I CRIED when I read about the deaths of the young people who died while in the custody of the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDC) in Minna.
Thirty-seven lives. Thirty-seven human beings who left their families alive and never returned home alive. Reports indicate that many of them were teenagers, some between the ages of 14 and 18.
As a mother, this tragedy touched a part of me that perhaps others may not immediately understand, because a few years ago, my own son came frighteningly close to experiencing the nightmare of being arrested and detained despite believing he had done nothing wrong.
He was then a first-year university student living off campus. One day, he and some of his friends went to a nearby restaurant to eat. They had ordered their food and were waiting to be served when they suddenly saw policemen approaching in numbers.
People at the restaurant began running in different directions.
My son and his friends did not run.
They were new students in the environment, carrying valid student identification, and in their innocence they reasoned: Why should we run? We have committed no crime. We are simply waiting for food that we have paid for.
That decision became their greatest mistake that day.
They were arrested along with others and taken away. Their phones were seized, leaving them unable to contact their families. They found themselves locked inside an overcrowded cell.
My son later told me that he had never experienced anything like it. They were hungry and thirsty. The cell was so congested that breathing itself became difficult, and they spent the night standing because there was hardly enough space.
The following morning, according to him, they were told to pay ₦25,000 each before they could leave. Fortunately, they had access to money and eventually regained their freedom.
Today, my son is in his final year at the university. But that experience changed him. He stopped going out casually to eat and became wary of crowded places where security raids might occur.
When I read about the young people who died in Minna and accounts from survivors describing an overcrowded detention facility and difficulty breathing, my mind immediately returned to my son. Survivors of the Minna incident have made serious allegations about the conditions inside the cell; those allegations, and the precise cause of the 37 deaths, remain subjects of official investigations.
I could not stop asking myself: What if my son’s story had ended differently?
Perhaps my son and his friends were simply fortunate.
That is why my heart goes out to the mothers and fathers who are today mourning their children. No parent should send a child out in the morning in search of a livelihood and receive his lifeless body afterwards.
But even in our grief and anger, we must allow facts and justice to guide us.
Much of the anger surrounding this tragedy has understandably been directed at the Niger State Government and Governor Mohammed Umaru Bago. However, we should distinguish political leadership of a state from the command and operational responsibility of the security agency involved.
The NSCDC is a Federal Government paramilitary agency established under federal law and placed under the Federal Ministry of Interior. Its own published command structure shows that state commands form part of a hierarchy ultimately headed by the Commandant-General at the national level.
This does not mean that a state government should fold its arms when tragedy occurs within its territory. Far from it. The state has a responsibility to demand answers, protect its citizens and cooperate with investigations.
But accountability must follow facts and the proper chain of responsibility.
There has also been anger over Governor Bago’s remarks about the possibility of poisoning from substances associated with mining. Some interpreted his comments as an attempt to absolve those responsible for the detention deaths.
I believe his entire statement should be considered rather than one possibility being isolated from the rest.
The governor also raised suffocation from overcrowding as a possible cause and stressed that the actual cause had not been established. He referred to observations including peeling skin and frothing from the mouth as reasons medical and forensic investigation was necessary.
In Hausa, when we say “kila”, we mean perhaps or maybe. It is not a declaration of certainty.
Whether the deaths resulted from suffocation, exposure to hazardous substances, negligence, mistreatment, or some combination of circumstances must therefore be established by credible evidence not political arguments or social-media speculation.
The Niger State Government has constituted a committee of inquiry, while the Federal Government has established an independent investigative committee following a presidential directive. Officers connected with the incident, including the Niger State NSCDC Commandant, have been suspended pending investigation.
These investigations must not become another exercise whose report gathers dust.
Thirty-seven people died in government custody. Their families and Nigerians deserve to know exactly what happened, who was responsible where wrongdoing is established, and what measures will prevent another Nigerian from suffering the same fate.
This tragedy should also force us to confront a deeper question.
Why were so many young people, including children, at mining sites in the first place?
Reports indicate that some victims were internally displaced persons from communities affected by insecurity, while authorities and civil-society organisations have raised broader concerns about children being drawn into hazardous mining amid poverty, unemployment, insecurity and inadequate access to education.
When insecurity drives families from their homes, when children who should be sitting in classrooms are searching mining sites for survival, and when unemployed young people have few alternatives for earning a living, responsibility extends beyond one security agency or one level of government.
Federal, state and local governments all have roles to play.
We must fight illegal mining, certainly. We must protect our mineral resources and enforce our laws. But poverty must also be fought. Insecurity must be fought. Unemployment must be fought. Children must be returned to school, and displaced families must be given genuine opportunities to rebuild their lives.
And above all, law enforcement must never mean that the life of a suspect becomes worthless.
A suspect is not a convicted criminal. Even a convicted criminal does not lose his fundamental right to life and human dignity.
The Minna deaths are not merely a Niger State tragedy. They are a Nigerian tragedy.
I am not holding brief for Governor Bago, the NSCDC or anybody else. I am holding brief for fairness, justice and the sanctity of human life.
Let the investigations establish what happened. Let anyone found culpable face the law. Let the families receive answers. And let government at every level examine the poverty, insecurity, unemployment and failures in education that leave our young people exposed to exploitation and danger.
As a mother whose own son once walked into a detention cell as an innocent young student and was fortunate enough to walk out alive, my heart is with every mother who waited for her son in Minna but whose son never returned.
May Allah forgive the departed, grant them eternal rest, comfort their grieving parents and families, and give them the strength to bear this unbearable loss.
And may this tragedy awaken our collective conscience.
We cannot bring these young people back.
But if their deaths compel us to reform how suspects are arrested and detained, protect vulnerable children, confront poverty and insecurity, and ensure that no Nigerian dies needlessly in custody again, then perhaps from this terrible darkness, our country can find the courage to do better.
Justice for the Minna 37 must not be political. It must be human.
- Mudi writes from Suleja, Niger State and she can be reached via mairommuhammad@gmail.com.