Category: Crime

A former judge of Prince George’s County in Maryland, United States, April Ademiluyi, recently broke the internet after an interview she granted The Punch went viral. In the interview, Ademiluyi recounted a harrowing ordeal, alleging that she was drugged and raped by her colleagues during a U.S. lawyers’ conference.

Ordinarily, one would expect her story to end with the comforting assurance that the predatory lawyers who violated her are now behind bars, because “God’s own country,” as we are meant to believe, is supposedly a sane society where crime does not go unpunished. But for Ademiluyi, the reverse was the case. She did not get justice, not even after reporting the matter to the police. Her alleged rapists are still walking freely.

Imagine if such a thing had happened during a Nigerian Bar Association conference. We would have said, without hesitation, that “Nigeria happened to her”, that such a disgraceful incident could only occur in a dysfunctional system. We would swear that nothing like that could ever happen in a “sane” country like America. Yet it did happen, and the perpetrators were not jailed.

This is not an attempt to draw a simplistic parallel between America and Nigeria. Rather, it is a reminder that the way we portray our own country whenever something bad occurs is markedly different from how citizens of other nations respond to the failings within their own systems.

In fact, some of the despicable things that happen in these so-called sane countries cannot even happen here. For instance, no Nigerian lawyer would dare rape a fellow learned colleague during an NBA conference, except if village people truly followed them, because the consequences would be dire. He or she would be immediately de-robed and prosecuted.

Ademiluyi’s case also exposes a delusion many Nigerians harbour, the belief that once you “japa,” you are suddenly insulated from wahala. It is a dangerous fantasy. Abroad, you will still confront the harsh realities of racism, discrimination, and a justice system that may never truly recognise you as one of their own. Ademiluyi was not just a resident; she was born in America, raised in America, and built her career in America. Yet when she needed the system to protect her, it treated her like an outsider. This is why I am always astonished when Nigerians obtain the precious “green card” or permanent residency abroad and rejoice as though they have secured front-row seats in heaven. Citizenship on paper does not automatically translate to acceptance, dignity, or justice in real life. Ademiluyiʼs story is a stark reminder that belonging is not guaranteed simply because a document says so.

In the interview, she also revealed that when she decided to contest for the position of judge, she met stiff resistance, not from the public, but from within the judiciary itself. Her “offence” was that she was advocating for justice and transparency, exposing the rot in the system, including how some judges allegedly collected bribes to jail minors. For daring to challenge entrenched interests, her appointment was eventually terminated. She was frustrated out of the system entirely. I could hardly believe what I was reading. I asked myself over and over again, “Is this really the same America that I know?”

Yet, through all of this, not once did Americans begin demarketing their country on social media. Even the recent security breach at the White House, an incident that shook the entire nation, did not make them declare America a failed state. And how about the countless incidents of gun violence (school shootings, urban crime, mass murders) that have claimed thousands of lives in America since the turn of this century alone? Imagine if a similar breach had occurred in Aso Rock. The internet would have been flooded with obituaries for Nigeria. Meanwhile, the White House security breach itself has even made some of us wonder whether the so-called most fortified building in the world is truly as impregnable as we were made to believe.

And this is where Nigerians must look in the mirror. We have perfected the art of national self-sabotage. The slightest incident, no matter how isolated, becomes an opportunity to declare Nigeria a jungle, a zoological republic, or a failed experiment. Meanwhile, countries where far worse things happen maintain a disciplined silence. They criticise their flaws internally, fix them quietly, and move on. We, on the other hand, turn every mishap into a global PR disaster, amplifying our weaknesses before the world has even noticed them. How can we hope to progress in this manner?

It is almost as if demarketing Nigeria has become a national hobby. A traffic jam becomes evidence that the country is irredeemable. A power outage becomes proof that we are cursed. A security lapse becomes ammunition for online commentators to scream “failed state,” as though other nations do not battle the same demons, sometimes even worse. The irony is that the people who drag Nigeria the loudest are often the ones who have never lifted a finger to improve anything. Yet they carry megaphones on social media, announcing our doom with relish.

But here is the truth many Nigerians do not want to confront: the constant bashing is not patriotism; it is self-inflicted reputational damage. No country moves forward when its own citizens are its biggest enemies. Even when Americans are angry with their leaders or institutions, they do not gleefully advertise their country’s failings to the world. They do not weaponise isolated incidents to destroy the global perception of their homeland. They understand something we have not learned, that national image is an asset, and once destroyed, it is hard to rebuild.

At the end of the day, Ademiluyi’s ordeal is more than a personal tragedy, it is a revelation. It shatters the illusion that salvation lies abroad and exposes the hypocrisy in how we judge our own country. No nation is perfect, and no system is immune to social instability, moral decay, corruption, or injustice. But until Nigerians learn to criticise with purpose instead of contempt, to demand reforms without dragging the country through the mud, we will continue to weaken ourselves while others protect their national image with fierce loyalty.

If we must fix Nigeria, it will not be by glorifying foreign lands or demonising our own, but by confronting our issues with honesty, dignity, and a sense of ownership. Because whether we like it or not, this is the only country that will ever fully recognise us as its own. And as such, we must be more willing to help our nation progress, rather than proclaim its shortcomings.

It is said that if you look at a treeʼs branches swaying during a storm, you’ll almost believe that the tree will fall. But if only you could see how deep the treeʼs roots go into the earth, you would never doubt its stability just because of a storm. Little storms always makes it seem like Nigeria is bound to disintegrate or fail, but as a nation, we are rooted deeply in stability and strength.

May Nigeria succeed against all odds and doubts.

Zayd Ibn Isah can be reached via::
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