BY RITA OYIBOKA/AMAYINDI YAKUBU
She was only 13, a small girl with bright eyes and big dreams. Her name was Elizabeth Ochanya Ogbanje.
Sent to live with her aunty for the promise of education, she walked straight into a nightmare that would span five years, break her body, and ultimately take her life. Seven years after her death, Nigeria is still grappling with what her story says about who we are, a people quick to mourn, but slow to act.
A Girl Lost in Plain Sight
In the dusty village of Ogene-Amejo in Benue State, Ochanya was born in 2005 to parents who believed that education was the gateway to a better life. Like many rural families, they placed their trust in a relative, Mr Andrew Ogbuja, a lecturer at Benue State Polytechnic, to help the little girl access schooling in Ugbokolo.
She was barely 8 when she arrived at the Ogbuja household. But behind the iron gates of that compound, she was not being raised; she was being destroyed.
Neighbours would later recall her as timid and soft-spoken, always ready to help with chores, rarely smiling. They did not know she was being sexually violated, first by her uncle’s son, Victor and then by the uncle himself. The assaults went on for five years, in silence, in shame, in pain.
By 2018, the damage was irreversible. The child’s small frame was ravaged by vesicovaginal fistula (VVF), infections, and emotional trauma. She could no longer control her urine. When she was finally taken to the Federal Medical Centre, Makurdi, it was too late. Ochanya died on October 17, 2018, aged 13.
A Death That Shook the Nation
News of her death exploded across Nigeria. The country was stunned, and then furious. Hashtags like #JusticeForOchanya trended for weeks. Civil society groups, journalists, and citizens demanded answers.
How could a child be raped repeatedly by two members of her own family, and no one did anything? How did a respected lecturer commit such horror and still go to work unbothered?
Soon after, Andrew Ogbuja was arrested. His son, Victor, fled and has remained a fugitive since. The Benue State Government charged Andrew with rape and criminal conspiracy under Sections 222 and 278 of the Penal Code. The Federal Government also filed a separate case for failure to protect a child.
But what followed was a slow, painful legal process that exposed the true fragility of Nigeria’s justice system.
A Courtroom Without Closure
In February 2022, four years after the child’s death, the Benue State High Court in Makurdi delivered its verdict. The judge, Justice Augustine Ityonyiman, acquitted Andrew Ogbuja of rape. His reasoning? The prosecution had failed to prove penetration and could not link the abuse conclusively to Ochanya’s death.
It was a technical judgment, legally defensible, morally devastating.
Across Nigeria, outrage erupted anew. For those who had followed the case, it felt like a second death. The man many believed responsible for the girl’s suffering walked free. Victor, the son, was still missing.
The Benue State Government filed an appeal, but three years later, the case remains trapped in procedural back-and-forth. Justice has become a bureaucratic waiting game.
Seven Years On: The Streets Rise Again
However, in late October 2025, social media erupted with renewed vigour under the hashtag #JusticeForOchanya, as Nigerians voiced their frustration over the years of inaction and the lack of meaningful resolution in the tragic case of Elizabeth Ochanya Ogbanje.
Determined to push for accountability, Ochanya’s family formally petitioned the Nigeria Police Force’s Inspector-General of Police (IGP) on November 3, 2025, protesting the ongoing refusal to arrest Victor Ogbuja, the fugitive suspect at the heart of the case. The momentum did not stop there. Plans for a public rally on November 8, 2025, at Dan Anyiam Stadium, Owerri, were announced, signaling a collective demand for justice and full accountability.
Prominent voices quickly rallied behind the cause. A well-known child-rights activist, Betty Abah, publicly called on the Benue State government, the Ministry of Justice, and related agencies to reopen the case and ensure that all responsible parties were held accountable. Political leaders joined the chorus, with Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan (Kogi Central) formally intervening, requesting the family submit a petition to her office and promising to take the matter to the National Assembly.
Women’s and rights organisations, including the Federation of International Women Lawyers (FIDA) and several civil society organisations, have consistently highlighted the case since 2018, framing it as a stark example of systemic failure in child protection and justice delivery. Ordinary Nigerians, influencers, and social-media users also amplified the campaign, sharing the story widely, petitioning for action, and demanding that the fugitive suspect be brought to justice.
On November 6, 2025, in Asaba, the echoes of Ochanya’s name filled the air once more. Members of Voices of Ochanya and the Girl Child, joined by the SHE Foundation NGO, marched through the streets carrying placards that read “Justice for Ochanya Ogbanje.”
One of the protesters, a member of the Voice of a Girl Child, who only identified as Linda, spoke to The Pointer.
According to her, “We are here, we are a voice. We came out to protest for the girl child, for the child who was molested by her uncle and her cousin from the age of 8, since she became 13. Do you know what happened? This girl died in the course, and today this man, this said uncle, and the son are roaming freely in this same country.”
Speaking about the negligence of authorities to bring perpetrators to justice, she added, “The government could not do anything, so today we are out pleading, protesting, begging the government to implement a law that can protect the girl child. We are tired of this kind of news every day. Every day, our girls are being raped, our girls are being molested. We are tired, we are begging. Can there be a law? Can there be a law that can be passed and protect us?”
Linda lamenting about the future of the girl child, said, “We are also begging that they should stop early marriage. If our girls cannot be doctors, if our girls cannot be teachers, then they are not capable of being wives. Why are you giving out a young girl at the age of 14 for marriage?”
Beside her, the co-founder of Voice of a Girl Child, who identified herself as Mama Ice, explained the essence of the protest, saying, “We are currently out in the streets. We are appealing to all mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, nephews, and cousins. Stop raping our girl child and our male child. Stop the abuse. Stop the early child marriage. A fourteen-year-old child cannot be a mother. Stop the rape. Say no to rape.”
Speaking with Rhoda Akuneho on the justice for Ochanya protest, she said, “This is not just us coming out to say justice for Ochanya. This is also an avenue for us to create awareness so every girl child, every boy child going through abuse, whether from family relatives, whether in school by their teachers, whether from neighbours, they should come out to speak up. Even if they are being threatened that they are going to kill them, if they try to speak up, these are just mere threats.”
Rhoda is calling on all victims and concerned citizens to speak out against the crimes done to the girl child, saying, “We are encouraging them to come forward, to speak out, so that the government will listen to the children. And every parent, this is a reason for a parent to draw close to their children, to talk to their children, create an avenue, a safe space for them always to speak out, whether they have been abused by their brothers, by their uncles, by their teachers, by their pastors, anywhere. The government should ensure this.”
On her part, Morene Ogbeide added that the reason for coming out on the streets is to “support Ochanya, to Demand Justice for Ochanya, and to advocate for all children, both girls and boys. And we are also here to tell everybody to protect their children from rape, and to check their girls’ children. And again, we want to say no to early child marriage.”
The Legal Lens
The Chairman of the Nigerian Bar Association (NBA), Asaba Branch, Azuka Maduemezia, while speaking with The Pointer, affirmed that the Ochanya case exposes a deeper issue not in the nation’s laws but in its people.
According to him, “I know that the Asaba Branch of the NBA participated in Ochanya’s case through one of our lawyers, Awele Ideal. I was among those she called to assist. Many of us showed up for the protest, or rather, the awareness walk, in Asaba, and it went a long way. The law is clear: the police must carry out a proper investigation.”
He clarified further, “The lapses are not in the law, they are in the people, we, the people. Not the system. The Constitution begins with, ‘We, the people,’ having resolved solemnly… That means we all share in the failure when justice is not served.”
Speaking further, the lawyer said, “If Ochanya refuses to come to court, or her mother refuses to come to court, even with a subpoena, the court cannot force them to talk. You can’t come to court and contradict yourself under oath; a judge wasn’t there when it happened. If the woman at the police station cannot present credible evidence, would you take that kind of case to court?”
He noted that while convictions do happen, they remain rare. “We’ve seen cases where people have been convicted of rape, yes. But if you ask me as a practising lawyer, on a scale of one to ten, I’d say it’s a four, maybe even a three, because the element of proof is often missing. Sometimes, a lady simply reports that she has been raped. You still need medical tests, police reports, and other documentation, which can be humiliating. The process is not discreet; police records are public, and the internet doesn’t forget. Once it’s out, it goes viral.”
On the lasting impact of the Ochanya case, Maduemezia added, “Take Ochanya’s case, do you think her family isn’t suffering from the stigma? I’m not justifying anything, but there was negligence somewhere.”
He further observed that inadequate funding and bureaucracy cripple police efficiency. “The Nigerian Police Force is one of the best in the world when they want to work, but most times they are underfunded. Many cases die at the police station because people don’t have the money to pursue them. You buy paper, fuel, logistics, things the state should provide.”
Continuing, he explained, “The truth is, what reaches the officers at the grassroots is often a fraction of what was allocated. By the time funds go through layers of bureaucracy, there’s little left. So, if you want your case to move, you must mobilise. We are all Nigerians; we know how it works. If you don’t mobilise, how many cases will a policeman handle with his meagre salary?”
He also urged empathy towards officers. “We should cut them some slack; they’re also working under tough conditions. But we must understand that cases like Ochanya’s happen almost every day in this country. When one isn’t properly dealt with, it emboldens another perpetrator. That’s the unfortunate psychology of the black man, always believing, ‘Nothing will happen.’”
Maduemezia stressed the need for decisive justice. “It’s high time something did happen. I fully support anyone calling for the enforcement of justice in this case. Even though Ochanya is gone, we must not throw it away or wish it away. A conviction must still be pursued.”
Seven Years On: A Plea for Justice
Nigeria is not short of laws. The Child Rights Act (2003) and the Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act (2015) provide robust legal frameworks to punish sexual abuse and protect minors. Yet paper laws cannot protect living children when the very institutions meant to enforce them are compromised.
The story of Ochanya Ogbanje exposes that failure in painful detail. Critical medical reports linking her vesicovaginal fistula (VVF) and repeated infections to years of sexual abuse were either missing or deemed inconclusive. Witnesses contradicted themselves. And by the time the trial dragged to its weary end, the evidence had withered, leaving justice to slip quietly away.
What makes Ochanya’s case even more unbearable is that it is not an isolated tragedy; it is a routine one. Across the country, similar stories unfold daily, hidden behind compound walls and silenced by fear. The National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) documented hundreds of child defilement cases in 2023 alone, many involving relatives who should have been protectors, not predators.
In most of these cases, justice is either delayed, denied, or deliberately derailed. Files disappear without explanation. Victims are intimidated into silence. Money trades hands between predator and parents, then suddenly, they leave it all for God to judge. Court cases collapse under the dead weight of inefficiency and corruption. Each failure deepens public distrust and emboldens perpetrators.
Under Nigerian law, rape must be proven through evidence of penetration, a high bar that often demands a medical report, preferably forensic. Yet the country lacks both the infrastructure and the urgency for such precision. Victims often delay reporting out of fear, shame, or family pressure. By the time they seek medical help, the physical evidence is long gone. Police rarely preserve what remains. Courts cling to rigid, colonial-era interpretations of “proof,” leaving judges with little room for moral discretion.
It is a cruel irony, the very law meant to protect victims often becomes the instrument that betrays them.
But beyond the courtroom lies a deeper and more insidious problem: culture. In many Nigerian homes, abuse is an unspoken taboo. Families hush it up to avoid disgrace. Religious leaders preach forgiveness instead of accountability. Mothers are told to endure; daughters to stay quiet.
And silence, predictably, breeds repetition. Every unspoken case becomes permission for another.
That is why Ochanya’s family refuses to let her story fade. In October 2025, as Nigeria marked the seventh anniversary of her death, the Ogbanje family wrote to the First Lady, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, seeking her intervention. They pleaded for the government to reopen the case, apprehend Victor, and ensure that Andrew faces true justice.
Their cry did not go unheard. Women’s groups echoed their demand, insisting that Ochanya’s death must not be another statistic. Organisations such as SHE Foundation, Kunie Foundation, and Voices of a Girl Child pledged to keep the campaign alive until justice is not only done but seen to be done.
For activists, the time for outrage has long passed; it is now a question of reform or relapse. They argue that justice for sexual assault victims cannot depend on hashtags, viral sympathy, or the fleeting anger of the internet. It must rest on tangible, structural change that endures beyond the noise.
At the heart of their demands is the creation of Special Sexual Offences Courts, dedicated tribunals designed to fast-track rape and abuse cases while treating survivors with dignity. They also call for Forensic Units in public hospitals to properly collect and preserve evidence, a long-overdue necessity in a country where countless cases collapse for lack of proof.
In addition, activists are pushing for Whistleblower Protection for victims and witnesses who come forward, and for Community Education programmes to teach consent, respect, and bodily autonomy from the grassroots up.
Equally crucial is transparent police funding, ensuring that money allocated for investigations actually reaches the officers in the field rather than disappearing into bureaucratic chokeholds. Without such accountability, even the best laws will remain hollow promises.
Activists warn that without these reforms, Nigeria will continue to produce more victims, and the headlines will keep repeating themselves.
The Mirror We Must Face
Every generation faces a story that tests its moral compass. For Nigeria, that story is Ochanya Ogbanje. Her case is not just a tragedy; it is a mirror, reflecting a justice system that routinely fails its most vulnerable, and a society that has grown disturbingly comfortable with silence.
Seven years on, her name still haunts the nation’s conscience, a small girl who only wanted to learn, and a country that let her die unheard.
As the demonstrators in Asaba dispersed, their chants lingered in the wind: “Justice for Ochanya! Justice for every girl child!”
And somewhere, perhaps, in the quiet beyond the noise, her spirit whispers one last plea: Do not forget me.
