Sexual Misconduct, Corruption, and a Circus of Silence—Is This What Nigeria Deserves?
Picture this: a woman steps into a room full of powerful men, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands, and drops a truth bomb that could shake Nigeria’s Senate to its core. She accuses the man at the top—the Senate President—of demanding sexual favors in exchange for political approval. The tension is thick, the stakes enormous. What follows? A swift call for justice? An investigation? No. Instead, she’s shut down, her office locked, her paycheck frozen. Meanwhile, the accused? He keeps his gavel, his title, and his unbothered smirk.
Welcome to the Nigerian Senate, where allegations of sexual misconduct and corruption don’t lead to accountability, they spark cover-ups. While the economy crumbles and ordinary citizens struggle to survive, the country’s leaders seem more interested in dividing the spoils than fixing the mess. This is not just another scandal; it is a deafening cry for justice echoing from Lagos to London.
Let’s talk about Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan. On February 28, 2025, she went on Arise TV and accused Senate President Godswill Akpabio of sexually harassing her. She alleged that he sought personal favors in exchange for letting her legislative motions pass. This is basically the political equivalent of a professor failing a student for refusing to sleep with him. Bold, right? You would think such a claim would spark outrage and an immediate investigation. But by March 6, she was suspended—six months, no pay, no access to her office. The official reason? A procedural technicality: she signed her own petition against Akpabio. A minor rule violation became a convenient excuse to silence her, while her allegations? Brushed aside like yesterday’s leftover ‘garri’ (some call garri cassava flakes, it is the flour of the fresh starchy cassava root). Fair? Hardly.
And here’s the thing, this is not Akpabio’s first scandal. Back in 2020, Joi Nunieh, former head of the Niger Delta Development Commission, accused him of making unwanted advances. She even claimed she slapped him to fend him off. The result? A media frenzy, some denials, then silence. No investigation, no consequences. Now, Natasha’s case feels like déjà vu, a pattern where powerful men close ranks while women who dare to speak up get crushed. Is it just coincidence, or is the Senate a private club where the powerful set the rules and break them at will?
Sexual misconduct is not the Senate’s only skeleton in the closet. Corruption is practically a tenant. Take Abdul Ningi in 2024, he exposed budget padding, claiming billions had been sneakily inserted. His reward? A three-month suspension, no questions asked. Or Ali Ndume in 2017, sidelined for six months after demanding a probe into shady deals. See the trend? If you speak out, you’re silenced. Meanwhile, inflation soars, fuel prices cripple families, and jobs are as scarce as rain in the Sahara. And what is the Senate doing? Splitting contracts, inflating budgets, and playing musical chairs with power. Nigerians hustle daily just to eat, while their so-called leaders feast on the chaos.
Look back at history, and it’s a rogue’s gallery of scandals. Remember Elisha Abbo in 2019? He was caught on camera assaulting a woman in a sex toy shop. The Senate “condemned” it, he mumbled an apology, paid a fine, and walked away with his seat intact. No suspension. Or how about the Malabu Oil scandal—a $1.1 billion heist with bigwigs like ex-Petroleum Minister Dan Etete in the mix? The National Assembly poked at it, then conveniently let it fade. And pension fraud? Billions siphoned away, accusations flying—like Maina’s N32.8 billion police pension fraud—but no one is in jail. The Ethics Committee, meant to uphold integrity, looks more like a VIP security squad for the corrupt.
Why is it so hard to bring these cases to light? Simple—power protects itself. Allegations like Natasha’s? No CCTV footage, no paper trail, just her word against his. And in a system where the loudest microphone belongs to the accused, justice is nothing but an illusion. No Nigerian senator has ever been removed or jailed for sexual misconduct. Ever. Suspensions are reserved for whistleblowers, not wrongdoers. And when the economy is failing, oil revenue vanishing into luxury lifestyles of a few while Lagos floods and kids drop out of school, who has time to chase accountability?
Let us not ignore the gender angle either. Out of 109 senators, only four are women. Patricia Etteh, Nigeria’s first female Speaker in 2007, was forced out over a N628 million renovation scandal—meanwhile, men accused of far worse have held onto power. Natasha’s suspension, coming so swiftly after her allegations, feels like a message: speak up, and we’ll bury you. The public backlash is real. Protesters hit Abuja’s streets on March 5, some chanting “Akpabio must go,” while others defended him. The divide is stark, but the silence from the Senate’s leadership? Deafening. Former Education Minister Oby Ezekwesili called it a “democratic aberration.” She’s not wrong. This is not just about Natasha. It is about a system that is rotten to the core.
So what’s the solution? Start with transparency. Independent investigations, not political cronies investigating themselves. Accusers deserve real hearings, not political exile. And the economy? Enough of the looting, fix the mess. Nigerians deserve more than senators bickering over power while the naira burns.
This is not just another exposé to read and forget. It is a call to action. The Senate’s dirty laundry is piling up, and the stench is unbearable. The real question is: will Nigerians keep watching the circus, or finally demand the clowns step down?
Your move, Nigeria.
