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Sofiat’s murder and our booming human body parts market

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With the shock, anger, and general revulsion that followed the gruesome killing of 20-year-old Sofiat Kehinde, allegedly perpetrated by her boyfriend and three of his accomplices in Oke-Aregba, Itoko-Tuntun, Idi-Ape in Abeokuta, Ogun state on January 29, 2022, an end ought to have naturally come to our naivety about the pestilence that ritual killings for money has become among us. Or oughtn’t it?

Only yesterday, in the same Abeokuta, in an area called Leme, 43-year-old Kehinde Oladimeji and his wife, Adejumoke Raji, were arrested by men of the Ogun state police command for being in possession of fresh human breasts, hands, and other parts kept in a bucket. In 1996, Owerri, the capital of Imo state, almost exploded when one Innocent Ekeanyanwu was arrested with the head of a young boy called Ikechukwu Okonkwo. Police investigators later found the buried torso of Ikechukwu in the premises of Otokoto Hotel, which was owned by one Chief Duru. This sparked violence in the city, leading to unprecedented burning of properties of suspected patrons of ritual killings. The leader of the syndicate was later arraigned for murder and in February 2003, sentenced to death by hanging.

The belief in human rituals for money, which modernity has not succeeded in killing, is as old as Africa and is still prevalent today in many parts of the continent. Secret societies and their killings were dominant in pre and post-colonial Africa. In 1945 for example, one Amos Oshinowo Shopitan wrote to a senior British official about his two-year-old son who had been kidnapped and used for the “dreadful practice of stealing human beings for either secret immolation or juju making”. In 1946, a total of 161 persons were recorded by the colonial government as having been killed for rituals in the Ibibio area in the present-day Akwa Ibom state. In 1947, a United States consul reported that he had recorded 88 proven and 96 suspected cases of ritual murders in the same Ibibio area.

In virtually all parts of Africa, albino-hunting is a pastime. This species of nature’s creation with defects in skin pigmentation is a sought-after delicacy for rituals for money. Given so many names which range from Igbo’s onye aghali – one with strange white colour; Yoruba’s eni osa (persons of the gods) and zeru zeru – ghost – in Tanzania, so many myths of supernatural powers are woven round albinos.

Today, irrespective of supersonic advancements in technology and diverse ways of making billions through taking advantage of modernity, there are pandemic beliefs in many parts of Africa, which have grown so luscious, that the body parts of albino bring wealth, power, or sexual victory. For instance, in many parts of Southern Africa, it is believed that a sexual romp with a lady with albinism gives an instant cure for HIV and AIDS. Albino victims have their body parts sold for thousands of dollars to Sangomas or witch doctors. In 2016, the Office of the UN high commissioner for human rights (OHCHR) had announced that albino hunters sold a whole albino corpse for up to $75,000, while their arm or leg fetched as princely a sum as $2,000.

In Malawi, authorities announced that, between January and May 2016, six albinos, who included a 17-year-old Davis Fletcher Machinjiri, killed while he went to watch a soccer match, had been discovered. Amnesty International, quoting the Malawian authorities, gave an account of how Machinjiri was killed thus: “About four men trafficked him to Mozambique and killed him. The men chopped off both his arms and legs and removed his bones. Then they buried the rest of his body in a shallow grave”. It looks as grotesque as the killing of Sofiat.

Tanzania has its own share of this barbarism. About 75 albinos were reported to have been murdered between 2000 and 2016. Ikponwosa Ero, a person with albinism, in an interview, had said that albinos in Africa are endangered species and their situation, “a tragedy”, maintaining that the 7,000 to 10,000 albinos in Malawi and thousands of others in Tanzania, Mozambique, and other countries were “at the risk of extinction if nothing is done.”

One other hot cake for rank-minded human parts ritualism in Africa is hunchbacks. In 2011, one Ifeoma Angela Igwe was reported to have been kidnapped from her house, beheaded at a bush path, and butchered. Her hunch, which is believed to contain some mercuric magical power that curates wealth, was also severed off her back. In another instance, one Adeoye Dowo, a 22-year old, was lured into the bush by his girlfriend in Ago Alaye, a village in Odigbo local government of Ondo state, strangled by three men and his hump decapitated. So also was one Taibatu Oseni, a lady of similar age, murdered by her assailants and her hunch removed.

The murder of Sofiat was particularly grotesque. It must have alerted both government and the governed that our society had gone past the stages of pretenses and innocence. Her abductors, four teenage suspects of between 18 and 20 years, had allegedly killed her, severed off her head, and burnt it almost into ashes in a mud pot, with her remains already packaged in a sack to be disposed of by the time they were arrested.

For us as a people, I intend to argue in this piece, we are just crying over spilled milk, and like a knock-kneed, we have refused to look at the foundation of our current problem of ritual killings. Our case is analogous to that of the proverbial bush rat which was complicit in its own calamity. While assailants were digging his hole, the bush rat refused to raise alarm and when he was arrested, roasted in the hot furnace, he raises his hands up above the head to raise alarm, which Yoruba express as, “Okete gbagbe ibosi, o de’gba alate, o ka’wo le’ri“. There is no denying the fact that we are a people who believe in achieving material successes through harnessing mystical powers. What those four teenage boys who killed Sofiat did was go on a long shuttle into their African roots to borrow a leaf from our barbaric past.

From creation, in the search for explanations to the physical and earthly things whose order and happenings are beyond their comprehension, Africans created a counterpoise for physical objects in the spiritual. To them, nothing happens in the physical without a corresponding occurrence in the spiritual. In this anthropomorphic belief, gods are behind the order of the universe and look over the affairs of men. That was why gods like  Obatala, 

Sango, Ogun, Amadioha, and the Arochukwu deities were created in Africans’ own image, unseen but with believed awesome powers that superintend over the affairs of man. The deities were worshipped with various objects. Stephen Ellis, British historian, Africanist, human rights activist, and author of the famous book, ‘This Present Crime: A History of Nigeria’s Organized Crime’, said: “Nigerians, then and now, maintain a dialogue with the invisible realm, in effect trying to shape their own well-being through a process of negotiation with the spirit world”.

One of such gods in West Africa is the Olokun. Olokun is an androgynous god or orisha, which means that it could be a man or a woman, depending on the people who worship it. The belief of Olokun worshippers is that it is the parent of Aje, the orisha that is in charge of great wealth and whose residence is at the bottom of the ocean. Olokun’s reputation as the ruler of bodies of water is legendary. It is also revered as the sole god with authority over water deities. It is said to possess the ability to give man great wealth, health, and prosperity. To maintain communication with the Olokun, a regime of murders by ordeal or ordeal by innocence was perpetrated. Human sacrifices to the gods were required and, added to the slavery experience – where man sold his fellow man for mirrors and liquor – the heart of the African became as hard and scarred as the tortoise’s carapace.

In 1912, the British governor-general, Lord Lugard, in a letter to his wife, Flora Shaw, said he had just dealt with a file that contained 744 murders by ordeal. Ordeal by innocence is a very severe or trying experience that was prevalent in pre-colonial Africa. It was a method of trial where the guilt or innocence of an accused person got determined by first subjecting them to a tedious physical danger. One of the methods used in ordeal by innocence was to singe the victim’s flesh with fire or throw them inside hot water and whatever fate the victim suffers then becomes an indication of divine judgment on them.

As far back as the early 20th century, Nigerians’ renown for seeking material successes through mystical powers had gained the attention of British colonial power. J. K. Macgregor, headmaster of the famous Calabar-based missionary school, Hope Waddell Institute, which Nnamdi Azikiwe attended, had detected over a hundred mails from abroad in the hands of his pupils. Writers of the letters promised the pupils, in the words of Ellis, “quack medicines and quack methods of treating diseases… magical works and letters from various societies that professed to give esoteric teachings that were sure to bring successes and happiness”. Those letters came from America, England, and India. Macgregor was so bothered that in 1935, he wrote the governor-general about it.

Africans, Nigerians saw the intervention of colonial Britain in their social and political affairs, especially its frown at barbaric killings and turning of the human body into commodity or money, as meddlesome interloping. British colonial government, which saw itself on evangelism to civilize Africa, frowned at such barbaric acts of human sacrifice for money. To it, such practices were repugnant to natural justice. This however did not deter the practice. Only God knows the number of young boys and girls whose blood were spilled from pre and immediate post-colonial Africa, on the altar of claims of wealth-seeking, health-seeking, and purification of lands with human blood. Sweets, chewing gums, nuts, Akara balls, and other fascinating things were used to truncate the destinies of hundreds of children, ostensibly with the aim of increasing the wealth and well-being of their patrons.

It will appear that having been smoked out by the EFCC and with a greater general awareness of their nefarious activities, which has made their preys be on the alert, the market of scam that the Yahoo Yahoo boys engage in has been grossly affected. Thus, the human ritual market seems the next sought-after.

Unless we want to deceive ourselves, those four headhunter boys who murdered Sofiat in Abeokuta, the hunchback hunters, the albino scavengers of Tanzania mirror who we are as Africans. Centuries of preaching on the sacredness of the human body and the visible monumental strides of technology have not succeeded in impeaching our ancient beliefs in spiritualism and metaphysics and their manifestations in ancient primitivism and barbarism. We attribute great mystical powers to money, right from the beginning when cowries and iron bars became the means of exchange. Money today is more valuable in our estimation than human life and we go to every length to have it. For us in Africa, money is not Mammon; it is life.

Immortal Bob Marley counseled – many more will have to suffer – as we enter the election season preparatory to the 2023 elections, many will be used for sacrifices to get to offices by politicians. It is in sync with us. In the first republic, the three regional political parties were built around secret societies. Ogboni society, which wielded enormous powers before the colonial incursion, was consequential in political decisions. J. Y Peel, in his ‘Religious Encounter and the Making of the Yoruba’ (2000) had noted that Yoruba use human beings, especially strangers, as sacrifices, at funerals for important people. Mortuary killings have been very prevalent since ancient days. In 1847, when Basorun Oluyole of Ibadan died, 70 people were killed to act as his consorts in the hereafter.

Today, there is a rat race to embrace Olokun, the sea goddess of money. It is worsened by the fact that governments have abdicated their social responsibilities and everybody is running a race for self-sustenance and personal survival over the harsh and inclement social weather. In homes, parents and their children build grooves where money is sacralized daily. Our social situation is aggravated by the fact that law and order have taken a sabbatical from governance in Nigeria.

Those days, if you didn’t have money but had character, you were given pride of place in society. Today, character without money is dead. The get-rich race has become pandemic. Politicians, governments, and Nigerian leaders, in general, are patrons of this social order. It began first with the godification of money and then, a huge war waged on the merit system. Uneducated and unskilled hooligans are suddenly made rich by the system, simply because they are anvils in the hands of politicians. Flaunting of ill-gotten wealth plays a major role in polluting the subconscious of the youth.

There is this reasoning which has infected the thought process of society that education is drab and unrewarding, thus pushing children from the path of their future redemption. The church has also helped fester this mindset with the pride of place it gives to money and wealth. General overseers live in magnificent, superfluous, and stupendous wealth gotten from subverting the minds of congregants through religious scams. They openly and unabashedly call for billion naira donations to church and bother less to crosscheck sources of wealthy donors. This cancer has eaten so deep that today, parents help their children to pad up scamming ventures. They take them for spiritual fortification in shrines of pastors, diviners, and marabouts.

It will be naïve, unrealistic, and wrong to say that rituals of human body parts for money are ineffective. Or that the metaphysics of human sacrifice does not have an effective science to it. As Africans, we cannot deny metaphysics like Austrian philosopher, Ludwig Wittgenstein, who called it nonsensical. A dark practice like this which has endured for centuries cannot be waved aside that peremptorily. Or else we are saying that our forefathers, reputed with those inventions that still subsist till today, were ignoramuses. They were not. Human rituals are a fact of existence with their own grotesque science known only to the practitioners.

However, a time has come for Africa to join the rest of the world to do away with the crudity, barbarity, and primitivity of human rituals. Governments should first make life livable for their people so that human beings can return to their love for themselves and put money in its secondary place in the scheme of things. Today, the extreme poverty afflicting the populace has turned them into beasts who pawn themselves for cash. It is why human rituals for money have quadrupled what they were pre and in the immediate post-colony. Second, the government must consciously de-radicalize money and its effects, and flaunting of wealth should attract sanctions.

Social studies lessons of pre and post-independence must be exhumed. They were learned by rote and taught to pupils from creche, an example being the Yoruba J. F. Odunjo’s Alawiye series, which taught the values of work, condemned get-rich-quick syndrome, and pronounced damnation for indolence. Money must and can never be the only source of happiness and respect in any sane society. We must push it down from its unearned and undeserved first position in our affairs and push up values that sustain a people. These precepts must be read, memorized, and recited like verses of our Bible and Quran. Only then can we stop the pernicious harvest of our children in their prime, in the hands of flesh-hunters for money.

Dr. Festus Adedayo, a journalist, lawyer and columnist writes from Ibadan, Oyo state.

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Opinion

Nigeria’s Insecurity: Why the System Rewards Reaction, Not Prevention

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The most foolish person in a burning house is not the one who cannot find the exit. It is the one who knew the house would burn, watched it happen, and only ran when the ceiling collapsed. That is Nigeria’s governance posture toward insecurity—a pattern so consistent that it has become normalized.

“Ikú tó pa ojúgbà ẹni, òwe ló fi pa. (The death that kills your neighbour is a proverb directed at you).

The bandits did not simply arrive. They sent warnings ahead of them through a trail of violence that crossed state lines and appeared in every massacre headline we filed away as someone else’s problem.

When Insecurity Was Still “Someone Else’s Problem”

When the North was burning and the Middle Belt bleeding, the South West treated it as distant noise. Kwara became the first warning sign—the bridge between North and South—slowly slipping under the shadow of insurgency. The question every serious observer should have asked was simple: what happens when it crosses the border?

South West governors issued statements—careful, brief, and reactive. None moved with the urgency the threat demanded. Before long, violence arrived at our doorstep: herder brutality in Oke-Ogun, attacks in Oyo and Ekiti, kidnappings along the Ibadan–Ijebu-Ode expressway, and forest camps emerging in Ondo.

The warning signs had matured into reality, yet we were still searching for an exit strategy that should have been built years earlier.

The Problem: We Only Count the Dead

In safety performance management, there is a critical distinction between lagging indicators—outcomes after failure (deaths, destruction, losses)—and leading indicators, which measure prevention before failure occurs.

Aviation, oil and gas, and other high-risk industries understand this clearly: a system that obsesses over lagging indicators will always arrive after the accident.

Nigeria’s security governance is built almost entirely on lagging indicators. We count attacks after they happen. We rebuild after a collapse. We mourn after preventable deaths.

We rarely ask:

How many attacks were prevented this quarter?

How many threats were neutralized before execution?

How many cells were dismantled at the planning stage?

We do not know the answers—because we are not measuring them. The system was never designed to prevent. It was designed to respond: loudly, visibly, expensively, and always too late.

Another Base. The Same Question Nobody Asks

The presidency is reportedly considering a military base in Oriire Local Government Area of Oyo state. It is a familiar pattern: a major security incident, public outrage, and an institutional response designed to signal seriousness.

But the critical question remains unanswered: what has been the leading-indicator performance of existing bases?

How have long-standing military formations in places like Jos, Benue, and Zamfara—some active for over two decades—actually shifted the security outcome?

A military base without actionable intelligence is a stationary slaughter ground for soldiers. It does not prevent attacks; it often becomes a reactive outpost in a repeating cycle: attack, deployment, statement, investigation, and then silence—while underlying threat networks remain intact.

The Incentive Structure Behind the Chaos

The deeper issue is not the capability of security forces. It is the incentive structure of the system.

When leadership is judged only by incidents that have already occurred, governance shifts from prevention to performance management of failure. The objective becomes managing optics, not reducing probability.

Nigeria’s security budget has grown significantly over the past decade, yet insecurity has worsened. Kidnappings have become more brazen. Why? Because funding is justified by the persistence of the crisis, not its resolution.

If the problem is solved, what justifies the next budget cycle?

For years, decentralization has been proposed as the structural reform that could change the system—but it remains trapped in political rhetoric. Why? Because decentralization disperses power, and power in Nigeria’s political economy is not dispersed. It is concentrated.

Sixteen Days. Full Stop.

Forty-six children and teachers were kidnapped in Oriire. It reportedly took sixteen days for the presidency to authorize a specialized rescue framework.

Sixteen days before the Commander-in-Chief treated the abduction of forty-six human beings as a crisis requiring formal executive activation.
But responsibility in moments like this is not singular.

The Oyo State Governor, by constitutional convention regarded as the Chief Security Officer of the state and a recipient of security votes, also occupies a central coordinating role in the security architecture of the state. Within a crisis of this scale, expectations of rapid intergovernmental coordination, visible command urgency, and sustained pressure on federal response mechanisms are not optional, hey are inherent to the office.

Yet, the response cycle, from abduction to high-level coordinated action and physical engagement with affected communities, unfolded at a pace that raised legitimate public concern about the speed and intensity of institutional reaction.

By the time visible field visits and coordinated engagements occurred, the delay had already become part of the public record of the crisis itself—shaping perception as much as the incident shaped fear on the ground.

In a functional security system, crisis response is measured in hours, not days. Not for symbolism, but because time directly affects outcomes: every passing hour in an active kidnapping reduces the probability of safe recovery and increases the leverage of perpetrators.

Sixteen days, therefore, is not merely a lapse in timing. It reflects a deeper structural problem—where urgency is often declared after pressure builds, rather than operationalized when intelligence first breaks.

And in that gap between incident and action, citizens are left to absorb the consequences of delayed coordination across all tiers of authority.

The Verdict

Nigeria does not primarily need more military bases. It needs a new security measurement architecture—one that prioritizes intelligence conversion rates, early-warning response times, and pre-emptive disruption metrics over post-incident operations.

Every threat must be treated as time-sensitive, where minutes and hours determine outcomes—not weeks and statements.

Most importantly, citizens must shift the accountability question:

Not only “why did the attack happen?”

But “why was it not prevented?”

Nigeria’s security challenge is ultimately a leadership and systems failure—an institutional preference for reaction over prevention, because prevention is politically invisible.

You cannot hold a press conference about the attack that never happened.

Until this reality is named and confronted with precision, the cycle will continue.

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Opinion

Why Ibadan North youths are rooting for Repete

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Growing support has continued to trail a youthful politician and technology advocate, Hon. Khalil Mustapha Adegboyega, popularly known as Repete, as many youths in Ibadan North Federal Constituency expressed confidence in his leadership style and vision for development.

Across several communities within the constituency, residents, particularly students, artisans and young professionals, described Repete as one of the emerging political figures with strong grassroots appeal and a passion for youth empowerment.

Supporters said his growing popularity stems from his consistent advocacy for innovation, entrepreneurship and skills development aimed at addressing unemployment and creating opportunities for young people.

As an engineer and technology enthusiast, Repete is also said to possess a deep understanding of the evolving digital economy and the need to position youths for global competitiveness.

Many of his supporters noted that his approach to leadership focuses on practical solutions, mentorship and capacity-building initiatives capable of helping young people become self-reliant and economically productive.

Some community stakeholders who spoke on his rising profile said his humility, accessibility and relationship with the grassroots have continued to endear him to many residents within the constituency.

They added that Repete’s engagement with youths and community groups reflects his commitment to inclusive governance and people-oriented representation.

Observers within the constituency also maintained that the increasing support for the politician reflects a growing desire among residents for a new generation of leaders driven by innovation, competence and accountability.

According to them, many young people see Repete as a symbol of hope and progressive leadership capable of contributing meaningfully to the development of Ibadan North Federal Constituency.

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Opinion

Repete or Regret: APC’s Moment of Truth in Ibadan North

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File photo of Hon. Khalil Mustapha Adegboyega (Repete)

The All Progressives Congress (APC) in Oyo State stands on the edge of a consequential decision—one that may define not only its fortunes in Ibadan North Federal Constituency but also its broader political relevance in the state.

As the countdown to the party primaries intensifies, the question before APC leaders is no longer routine. It is strategic. It is urgent. And it is decisive: will the party align with the clear preference of the people or risk repeating costly political miscalculations?

At the centre of this debate is Hon. Khalil Mustapha Adegboyega, widely known as Repete—a name that has, over time, evolved from a political identity into a grassroots phenomenon.

A Candidate Rooted in the People

In contemporary Nigerian politics, where voter awareness is rising and expectations are shifting, candidates are increasingly judged not by promises but by presence. On this scale, Adegboyega stands tall.

His political journey is marked by consistent engagement with constituents—far beyond the optics of election seasons. From youth empowerment initiatives that provide practical skills and startup support, to sustained interventions in healthcare access for the elderly and indigent, his footprint across Ibadan North reflects a model of leadership anchored on service.

Unlike the transactional approach that often defines political relationships, Adegboyega’s connection with the people appears organic—built on trust, accessibility, and continuity. These are not mere campaign attributes; they are political assets.

The Danger of Political Disconnect

History offers the APC a clear lesson: parties that ignore grassroots sentiment often pay a heavy electoral price. The imposition of candidates perceived as distant or untested has, in several instances, resulted in voter apathy, internal dissent, and eventual defeat at the polls.

Ibadan North presents no exception.

With opposition parties closely monitoring the APC’s internal dynamics, any misstep in candidate selection could provide a ready opening. A divided house, coupled with a candidate lacking widespread acceptance, is a formula the opposition is well-positioned to exploit.
The implication is straightforward: this is not merely about party loyalty; it is about electoral viability.

Echoes from the Grassroots

Across the length and breadth of Ibadan North—markets, motor parks, religious centres, and community gatherings—a consistent pattern emerges in political conversations. The name “Repete” resonates with familiarity and acceptance.

Such organic support is not easily manufactured. It is cultivated over time through visible impact and sustained presence. For a party seeking electoral certainty in a competitive environment, this level of grassroots validation is not just desirable—it is critical.

A Test of Leadership and Judgment

For the APC leadership in Oyo State, the moment calls for clarity of purpose. Decisions driven by narrow interests, personal alignments, or short-term calculations may carry long-term consequences.

The task, therefore, is to balance internal considerations with external realities. Elections are ultimately decided by voters, not by party caucuses. A candidate who commands public confidence offers the strongest pathway to victory.

The Stakes Are Clear

Ibadan North is too strategic a constituency for experimentation. The cost of error is not limited to a single seat; it extends to party cohesion, credibility, and future positioning within the state’s political landscape.

In this context, the argument for Adegboyega is less about sentiment and more about strategy. His visibility, acceptability, and record of engagement place him in a strong position to consolidate support and mobilise voters effectively.

Conclusion: A Choice with Consequences

As the APC moves closer to its primaries, the decision before it is both simple and significant: align with a candidate who reflects the mood of the electorate or risk conceding advantage to a watchful opposition.

In politics, moments such as this often separate foresight from hindsight.
For APC in Ibadan North, this may well be one of those defining moments.

 

Aderibigbe Akanbi, a political analyst, writes from Ibadan.

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