technicalities, and procedural delays have combined to create a familiar pattern—one Nigerians have seen too many times.
This is where the contrast becomes impossible to ignore.
A young woman accused of a violent crime sits in detention for years, her life effectively paused. A former public official accused of diverting funds meant for the vulnerable navigates the system with room to delay and maneuver.
It raises difficult questions. Is justice truly blind, or does it recognise status? Are the consequences of wrongdoing determined by the nature of the offence—or by the influence of the individual involved?
Nigeria has long struggled with corruption cases that stretch endlessly. Investigations begin with urgency but often lose momentum. Trials are prolonged. Public attention shifts. In the end, many cases remain unresolved, not because the truth is impossible to find, but because the system allows time and influence to dilute accountability.
What makes the current situation even more troubling is the human cost. The funds allegedly diverted were not abstract figures in a government account; they were meant for people at the lowest rung of society—individuals who depend on such support for survival. When such resources are mismanaged or diverted, the consequences are felt in homes that may never be heard from.
These two stories, though different in nature, reveal the same uncomfortable truth: justice in Nigeria is not always experienced equally.
Until there is a system that holds everyone accountable—regardless of position or privilege—the gap between the ordinary citizen and the powerful will continue to widen. And in that gap, trust in institutions will continue to erode.
In the end, the message is clear. Crime carries consequences, but in Nigeria, those consequences are not always the same for everyone.
•Mogaji Wole Arisekola, Publisher of The Street Journal Newspaper, writes from Ibadan.
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