A quiet storm is brewing in Adamawa State—and it’s not about the weather. It’s about justice. Or what many now feel is the lack of it.
After more than a decade of trial delays, courtroom drama, and public silence, news broke this week that the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) is negotiating a plea bargain with former Governor Murtala Nyako in a ₦29 billion corruption case that has lingered since 2013.
At first glance, it might sound like progress. But for many residents of Adamawa and across Nigeria’s Middle Belt and minority regions, it feels more like betrayal.
“After 10 years, they want to close the case with a handshake?” asked Zainab Lawan, a Yola-based activist. “That money belongs to the people. This isn’t just about Nyako—it’s about what justice means in Nigeria.”
The deal, reportedly being finalized at the Federal High Court in Abuja, has triggered deep anger among citizens who believe that plea bargains are now being used to let politically connected individuals off the hook—quietly, gently, and without real consequence.
Nyako is not alone in the dock. He’s on trial with his son, Senator Abdul-Aziz Nyako, and several family-linked companies like Sebore Farms and Pagado Fortunes Ltd, all accused in a 37-count charge of theft, conspiracy, and money laundering.
Yet, despite the gravity of the charges, prosecutors on Friday told the court they were close to resolving the matter “peacefully.” That resolution? A plea deal—under Section 270 of Nigeria’s ACJA law—which would allow Nyako to plead guilty in exchange for lighter punishment or repayment terms.
But critics say that’s exactly the problem.
“This was not what plea bargaining was meant for,” said Jaleel Musa, a legal analyst in Yola. “It was created to recover stolen assets and punish offenders—not to legitimize looting by negotiating token repayments.”
The outcry isn’t just about Nyako. It’s about a disturbing pattern, one that many Nigerians—especially from marginalized regions—can no longer ignore.
Jonathan Kauna, a public affairs commentator from Plateau State, pointed to the harsh jail sentences handed to two former governors, Joshua Dariye and Jolly Nyame, both convicted and imprisoned for similar offences.
“But contrast that with Danjuma Goje or the Jigawa cases,” he said. “Charges were quietly dropped, or the system looked the other way. It’s the same crime—but different consequences depending on your ethnic group or political clout.”
Adding to the public’s unease is Nyako’s powerful family network—particularly his wife, Justice Binta Nyako, who currently serves on the bench of the Federal High Court.
Though she’s not involved in this case, many fear her presence in the judiciary adds a layer of protection around the former governor that everyday Nigerians can never access.
“Justice must be blind—not biased,” said Zainab Lawan. “If Nigeria wants to be taken seriously in the fight against corruption, it must not matter if you’re a governor, a senator, or a street trader. What’s wrong is wrong.”
As the July 18 court date nears, civil society groups, legal observers, and concerned citizens are demanding transparency. They want to see the full terms of the plea agreement. They want to know what’s being refunded, what penalties are being imposed, and what message the government is sending to future looters.
More than anything, they want assurance that the justice system isn’t for sale.
“₦29 billion is not pocket change,” said Kauna. “If all someone has to do is return a small piece of it to walk free, then Nigeria is telling the next generation that corruption pays—and that is a very dangerous message.”
