On June 27, 2026, the lifeless body of 26-year-old physiotherapist Mary Habila was discovered in a locked room at the Uburu residence of Works Minister David Umahi. She was pronounced dead on arrival at the David Umahi Federal Teaching Hospital. Four weeks later, a war is brewing; not between families, but between justice and power.
The Ebonyi State Police Command insists a post-mortem is “indispensable.” But Mary’s father, Tanko Habila, has filed an Affidavit of Withdrawal at the Ebonyi State High Court, rejecting any autopsy and demanding his daughter’s immediate release for burial. “The family does not suspect any foul play,” the affidavit reads.
But when did a grieving father’s suspicion become the threshold for criminal investigation?
We have seen this script before. A female contractor, Tracy Nicholas Ohiri, publicly accused Umahi of withholding N304 million after she rejected his “sexual advances.” Then, silence. Then, withdrawal. The details of that resolution remain opaque. But the question lingers: was that a voluntary retreat, or a coerced surrender?
In a nation where the powerful hold the keys to contracts, livelihoods, and life itself, the answer matters. Because if coercion is the currency of resolution, then justice has become a commodity, bought, sold, and silenced.
Let us be clear: a criminal investigation is a matter between the state and the accused, not the family and the accused. The state has a duty to the deceased, to the public, and to the principle that no one is above the law. The father’s pain is valid, but his affidavit cannot and should not extinguish the state’s constitutional responsibility to investigate suspicious deaths.
If we allow personal withdrawal to override public justice, we create a dangerous precedent: that power can purchase silence, and that the powerful can bury not just bodies, but truth itself.
Without prejudice to any criminal trial, we must ask: is Nigerian democracy at risk? When citizens cannot trust that their deaths, or their daughters, will be investigated without fear or favour, then the social contract is broken. Justice is not just about punishment; it is about accountability. And accountability is the oxygen of democracy.
For evil to thrive, righteous men need only be busy doing nothing. Today, Mary Habila’s body lies in a mortuary. But tomorrow, it could be your sister, your friend, your daughter. Silence is not peace; it is complicity.
We must demand transparency. We must insist on the autopsy. We must #SaveNigeriaDemocracy, not with hashtags alone, but with our voices, our vigils, and our refusal to look away.
Because justice is not a favour. It is a right. And rights are not withdrawn by affidavit.
Ogbevire Christian Ashaiku
Human Rights Activist
PhD Research Fellow, Middlesex University, London
