The fragile line between law enforcement and lawlessness has once again been violently blurred, as the killing of 28-year-old Mene Ogidi in Effurun, Delta State, throws Nigeria back into the haunting shadows of unresolved brutality that many believed should have ended after the 2020 #EndSARS uprising.
For the Ogidi family, however, this is not just another headline. It is a devastating continuation of what they describe as a recurring nightmare—one that has now claimed two sons.
In a heart-wrenching interview with BBC News Pidgin, Ogidi’s mother, Oghenemine, struggled through tears to make sense of a tragedy she insists is not isolated, but deeply personal and painfully repetitive.
“The one they killed before is younger to this one,” she cried. “What did I do to the police? From the video shown to me, I heard my son begging them… saying it was someone who sent him to pick a waybill.”
Her voice, heavy with anguish, carried a question that has become all too familiar across Nigeria: why?
According to the family, Mene Ogidi left home on what should have been a routine errand—helping a friend retrieve a waybill from Sapele. It was a simple act of trust and responsibility. But it became a journey he would never return from.
His elder sister, still reeling from the shock, described him not just as a sibling, but as the backbone of the family.
“He is my immediate younger brother. He was my everything,” she said. “There is nothing I have done without him. Even for my son to buy shoes, he would first call brother Mene.”
That day began like any other. Ogidi borrowed his mother’s phone due to a faulty device, contacted the sender of the waybill, received transport fare, and asked for directions. Then he left.
By evening, silence replaced expectation.
Calls went unanswered. Anxiety turned into fear.
The next day, the family began a desperate search across police formations—Ekpan, Mopol Base, Eburumede, A Division, and B Division. Each stop yielded the same response: no record, no arrest, no answers.
It was as if Mene Ogidi had vanished into thin air.
But the truth, when it finally surfaced, was far more disturbing.
After circulating his image online as a missing person, the family received videos that would shatter any lingering hope. The footage allegedly showed Ogidi in police custody—alive, pleading, and later, lifeless.
“They first shot him in the hand,” his sister revealed. “And that was not enough for them… so they killed him.”
The Nigeria Police Force has since announced the dismissal of the officer identified as ASP Nuhu Usman, along with others involved in the operation. According to Force Public Relations Officer, DCP Anthony Okon Placid, the officers will be handed over for prosecution.
But for the Ogidi family, the announcement feels hollow—another procedural response in a country where justice is often promised but rarely delivered.
What deepens the wound is the mother’s revelation that this is not her first loss to alleged police violence.
“It is when they are all grown that they are killing them,” she lamented, a statement that cuts through policy statements and official press releases, exposing a deeper crisis of trust between citizens and those sworn to protect them.
Across Nigeria, the echoes of past abuses remain loud. The #EndSARS protests of 2020 were supposed to mark a turning point—a collective demand for accountability, reform, and dignity. Yet, years later, cases like that of Mene Ogidi continue to surface, suggesting that the system may have resisted the very change it publicly embraced.
Human rights advocates have renewed calls for transparency, insisting that dismissals alone are not justice. They demand full prosecution, independent investigations, and compensation for families whose lives have been permanently altered.
But beyond policy demands and legal processes lies a more haunting reality: a grieving mother now forced to bury not one, but two sons under eerily similar circumstances.
And as her cries echo through the nation, the question remains—how many more stories like this must be told before justice in Nigeria stops being a promise and starts becoming a reality?