By Zayd Ibn Isah
Suppose you are a fan of horror films and want to satisfy your curiosity with the next terrifying spectacle. In that case, you don’t need to waste time scrolling through Netflix or asking fellow horror enthusiasts for recommendations. Just go on social media and search for “Uromi video.” You’ll not only find yourself confronted with one of the most horrific real-life scenes—the brutal burning of 16 innocent Nigerians traveling home to celebrate Sallah- but you might also end up being mentally scared for the rest of your life.
Unfortunately, like characters in a tragic horror film, the 16 innocent Nigerians never reached their destination. Their lives were cut short in Uromi by their fellow countrymen.
The victims were said to be Hausa hunters from Kano State traveling in a Dangote truck from Port Harcourt with their hunting gear. Unfortunately for the group, local vigilantes conducting a stop-and-search operation grew suspicious upon seeing the dane guns, cutlasses, and arrows.. And without verifying the facts, they raised an alarm, branding the group as bandits. In an instant, an irate mob descended upon them. In a manner reminiscent of the “Aluu Four” tragedy, they were set ablaze—innocent lives sacrificed at the altar of misinformation, fear, and bloodlust: the grim set-up for mob justice. Talk of history repeating itself.
This gruesome incident mirrors the ancient story of “Socrates and the Hemlock.” The great philosopher was sentenced to death not because he committed any crime but because he was misunderstood, falsely accused, and judged by the emotions of the masses rather than by the truth. Like the innocent travelers in Uromi, he was condemned without proper investigation—a victim of collective ignorance and paranoid fear.
The tragedy of jungle justice is that it thrives on the same flawed logic that doomed Socrates—where perception overrides reason, suspicion is treated as evidence, and a frenzied crowd determines who deserves to live or die. Until we learn from history, we will continue to repeat its darkest chapters.
The Uromi tragedy reminds me of the heartbreaking story of Barrister Uduak Adams, who narrowly escaped death due to a false accusation. On September 16, 2023, in Aborishade Street, Surulere, Lagos, she went to inspect a house she intended to rent and asked a young boy in the neighborhood for directions. Tragically, the boy’s mother, who had been searching for her son, suddenly appeared, hysterically accusing Adams of attempting to kidnap him.
Perhaps a neighbor, while she was looking for her son, told her they had seen him with a stranger and described the stranger to her. So, upon seeing Uduak, she immediately accused her of kidnapping her son—even though the boy and Uduak had already parted ways. Without giving her a chance to explain herself, an angry mob descended upon her, beating her mercilessly. It was only by sheer luck that she survived.
Ironically, while she was being brutalised,, the boy in question returned—completely unharmed—from a nearby field where he had been playing football. Realizing the gravity of their actions, her attackers dispersed, leaving her bruised, humiliated, and her accuser pleading for forgiveness.
These stories expose the terrifying ease with which innocent people can be branded as criminals and sentenced to death by mob action. Jungle justice is not just a breakdown of law and order—it is an indictment of our collective failure to think, verify, and uphold the basic principles of justice. It is a crime in itself, one that continues to claim the lives of the innocent while the real criminals remain in the shadows, manipulating society’s fears to their advantage.
Mob justice has become a rather disturbing reality in Nigeria, with a staggering 43% of Nigerians witnessing it firsthand, according to a 2014 survey. Recent data from SB Morgen Intelligence reveals that between January 2019 and May 2022, nearly 400 people lost their lives to mob violence in the country.
As expected, when tragic events like this happen, they further expose our fault lines. Many Nigerians immediately dug up the case of Deborah Samuel, who was lynched in Sokoto over allegations of blasphemy, as a way of reminding their compatriots from the North that the “chicken has come home to roost.”
It’s sad that a national tragedy that should unite us in grief has instead divided us.
This reaction, while understandable given the deep divisions within the country, only reinforces the cycle of hatred and revenge that fuels mob violence. Jungle justice is not a regional, religious, or ethnic problem—it is a national disgrace, a collective shame that calls for urgent action. If we continue justifying one act of mob violence with another, we will only be sowing the seeds for more bloodshed.
The Uromi tragedy also forces us to reflect on the disturbing issues of stereotyping and profiling. Since banditry and terrorism reared their ugly heads in Nigeria, every Fulani has been wrongly labeled a bandit or terrorist. I experienced this first-hand three years ago while traveling from Kwara to Abuja. Two Fulani men were in the same car as me. At a security checkpoint, an officer looked inside the vehicle and singled them out. They were ordered to step down, searched, and eventually allowed to return after nothing incriminating was found. The driver was then told to continue the journey.
I sat there wondering: “What if I had been a criminal carrying a dangerous weapon? Would I have been allowed to go simply because I wasn’t Fulani?”
It is unfortunate that we tend to paint an entire group of people with the same brush because of the crimes of a small percentage among them. Racial profiling is a dangerous practice that reinforces negative stereotypes and leads to the unfair treatment of entire communities. It strips individuals of their dignity, assuming guilt based on ethnicity rather than evidence. As such, when we single out Fulani men at checkpoints, view every young man in the Southeast as a potential IPOB agitator, or suspect every Northern Muslim in the South of being a terrorist, we are feeding a system of discrimination that fuels mistrust and division. These biases have real consequences—lives are lost, communities are stigmatized, and justice is perverted.
After the Uromi killings, some people—mainly from the North—began blaming northerners for traveling to other parts of the country to do menial jobs. I find this reasoning both strange and illogical. Are these not the same menial jobs many Nigerians travel abroad to do? Some even sell their properties just to relocate, while others risk their lives crossing the Mediterranean Sea. Oh, I forgot—they earn in dollars abroad. Their compatriots at home earn in naira. The bottom line is we should choose our menial jobs wisely. Abi no be so?
But not all northerners travel to the South to do menial jobs. Instead of blaming those who seek to earn an honest living by leaving the comfort of their homes, we should advocate for a Nigeria where citizens can move and settle freely anywhere, as enshrined in our constitution, without fear of persecution. The day this becomes impossible is the day we should all be truly concerned.
If we truly desire a just and united Nigeria, we must learn to judge people based on their actions, not their tribe or religion. We must demand accountability, not just from those who commit crimes but from those who enable injustice through ignorance, misinformation, and blind hatred.
Many justify jungle justice by blaming the country’s weak justice system. The truth is, no matter how flawed our criminal justice system may seem, it is still far better than a lawless society where the mob acts as judge, jury, and executioner.
At this point, it is crucial to commend the Edo State Governor and security agencies for how they have handled the situation so far. Enemies of the country hoped and prayed for it to spiral into a full-blown crisis, especially with the rate of misinformation spreading on social media. The government can also do more: after the “Aluu Four” lynching, an anti-lynching bill was proposed in Nigeriaʼs legislative chambers but fizzled out while it was being deliberated. It is high time such a bill is revisited and considered again, if only to help instill the weight of the law against lawlessness.
The truth is, mob violence does not solve crime—it only perpetuates more violence. And it is important to note that Nigerians are not inherently violent. It is just that having lost so much faith in the law, mob action appears to be a more effective course of action.
In all of this, few people are thinking of the families whose loved ones have lost their lives to this strangely elusive killer: a mob that corners its victims, murders them brutally, and disappears into thin air. Wives have lost their husbands, children will no longer see their fathers, and many will be plunged into indescribable sorrow. If we are to prevent this from ever happening again, we must choose the path of law, reason, and humanity over the savagery of mob rule. If we fail to do so, we will remain trapped in a vicious cycle where justice remains elusive and innocent lives continue to be lost to the flames of ignorance and hate.
Zayd Ibn Isah can be reached at lawcadet1@gmail.com.
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