The following are the views expressed by Olufemi Oguntokun in the September 3, 2026 episode of the On the Lord’s Side Podcast — Christian perspectives on news and current events.
ON BARNABAS AND AMAKA IGWE — 24 YEARS, NO JUSTICE
Good morning to you once again. It is Thursday, the 3rd of September 2026.
I want to begin with a sad anniversary — a reminder to all of us on the Lord’s side that the Lord keeps records. We keep records, but the Lord keeps the most perfect record: not only of good deeds, but of evil, and of the many unresolved crimes of this world. Recently, one of the leading commentators on X in Nigeria reminded us that the first of September marked the 24th anniversary of the gruesome murder of Barnabas and Amaka Igwe. The names may not immediately ring a bell, but many who have been around a while will remember that killing from September 1, 2002 — two lawyers, husband and wife, cut down on a road in Onitsha, Anambra State, in the southeast.
His name was Barnabas Chidi Igwe, chairman of the Onitsha branch of the Nigerian Bar Association — a man who used the law the way a prophet uses a word: not to decorate power, but to restrain it. In the weeks before his death, he had done something dangerous in that season: he had spoken. The state government had left workers, teachers and judicial staff unpaid for months, and the courts had stopped; under his chairmanship, the bar issued an ultimatum — pay the people, or the government should resign. He had also spoken against the Bakassi Boys, a government-backed vigilante force already notorious for torture and extrajudicial killings — a precursor to the very kinds of armed groups ravaging Nigeria today. And he was threatened, directly, face to face and on the phone, by men close to power. His wife, Abigail — popularly known as Amaka — was also a lawyer, and she was pregnant with what would have been their fourth child; they already had three young sons.
On the evening of the 1st of September, armed men blocked their vehicle. It was not a robbery — the police later confirmed nothing was taken. The couple were dragged from the car and attacked with machetes and clubs; there were gunshots; then the attackers ran them over with a vehicle and fled. These are facts widely reported at the time. One account from the commission later set up to examine the case is almost too terrible to speak: Amaka, seeing a man she thought she recognised — a man later named in official findings as leading the convoy — ran toward him as if toward safety, and, pregnant, was struck down, and died that night. Barnabas was rushed to hospital, where doctors fought for him; before he died in the early hours of the next day, he is reported to have identified some of his attackers. Think about it: not a clean shot in the dark, but a public, theatrical, humiliating destruction of two bodies — three, really, because of the unborn child. It was done in the open, and many understood it as a message: this is what happens to those who raise their voice.
Now twenty-four years have passed — a gruesome murder committed in public, with eyewitnesses who testified before a commission — and no one has been convicted. Suspects were charged; a commissioner in the then-governor’s cabinet was among those named. The prosecution stalled. Records later vanished. A prison break emptied the cells. Fresh inquiries were announced, then swallowed by silence. A state truth commission later described the murder as a continuing violation crying out for remedy, and recommended the matter be reopened — and that recommendation still sits there, and the grave still sits open, in the conscience of the nation. When I came across Professor Chidi Anselm Odinkalu writing and speaking about it on a podcast just days ago, I said to myself that we too must add our voices — not only to the voices of people like him, but to the voices of Barnabas and Amaka Igwe themselves. For do you not know that all who have been killed unjustly cry out day and night to the Lord God Almighty, “How long until you avenge us?” Revelation speaks of the martyrs who died in defence of the faith of our Lord and Saviour Jesus — but I believe that all whose blood was shed unlawfully, knowing my God to be a God of justice, are heard by Him as they cry, “How long?” And since God is a God of justice, and we are called to be like Him, we must love justice too — and in our own little way add our voices to the many who, twenty-four years on, are saying to Anambra State, to Nigeria: you have not done anything; you have not brought them to book. Those named remain in politics; those detained escaped from prison; the prosecution stalled; the records vanished; the recommendation to reopen has not been heeded.
This is not only Nigeria’s shame — though Nigeria’s particular mixture of political violence, captured institutions and official forgetfulness has made such graves especially numerous. Across the world you find the same pattern: a journalist in one country, a magistrate in another, a pastor who named names, a union leader, a pregnant wife who only shared a car. The method changes, but the theology of impunity does not: the powerful man calculates that time will bury the blood. And it often seems so — you look back and think the wicked have gotten away with it again. They calculate that the poor and grieved have short memories, that courts can be delayed until witnesses die or grow tired, that a new government will find it inconvenient to reopen an old case.
But for us on the Lord’s side, as we remember Barnabas and Amaka Igwe today, the Scripture will not let us pretend that God has not seen. Proverbs 15:3: “The eyes of the Lord are in every place, keeping watch on the evil and the good.” Let the evil be warned by that; let the good — those made righteous by the blood of Jesus — be encouraged by it. Genesis 18:25: “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?” Let us not grow weary lamenting the evils that have gone unredressed, nor the continuing prosperity of those who carried out this evil, but rest in the assurance embedded in that rhetorical question. In Psalm 94, the psalmist cries out with every grieving Nigerian family: “O Lord, God of vengeance, God of vengeance, shine forth… How long shall the wicked, O Lord, how long shall the wicked exult?” And there are many families — spouses, parents, children, friends — crying out those very words for loved ones killed unjustly, for whom our system has provided no justice. And in Revelation 6:10, the souls of the martyrs cry, “How long, O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge and avenge our blood?”
God is not unaware — and I think that is our takeaway this morning. He is not absent, not indifferent, not mocked. “Vengeance is mine; I will repay,” says the Lord — and tell me where God has ever lied, ever refused to do what He said He would do. That is not a licence for private revenge; it is a ban on despair. When you hear “Vengeance is mine, I will repay,” do not hear only a prohibition on avenging yourself — hear, on a deeper level, the Lord saying, “Do not despair. Do not become sad because of the prosperity of the wicked.” It is an assurance. If He had simply said, “Do not avenge yourself,” He would have stopped there; but He added, “I will repay.” There is an old saying Christians have long borrowed — lawyers use it too, usually to paper over the delays of the justice system: “The mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small.” Judge Herbert put it simply: God’s mills grind slow but sure. If you go to the mills of the leading industrial nations, you find mills running very fast; nobody wants to put up with a slow mill. But go to God’s mill, and you find it grinding slowly — yet surely, and exceedingly fine. As another rendering has it: “Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.” He shall grind them all — all the evil ones. And this is a corollary to what Habakkuk said: “For the vision awaits its appointed time; it hastens to the end. Though it seems slow, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay.” Slow is not the same as never; fine is not the same as forgotten.
So what do we do? First, we tell this story, and tell it accurately — as gruesomely as it happened. We refuse to let the dead be silent; those who are speaking of it this season, on podcasts and on social media, must continue, and this anniversary must always be brought to mind, that we may speak for those who can no longer speak. Let us pray for the children who grew up without father or mother; for courage and protection for the remaining witnesses; for the judges and magistrates who may one day be called to preside over this matter; and let us ask God to trouble the sleep of anyone who still knows and will not speak. Let us continue to hold the state accountable — for Barnabas Igwe spoke for the unpaid workers, and today workers are still owed salaries and pensioners their pensions. May God, who brings every hidden thing to light, as He promised in Ecclesiastes 12:14, comfort the orphans, and grant Nigeria — and every nation that buries its prophets — the gift of a justice that does not expire with a new political cycle. In Jesus’ name, amen.
ON THE ABUJA KIDNEY TRADE
Next, a troubling story that has shaken many homes in and around Abuja, and I suspect in many other parts of the country: young men walking into hospitals and coming out living with one kidney, for a little money. If you have been on social media, you may have seen a clip in which a consultant plastic surgeon spoke on Chinese television about young men who “gave” kidneys at an Abuja hospital and, he said, did so voluntarily. In that interview, the surgeon, Dr. Malu, said the young men knew what they were doing, walked in voluntarily, had their kidneys removed and were paid a little money; he said they had been taken to court and swore affidavits; he called it a donation, not trafficking, and compared the money to payment for blood, arguing that the doctors should be celebrated, not punished, since kidney failure kills many Nigerians every day and a transplant can save a life. That was widely reported in the Punch. That is one account — but not the only one. And as a Christian audience, we must hold together both the anger to save the dying and the duty to protect the poor.
Now, here is what the police and the young men themselves have said — and I stress that these are allegations and police statements, not established guilt. In late August 2026, the Nigeria Police Force paraded four suspects after a sting around Karu Local Government Area of Nasarawa State. Among those named by the police were a 23-year-old alleged recruiter, Emmanuel Ode; a 48-year-old nephrologist, Dr. Benjamin Yimen, linked to Wellington Hospital in Life Camp, Abuja; and a 53-year-old nephrologist, Dr. Daniel Otukpa, said to be acting director of clinical services at the same hospital. Police say the recruiter confessed to luring a 22-year-old, Samuel Ezekiel, to the hospital on the 24th of April 2026, that Samuel’s kidney was removed, and that he was paid about 1,250 US dollars, roughly 1.7 million naira. Police say official papers were forged — names, national identity numbers, birth certificates, sworn affidavits, consent forms. Samuel has spoken publicly, saying a friend deceived him; that they changed his name to a Muslim name to disguise him; that he was taken to court for an affidavit, then to the hospital at night to sign papers, with the dollars brought later that night. He trusted his friend and did what he was told. Wellington Hospital, for its part, says it only provided the theatre and wards; that the donor arrived as a scheduled donor with an affidavit, identification, a birth certificate and consent papers, accompanied by a man who presented himself as his brother; that the surgery was performed by a visiting specialist team; that the kidney went immediately into a patient with end-stage kidney failure; that neither donor nor recipient died; that the hospital took no part in any payment; and that it has suspended transplant work while investigations continue.
So, as members of the public, we are looking at two pictures of the same operating table: on one account, a legal, documented gift; on the other, a poor young man whose identity was rewritten so his sale could look like a gift. What really happened must be established by the courts and by NAPTIP, not by social media alone. And this is not the first time Abuja has heard such a story. Long before Wellington, Daily Trust and Trust TV documented a kidney market in the satellite towns ringing the capital — Mararaba, Masaka and others — referencing brokers and local agents who targeted unemployed young men, with a going price often around a million naira, while hospitals insisted they did not source the donors but only checked papers and compatibility. And the papers often included the same device we hear about now — an affidavit. Let me say the quiet part out loud, as a lawyer myself, and it shames me to address our system this way: you can get an affidavit anyhow in Nigeria; it is the easiest thing to get, because we have no foolproof way to verify their authenticity. Alliance Hospital in Karu, Abuja, is still in court over earlier cases; government agencies have charged hospital officials and doctors after reports that two 16-year-old boys had kidneys removed — told it was a job, or presented as relatives of patients they did not know, with affidavits falsely stating they were 18 and related to the recipients. In court, one of the boys said he signed with a pen without reading what he signed, that he had been offered a million naira, that he is not as strong as before, and is still on medication.
What does the law actually say? First, organ transplant itself is not a crime in Nigeria — it cannot be; it is beneficial, and I pray you never need one, but many have had legitimate need of a transplant. In every decent jurisdiction, you find a willing donor and match that person with a needy patient. It is once commercial undertones enter that it becomes repulsive to the moral fabric of any decent nation, because it becomes a transaction. That is precisely why a former deputy president of the Nigerian Senate, Ike Ekweremadu, is now serving a prison term in the UK — because it veered into the realm of trafficking in human beings and human parts. (As an aside, the same moral impulse that forbids payment for organs should also forbid commercial surrogacy — but I digress.) Under Nigeria’s National Health Act of 2014, donation is allowed under strict conditions: the donor must be an adult; consent must be free and informed; the work must be done in an approved facility; and commercial dealing in human organs is prohibited. So-called compensation or reimbursement is not the same thing as a price paid for a kidney. When money is the reason a stranger walks into a theatre, and when names and ages are rewritten so the file looks clean, the law treats that as trafficking and exploitation, not charity.
We must recognise the hard truths on the other side too: many Nigerians are now dying of kidney failure — it has become almost an epidemic — and it is made sadder still that dialysis is scarce and expensive in a nation this rich. And let nobody say we are not a rich nation; we are simply a profligate and corrupt one. God has blessed us with resources and large income; a nation with such a high rate of kidney failure ought to be investing heavily in dialysis, and it is not. It is a fact that dialysis is scarce and costly, that a successful transplant can rescue a life, that we have trained nephrologists who can do the work. But none of that justifies exploiting young men and boys as young as 17 and 18, lying on affidavits, and procuring forged documents.
How do we think about this from a Christian perspective? Scripture will not let us choose only one side. We must honour the impulse to save the dying — yes, we must. But we must also remember that the body is a temple, not a spare-parts store. That is why those who think from Christian perspectives must be clear: the body cannot be a spare-parts store — whether we speak of commercial organ donation or commercial surrogacy, it runs counter to every moral impulse. “You are not your own,” the Bible says; neither your soul nor your body belongs to you — you were bought with a price. And we must remember the poor. We cannot rob a man because he is poor. When you dangle a million naira before a poor boy — and do the calculation, and see how little that has become in dollar terms — he may be impressed by the sound of the figure, only to spend the rest of his life discovering the ramifications of that “donation.” That is wrong. Let us pray for Samuel Ezekiel, who has told the court he was deceived and is now suffering medically, and for all who have been exploited — that they may find the grace to forgive, which is what they can do now. Let us pray that justice comes to all who procured, lied and profited — for you can be sure that those oiling this machinery are not doing it merely to save lives; if they paid a clueless donor a million naira, they have pocketed far more. May the Lord expose them, and may the judicial system punish them. And let us pray for a culture losing its moral compass — not only in Nigeria but everywhere — the culture that says whatever you can use to get what you want is fair: young women selling their eggs, women renting their bodies as surrogates, young men selling their kidneys, all for money, all for money, all for money. May the Lord have mercy on the sick, mercy on the poor, mercy on us all this day.
ON JD VANCE’S MOTHER, DEEPFAKES, AND “NIGERIAN PRINCES”
Finally this morning, a story from the United States that will first make you laugh — and then, perhaps, make you sit back and reflect more deeply. Not long ago, on the Bryce Crawford podcast, America’s Vice President, J.D. Vance, told a story about his own mother, with great affection — “God love her,” he kept saying. His mother had seen a TikTok video that appeared to show her son, the Vice President, and his wife, Usha, in marital trouble. It looked convincing; the story was juicy. So she did what a mother would do: she reached for her phone and forwarded it to her son — “Honey, that’s my son; I just saw this; I thought everything was great — what’s going on between you two?”
And the Vice President of the United States had to say what many of us have had to say to a parent, an uncle, a church elder: “Mom, this is fake. Somebody put this on the internet. You cannot assume everything you see is true.” And isn’t that the truth about the age we live in? It used to be said, when we were growing up, that pictures don’t lie, that photographs and videos don’t lie. That is no longer the case. Pictures lie now; videos lie; audio lies. Whatever you hear, whatever you see, whatever you seem to witness — you cannot believe it until you check it out. He then laughed the kind of laugh that is half tenderness and half despair, and joked that, by engaging with such posts, his mother “has made many Nigerian princes many thousands of dollars.” He even claimed there is “an entire Nigerian Kimlo dynasty being funded by my mom — eight accounts, same profile picture, different names.”
Now, to understand that, you have to know a few things. Nigerians have become notorious in the United States and parts of Europe as fraudsters — and in the heyday of that fraud, popularly called Yahoo Yahoo, or 419, many fraudsters would pose as “a prince from Nigeria” whose father owned an oil well or a gold mine and was “just looking for investors,” tricking simple-minded Americans and Europeans out of thousands of dollars. So law enforcement — indeed almost everyone in the West — now associates Nigeria with computer-enabled fraud, even though there are millions of Nigerians doing honest, great work all over the world. The Vice President was not lecturing on geopolitics; he was describing a pattern many families now know: a kind, generous, older heart; a glowing screen; a story that sounds urgent, romantic, royal, spiritual or profitable; and money leaving a house that should have kept it for rent, medicine or grandchildren.
But this is not about laughing at J.D. Vance’s mother — he did not mock her, and neither do we. It is a story calling us to reflect on how we are seen all over the world. Somebody may say, “Femi, what are you worried about? It’s already baked into the cake.” And that is true — there are many Nigerians who now accept that once you present a Nigerian passport, it is only your conscience that vouches for you; whatever the immigration officer chooses to think is his own affair; it is baked into the cake that when people see a Nigerian, they first think, “one of those fraudsters.” That is sad, but we should not simply accept it. We should keep lamenting it, and keep calling on the government to crack down even harder on these criminals, because “Nigerian prince” has become Western shorthand for a real crime — the advance-fee scam.
So we can draw two lessons. First, let us not allow the world to shame us into silence — but neither let patriotism blind us. Many take offence at things like this, asking how dare J.D. Vance use “Nigerian princes” to mean fraudsters — just as many took offence when former UK Prime Minister David Cameron called Nigeria “fantastically corrupt,” or when President Donald Trump called Nigeria a “shithole country.” Understandably, we have a sense of patriotism. Perhaps Cameron and Trump should have chosen other words — but really, we should not let patriotism blind us. If you know your own cousin is running that kind of business, you should say so; if we know our brothers and sisters are doing such things, we should tell on them, and make it clear where we all stand: that fraud is bad, fraud is evil, fraud is sinful. And although many fraudsters of Nigerian origin have given the world cause to label all of us, let those of us who are the Lord’s — especially in the diaspora — continue to be the light, so much so that when people learn you are Nigerian, they say, “I used to think all Nigerians were fraudsters, but you are different.” And if they ask what makes you different, you can answer: “I have heeded the voice of my Lord, who told me to let my light so shine before all men, that they may see it and give glory to my Father in heaven.”
I want to thank you very much for joining me this morning on GospelBells Radio, On the Lord’s Side — Christian perspectives on news and current events. I hope to be with you again tomorrow by the grace of God. Whatever you do today, please remain firmly on the Lord’s side. God bless you. You are listening to GospelBellsRadio.com, the Christian internet radio with a mission to engage the culture with the mind of Christ. Keep listening, and invite others too. God bless you. Engaging the culture with the mind of Christ.
