By Prosper Mene
The smell of burning tires still lingers in the air of Uromi, a town in southern Nigeria’s Edo State, where a mob brutally killed 16 suspected kidnappers last week. For the women of this community, the horrific incident—where victims were beaten and some set ablaze—is not just a headline; it’s a stark reminder of the insecurity that shadows their daily lives.
“We heard the screams that night,” said Blessing Osagie, a 32-year-old mother of three who lives near the site of the attack. “I locked my doors and held my children close, praying it wouldn’t come to us. But the truth is, we’re never safe—not from kidnappers, not from mobs, not from anything.” Her voice trembled as she recounted the chaos that erupted after local security found weapons in a truck, sparking the deadly vigilante response.
The victims, reportedly northern Hausa hunters, were accused of being kidnappers, a charge that fueled the mob’s rage. While the incident wasn’t specifically about women, it amplifies a broader crisis that women in southern Nigeria say leaves them uniquely vulnerable. Kidnapping for ransom has surged in recent years, with women and girls often targeted for abduction, sexual violence, or forced labor. Yet, the rise of mob justice, as seen in Uromi, adds another layer of terror.
“Men might join the mob or fight back, but what can we do?” asked Chioma Eze, a 45-year-old trader in Uromi’s bustling market. “If kidnappers come, we’re the ones they take. If a mob forms, we’re the ones hiding, afraid of being caught in the crossfire or accused of something we didn’t do.” Eze pointed to the growing distrust in police and government, which she says pushes communities to take matters into their own hands—often with devastating consequences.
Amnesty International reports that at least 13 women have been victims of mob violence in Nigeria over the past decade, often accused of witchcraft or petty crimes in southern regions like Edo. For women like Eze, the Uromi killings are a grim echo of this trend. “They say it’s justice, but it’s just more violence,” she said. “And it’s us—women, mothers, daughters—who pay the price when everything falls apart.”
The Edo State government has condemned the killings, with Governor Monday Okpebholo vowing to prosecute those responsible. Four arrests have been made, but for women here, official promises ring hollow. “The police can’t stop kidnappers, and they can’t stop mobs,” said Fatima Yusuf, a 28-year-old nurse. “We’re left to fend for ourselves, but how? I can’t sleep at night, wondering if my clinic will be next—or if I’ll be dragged out for helping the wrong person.”
The incident has reignited calls from women’s groups for better security and an end to vigilante justice. “We need protection, not more bloodshed,” said Mercy Igbinosa, a local activist with the South-South Women’s Network. “Women are raising families in this chaos, and we’re tired of being collateral damage. The government must act—more police, more patrols, more trust—so we don’t have to live like this.”
For the women of southern Nigeria, the mob’s actions last week were not a solution but a symptom of a deeper wound. “We want peace,” Osagie whispered, clutching her youngest child. “But peace feels so far away when every day is a fight to survive.”
