Imagine living under the cloud of criminal accusations for over a decade—without ever having your day in court. That is the reality faced by Bob Oshodin, a Nigerian businessman accused of laundering funds from a government contract he fulfilled transparently. His ordeal is not only a personal tragedy; it is a glaring indictment of the Nigerian justice system’s dysfunction, weaponization, and disregard for due process.
The allegations against Oshodin are rooted in a 2012 contract under the administration of former President Goodluck Jonathan. As part of Nigeria’s Niger Delta amnesty program, Oshodin was tasked with training and certifying former militants, equipping them with vocational skills to reintegrate into civil society. The factory he established for this purpose was inspected multiple times by federal officials, each visit returning positive evaluations. Hundreds of ex-militants received government-endorsed certificates of completion. It was a rare success story in a region plagued by unrest.
Then came the 2015 change in government. Under President Muhammadu Buhari, a sweeping anti-corruption campaign was launched—one that blurred the line between accountability and political vengeance. Contracts signed under Jonathan’s leadership were cast aside, regardless of their legitimacy. Oshodin’s contract was suddenly reframed as fraudulent. The Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) labeled him a suspect in the notorious Dasukigate scandal, alleging he laundered funds meant for military procurement.
But here’s what the public rarely hears: the money Oshodin received was transferred from Access Bank Nigeria to a U.S. account via Citibank and Wells Fargo—both of which conducted their own audits and cleared the transactions. Moreover, Oshodin paid taxes on the money to the IRS, an institution with zero tolerance for financial inconsistencies. The U.S. government found no merit in Nigeria’s request to freeze Oshodin’s assets or extradite him. These are not the actions of a criminal—they are the records of a man who followed the rules.
Despite this, for more than ten years, the EFCC has failed to present evidence in court. There has been no trial, no formal charges argued, no discovery process—just a cycle of harassment and public shaming. Most distressing is the treatment of Oshodin’s wife, Mimie, who was detained for three months without due process, had her passport confiscated, and continues to be compelled to travel hundreds of miles monthly to report to the EFCC in Abuja, despite residing in Benin City where a local EFCC office exists. She is also suffering from serious health issues that require U.S.-based medical care, which she can no longer access.
This is not merely a matter of inefficiency—it is abuse. The state’s refusal to pursue a lawful resolution signals an intent to punish through process rather than evidence. It is a miscarriage of justice that undermines Nigeria’s own constitutional guarantees.
For Nigeria to be taken seriously as a democracy governed by the rule of law, cases like Bob Oshodin’s must be resolved through courts—not headlines. If the EFCC has evidence, let it be presented. If not, it must end the campaign of intimidation and restore Oshodin’s name.
Justice delayed may be justice denied—but justice manipulated is something far worse.