In July 2021, my life changed forever. I was at my father’s store in Kubwa, Abuja, around 9:00 p.m., when about six armed men attacked and violently robbed us. They were aggressive, dangerous, and I genuinely feared they would kill us. I was present for the entire ordeal and was able to clearly identify some of their faces.
Like many Nigerians, I grew up believing that if you do the right thing—if you cooperate with the police, give a statement, and testify in court—the system will protect you. So I did exactly that. I gave a formal statement and later testified against the perpetrators, despite the serious personal risk. I acted in good faith, trusting that justice would be served and that my cooperation would ensure my safety.
But I was wrong. And my story is a warning about what happens when the state fails the very citizens who risk everything to uphold the law.
During the trial, I began receiving direct threats from unknown individuals warning me to withdraw my testimony. These threats were explicit, intimidating, and persistent. They made it clear that my life was in danger if I continued to cooperate. Despite the fear and psychological pressure, I chose to proceed because I believed in justice and trusted that the authorities would protect me.
The men were eventually convicted. But then I discovered that some members of the group had been released. That development caused immediate and overwhelming fear for my safety, because I knew I had been clearly identified as the person who testified against them.
I took serious precautions. I changed my daily routine, avoided public places, limited my movements, and spent most of my time indoors. I lived in constant anxiety, always alert and afraid of being followed or attacked. Even after changing my phone number, I began receiving new threats from unknown individuals, warning me to “watch my back” and making it clear they were coming for me. These were not empty words. I understood them as real and credible threats.
I went to the police station to report these incidents. I received no protection, no follow-up, and no reassurance. I felt completely exposed and abandoned.
This is the uncomfortable truth I want Nigerians to confront: our system does not protect witnesses. It encourages citizens to do the right thing, then leaves them to face the consequences alone. We are told that justice requires courage, but we are not told that courage will be punished.
I am not writing this for sympathy. I am writing because my experience is not unique. Across this country, witnesses to crimes are threatened, intimidated, and sometimes killed—often after the authorities have assured them of safety. And when that happens, the message to the public is clear: Don’t get involved. Don’t testify. Save yourself.
That is a dangerous message for any society. A country that cannot protect its witnesses cannot fight crime. A justice system that abandons the people who make it work is not a justice system at all—it is a trap.
I still believe in justice. But I no longer believe that the authorities will protect me. And that is a tragedy—not just for me, but for every Nigerian who might one day face the same choice: do the right thing, or stay alive.
I chose to do the right thing. Now I live in hiding while the men I helped convict are walking free.
Is that justice? I don’t think so. And until our leaders answer that question honestly, other witnesses will keep dying—or keep silent.
Madu Charles Chinonso: Robbed at gunpoint, I testified—now they’re hunting me