The Silence Over the Lagos Five: A National Tragedy Ignored By Hawwah A. Gambo
I am deeply troubled—not just by the deaths of five female political leaders in Lagos, but by the chilling silence that followed. In a country where even trivial stories can dominate headlines and social media trends for days, the deaths of these women have been met with an eerie quiet. No outrage. No hashtags. No national conversation. Just silence.
Nearly a week after the passing of the fifth woman, public discourse has barely stirred. It is as though their lives, their service, and their dreams were insignificant—unworthy of the outcry and empathy that usually accompany such tragedy. The collective indifference is not only heartbreaking but symptomatic of a deeper rot in our national conscience.
Nigeria is already facing a historic decline in female political representation. Yet, in a span of just six weeks, five women who had defied the odds to win public office are dead—and there is no investigation, no official statement, and no demand for answers.
Consider their names:
Oluwakemi Rufai, councillor of Ward C, Ibeju-Lekki, died on August 13, 2025—barely two weeks after being sworn into office.
Zainab Shotayo, councillor of Ward C3, Odiolowo-Ojuwoye LCDA, died five days later on August 18.
Princess Oluremi Nutayi Ajose, Vice Chairman of Badagry West LCDA, died on September 20—just two months after taking office.
Basirat Oluwakemi Mayabikan, councillor of Ward F, Shomolu LGA, died on September 21.
Adebimpe Akintola, administrative head of Coker-Aguda LCDA, died on September 29—barely sixty days into her tenure.
All five women reportedly died after “brief illnesses” and were buried immediately according to Islamic rites. But beyond the official explanations lies a cloud of unanswered questions. How could five women, all recently elected to local government positions, die in such quick succession? Where are the autopsies, the inquiries, the public accountability?
At a time when Nigeria ranks among the lowest in Africa for gender representation in leadership, these deaths should have sparked national outrage. Instead, they have been quietly buried—both literally and figuratively. The silence is not only disheartening; it is dangerous.
When I recently mentioned the tragedy to a friend from Lagos, she responded casually: “They were not cooked well.” The dismissiveness of that comment stunned me. It reflected how normalized the devaluation of women’s lives has become. Even in death, their worth is measured lightly.
These women were not ordinary citizens. They were leaders who had braved the political battlefield—a male-dominated space known for its hostility toward women. They campaigned, contested, and won, against systemic odds. Yet, in their mysterious passing, the society they fought to serve has offered them only silence.
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Where are the voices of outrage? Where are the civic groups, the gender advocates, the political parties that claim to champion women’s inclusion? Where is the empathy, the investigation, the justice?
This silence is not just apathy—it is complicity. It reflects a nation’s deep-seated disregard for women, especially those who dare to lead. It mirrors a systemic marginalization that renders women’s struggles invisible and their lives expendable.
The deaths of the Lagos Five must not be dismissed as coincidence. They must be treated as a matter of national concern—worthy of investigation, reflection, and reform. Because this tragedy is not only about women in politics; it is about the value Nigeria places on human life itself.
Ours is a society that too often overlooks its women, whether in life or in death. Female leaders face threats, intimidation, and even violence. Many must navigate a toxic political culture where survival often depends on silence. Their voices are suppressed, their contributions undervalued, and their safety never guaranteed.
We cannot continue like this. A nation that ignores the deaths of its women in power cannot claim to be democratic, progressive, or just.
This tragedy must awaken us to the kind of society we are building. Is it one that values equality, justice, and accountability—or one that dismisses the lives of women as collateral damage in a corrupt political game?
It is time to break the silence. Nigerians—men and women alike—must demand answers. The federal and Lagos State governments must order an immediate and transparent investigation into the deaths of these five women. Autopsy reports, medical records, and eyewitness accounts must be examined publicly.
We call on the First Lady of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, Senator Oluremi Tinubu, to lead this call for accountability and justice. We also call on global and local partners—the UN Women, United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), British High Commission, U.S. Embassy, and gender-focused civil society organizations—to support this demand.
To remain silent is to endorse a culture that sees women’s lives as dispensable. To speak out is to affirm that every life—especially those who serve in public office—matters.
We owe it to the Lagos Five to demand justice. We owe it to the countless women silenced by intimidation, neglect, and systemic exclusion. We owe it to future generations of Nigerian girls who deserve to believe that leadership does not come with a death sentence.
Let us remember Oluwakemi, Zainab, Oluremi, Basirat, and Adebimpe not as forgotten names on a tragic list, but as symbols of courage whose deaths must not go unanswered.
The silence is deafening. It is time to break it.
Hawwah A. Gambo is a Corporate Communications Consultant, Gender Inclusivity and Mainstreaming Advocate, Social Entrepreneur, and Publisher of Sheroes Rising, based in Abuja, Nigeria.
