Nigeria, Africa’s largest crude oil producer and exporter, expects to end its crude-for-fuel swap deals by 2023 when its refining capacity is set to increase with state refineries revamped and a new refinery built, Mele Kyari, Group Managing Director of the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC), said.
Nigerian refineries, which are in need of refurbishment, will be fully revamped and running by 2023, Nigeria’s ThisDay outlet reported, quoting Kyari as speaking at a virtual refiners’ conference this week. The private refinery of Nigerian billionaire Aliko Dangote is also expected to be operational by then, Kyari said.
“I don’t see an extension of that process in the near future as we progress and transit into more production locally. Our plan is to deliver all of them by 2023,” NNPC’s top executive said, referring to the crude-for-product swap deals.
Since 2016, Nigeria has been running the so-called Direct Sale of Crude Oil and Direct Purchase of Petroleum Products (DSDP) program with major oil traders and international oil companies, aimed at ensuring fuel which Africa’s biggest crude oil producer cannot process domestically.
At the same conference this week, NNPC’s Kyari said that “The outlook for Nigeria's downstream sector looks bright with attractive market conditions, large market, significant crude distillation capacity additions from various refinery projects, improvements of the distribution network & the use of natural gas.”
Related: Oil Majors Hit Hard By Canada's Energy Stock Selloff
“The rehabilitation exercise involves working with Globally Reputable Engineering Procurement and Construction Companies (EPCs) to revamp the existing refineries to operate at world-class capacity utilization levels,” he said.
Last month, Kyari said that NNPC was in talks to hand over the majority stakes in Nigeria’s four refineries, which are all in dire need of an upgrade.
Nigeria has four refineries, two in Port Harcourt, and one each in Warri and Kaduna, but all refineries are very old and in need of refurbishment. Over the past five years, utilization rates at those refineries haven’t exceeded 30 percent.
By Tsvetana Paraskova
Thursday, October 8, 2020
Nigeria Looks To Ramp Up Its Oil Refining Capacity
Monday, October 5, 2020
Nigeria’s railway people: Life alongside a high-speed rail link
“From Rigasa, the next station is Kakau, then Dutse, then Rijana,” announces Ade, a train conductor with the Nigerian Railway Corporation (NRC). He is dressed in the company’s green and yellow and wears a reflective safety vest as the train departs from Rigasa station in Kaduna, northwestern Nigeria. Its final destination is the country’s capital, Abuja.
Rigasa, a densely populated urban slum, is the site of the main rail terminus along the 186km (115.6 miles) Kaduna-Abuja railway line.
The Chinese-built train has a sparkling white and cerulean interior and features 10 neat, air-conditioned carriages with comfortable seats made of plastic draped in green cotton coverlets. The train, quiet and serene, carries only half its capacity of about 1,000 passengers amid precautionary social distancing measures to curtail the spread of COVID-19. It is a contrast to the overbooked trains, with passengers squeezed into the aisles, that existed before the pandemic.
“Three stops, then you alight at Rijana,” Ade repeats a little later on in the journey as he moves across the aisle checking passengers’ tickets, punching two holes in each. “The train only stops briefly at every station. It does not wait for long,” he warns us.
An economic invigoration?
Poor transport infrastructure has long been a big hindrance to economic development in Nigeria. This railway line, opened by President Muhammadu Buhari in 2016, is the first of the country’s standard gauge railway modernisation projects, accommodating high-speed rail lines. It is part of an attempt to reinvigorate Africa’s largest economy as railways make a comeback after decades of neglect.
The British colonial government completed Nigeria’s first rail infrastructure more than 100 years ago to aid the movement of agricultural goods from the northern region to the ports in the south. The service began to decline in the 1970s due to a fall in agricultural exports, mismanagement and government neglect. By 2009, the number of annual passenger rail trips in Nigeria had fallen from its 1963 heyday of 11 million to just one million.
The new standard gauge line – the most widely-used railway track around the world for high-speed trains – connects Abuja with the former colonial capital of northern Nigeria, Kaduna, as part of the $1 trillion Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) unveiled by China in 2013. Nigeria’s 200 million-strong population serves as a ready market for Chinese exports and technology. It is also a lucrative access point into West Africa and the rest of the continent for Chinese exporters.
Matthew T Page, associate fellow of the Africa Programme at Chatham House, the international affairs think-tank based in London, explains that China’s strategic interest in Nigeria is important for the African country’s status as an emerging global power, with huge unmet demand for infrastructure projects.
“It’s a very natural connection,” he says. “Rail projects financed by low-interest Chinese loans allow the Chinese entrepreneurial class in the diaspora to establish themselves in Nigeria, Africa’s largest consumer market where there is a huge demand for Chinese exports. For the Nigerian government, the cost of building and refurbishing the rail would be an extremely large expense.”
The Kaduna railway line began operating in July 2016 with the aim of enabling faster movement of goods and people, easing road traffic congestion and promoting the economic development of towns along the route.
At the opening ceremony of the railway with its nine new stations, President Buhari announced that the service would provide a much-needed alternative transport link between the two cities. The main terminus at Idu Station in Abuja is a large grey building. The substations along the line are similar, albeit smaller, cream-coloured buildings.
But while the railway recorded about one million passengers in its first two years of operation, it has not produced the economic invigoration that the communities hosting the substations hoped for. Residents say the cost of train tickets is prohibitive and the substations are difficult to access.
Confusion
After a 40-minute ride from Rigasa through landscapes of lush green savannah, the train arrives at Rijana station, an agrarian and grazing village along the expressway road.
As the doors of the train open, the photographer and I jump out and find ourselves not on a platform, but right in the middle of two tracks, sandwiched between two locomotives, one racing towards Kaduna and another – the one from which we have just alighted – towards Abuja. The sound of the trains – which reach speeds of more than 100km/h (62mph) – is deafening.
At the entrance to Rijana station, a scowling station manager flanked by four other members of staff, three men and a woman, enquires about why we have stopped at the station. He looks to be in his 50s and is dressed in a flowing blue kaftan and traditional blue cap. He is dismissive of our pleasantries.
“Did you buy a ticket for Rijana?” he asks. “If you bought a ticket for Abuja then why are you dropping here?” We explain that we need to stop at the substations between Kaduna and Abuja and ask to buy a ticket from Rijana to the next station at Jere, a journey of about 40 minutes.
There are just four return train trips a day from Kaduna to Abuja. Passengers can only buy one-way, single-use tickets up to two hours before departure from Kaduna, with the date and details of the departure and arrival stations imprinted on them. Passengers making multiple stops along the line have not been anticipated.
The station manager informs us that passengers can only buy tickets physically at departing stations and that the substations no longer sell them. He cannot explain the rationale for this, but says it is a directive from the Nigerian Railway Corporation. He suggests we hail a commercial taxi driving from Kaduna to Abuja on the expressway and get out at Jere, which is just less than an hour away by road.
Our attempts to telephone the NRC via the contact numbers displayed on its website – for help with buying a new ticket – prove futile as both go unanswered.
The station at Rijana consists of a single trackside platform and a modern station building; its red roof standing out against the backdrop of surrounding farmland. Inside, there is a barricaded ticket sales area, a sparse waiting room and some office spaces. From the station, it is a 15-minute walk along a footpath through bushes and farmland to the main expressway that leads into Rijana town.
Bandits and kidnappers
Rijana has become infamous as a hub for banditry and ransom kidnappings, both of which have become rampant on the Kaduna-Abuja highway and across other parts of northern Nigeria. At its peak in November 2019, almost 10 kidnappings a day were taking place on this stretch of highway alone, according to the commander of the Nigerian police Intelligence Response Squad (IRT), Abba Kyari.
Thick rows of trees serve as a cover for the armed gangs that pounce, brandishing firearms, on unsuspecting road travellers, pulling them from their vehicles.
They abduct both rich and poor, demanding ransoms of between $1,000 and $150,000, depending on the wealth of the victims and their families. About $11m was extorted in this way between January 2016 and March 2020. Commuters between Kaduna and Abuja have resorted to using the train to avoid the risk of kidnapping, however not everyone can afford the train fare and with so few trains running, many travellers have no option but to risk the road.
Just a few days before our journey, the Nigerian Air Force claimed an air attack had killed several armed bandits in the forests surrounding Rijana.
At a minimarket on the Abuja-Kaduna expressway, a 20-minute walk from Rijana station, we meet 45-year-old shopkeeper Ali Abubakar, who is dressed in a blue kaftan with a matching cap. He is selling soft drinks, foodstuff and household items in his store, which can hold only three people at a time.
I buy a can of malt drink and sit with him on a wooden bench outside the shop. He tells me that he believes the seven identical substations located in towns and villages between Kaduna and Abuja are too far from the towns and that the train fare is too high to serve as a proper alternative to road transport for village dwellers and traders like him.
“If it is meant for the towns and villages with the substations then it should not be this expensive,” he says. Abubakar travels to Kaduna by road at least once a week for business, a distance of less than 60km (37 miles), at a cost of about 300 naira ($0.78) for a commercial bus ride.
Locals priced out
When the Abuja-Kaduna rail service commenced operations, economy class tickets cost 600 naira (about $1.50), while the VIP coaches cost 900 naira ($2.35). The first-class coaches have a bar within, extra legroom and a table for each rider for eating or reading.
In April 2020, the federal government suspended commercial services because of the pandemic. But operations resumed four months later in July, with an increase in fares approved by President Buhari. Now an economy class ticket between Kaduna and Abuja costs 3,000 naira ($8), while the VIP ticket costs 6,000 naira ($16). By contrast, travelling by road using commercial taxis or buses costs about 1,500 naira ($4). Almost half the population of Nigeria live in poverty, earning less than $1 per day.
“With the current kidnappings happening every day on this road, it is only the rich that can afford the safety of the train,” says Abubakar.
“But for someone like me, I cannot afford the train so I have to follow the road and hope my luck doesn’t run out. When you are unlucky and they [the kidnappers] get you, your family has to source money for your ransom, and if they do not meet the deadline, nobody hears from you again,” he adds.
“Some of my own friends and neighbours have disappeared due to this situation. The ransoms could not be paid and they never came back.”
Fifty-seven-year-old market trader Kabiru Salisu wears a flowing multi-patterned kaftan. For more than 40 years, he has been selling sugarcane that he grows on a small farm in Rijana. He has never been to the train station that is less than 15 minutes from his farm since it opened in 2016.
“I do not earn anything there. I do not benefit at all from there. What will take me there?” he asks, offering us sticks of sugarcane. “In my whole life I have never set foot in Abuja, so what do I need the train for?”
The commuters
But, for those who can afford it, the train offers a safer way to travel between the two cities.
Most of the travellers are civil servants who work in Abuja, but due to the high cost of rent in the capital, commute in from Kaduna where housing is cheaper. These weekly commuters between Kaduna and Abuja are the main targets of the bandits and kidnappers.
Before the onset of the pandemic and the introduction of social distancing measures, passengers bought standing tickets after seats filled up for the two-hour train journey, for the same price as a seat. They leant on chairs or squeezed into aisle spaces, making the trains overcrowded and frequently increasing train capacity from its 1,000 seats to nearly 4,000 passengers each time.
When we started our journey in Kaduna, we met Maryam Ahmad. The 22-year-old works for a non-governmental organisation (NGO) in Kaduna and uses the train service to visit her sister in Abuja on weekends. As she relaxes into her seat, she whips out her phone to take selfies and record videos with the cream-coloured interior of the train carriage in the background. She will post them on Instagram, where she has thousands of followers. It is a popular pursuit with many young travellers who document their train travel experience on their social media accounts.
“The train is the safest option right now, but the commotion of getting a ticket can be stressful,” she says as the train starts to move and she changes position to take another selfie. There is no e-ticketing facility, so you have to physically buy tickets. Furthermore, some passengers have accused train officials of hoarding tickets and selling them just before the train departs at inflated prices.
“Also getting to the train station in Rigasa is difficult. It is quite far from the centre of Kaduna town,” she says. “If the road was safer, I would have travelled by taxi to Abuja, it is much easier and stress-free. It is fun travelling by train but the car parks are more accessible than the train station, both in Kaduna and Abuja.”
For another passenger, Nafisa Abubakar, a 27-year-old entrepreneur and resident of Abuja, the cost of the tickets is also a concern. “I always board the VIP section for my round trip when travelling on the train, but I can’t afford to do that any more, it is too expensive,” she says. “So I have had to sacrifice the comfort of the VIP section for the economy class because following the road is not an option for me. It is better to pay 3,000 naira on the train than follow the road and be kidnapped.”
A ticket home
On the other side of the Kaduna-Abuja expressway at Rijana, we hail a Volkswagen van heading towards Abuja. There are seven other passengers cramped inside the vehicle. It costs 400 naira ($1) for a drop off at Jere, a distance of about 50km (31 miles) and the next town with a train station after Rijana.
At Jere, a group of commercial motorcycle riders waits by the side of the expressway for passengers getting off the bus. One takes us through the hills and farmland to the railway station, a journey of 10 minutes.
It is the peak of the rainy season and the road to the train station at Jere is waterlogged and inaccessible for vehicles larger than our motorbike. There is no sign of passengers waiting at the station; the only people here are the maize farmers tilling their nearby farmlands.
Unlike the station manager at Rijana, the official at Jere tells us that the Kaduna-bound train from Abuja can pick us up from Jere station for 1,100 naira ($2.9). There is no explanation as to why the situation is different here and the tickets he gives us are official NRC tickets with “departure from: Jere” and “destination: Rigasa” imprinted on them. It will be the last train of the day, after which the station will close, so we decide to return to Kaduna.
Few economic benefits
When the Kaduna-Abuja rail link was completed in 2016, there was a buzz of anticipation amid hopes it would have a positive knock-on effect on the economies of satellite towns like Rijana and Jere.
Tolu Ogunlesi, the special assistant to Nigeria’s president on digital and new media, blogged earlier this year about how the rail projects would “open up” towns and cities.
Abdulaziz Halliru, a father of two in his 30s, lives in a new apartment 10 minutes from the Jere substation. He works as an estate agent and rears goats and sheep on the side.
Halliru, who wears a pink Juventus shirt and grey tracksuit, says he has never used the train due to its limited schedule. But he still hopes it could bring positive economic developments to his town, especially in real estate.
“The station here can serve as a train junction for travellers from the southern part of Kaduna and Niger State, and, if properly utilised, can turn Jere into an economic hub,” he says. “I am really happy the rail line passes through this town.”
When we board the train at Jere to head back to Kaduna, we cannot find seats as all of the coaches have been filled to half capacity and the other seats must remain empty due to social distancing protocols. Alternate seats are marked off with red masking tape, and the train conductors ensure passengers do not sit in them.
We squeeze into space at the end of the train between the luggage racks and the toilets and remain there for the hour-long journey to Rigasa station, the final stop in Kaduna.
Two ticket officers on the train have taken pictures of the tickets we bought at Jere – surprised that we were able to buy them. They repeat what the staff at Rijana told us – that the substations do not sell tickets.
Later on, when I am able to talk to someone from the NRC, I am told that tickets are no longer supposed to be sold at the substations – due to a lack of demand – but that the Jere station manager may not have received this message yet due to a “problem with communication”.
‘I would rather walk’
Arriving back at Rigasa train station, we are welcomed by the sight of fast-food joints, hawkers selling face masks, groundnuts, soft drinks and phone chargers, among other things. It is a stark contrast to the empty substations we visited on our journey.
To avoid the infamous kidnapping gangs on the Kaduna-Abuja road, thousands of travellers arrive at Rigasa every day to board the train to Abuja. As a result, businesses in Rigasa are booming, with a new shopping mall opposite the station and real estate investors developing new properties.
The state government has also built a new dual-carriageway road to connect the train station with Kaduna city centre in an effort to make it easier to reach the station.
Sixteen-year-old Haruna Salisu works as a payments collector in one of the numerous private car parks near the station. Passengers travelling to Abuja can leave their cars here to be watched over for 500 naira ($1.3) a day. There are more than 50 cars parked there when we arrive and Salisu explains how he now makes enough money not to have to ask his parents for any.
Despite this, the train ride from Kaduna to Abuja is nothing more than a dream for a local like him. “I would rather walk to Abuja than pay 6,000 naira [$16] for a ticket,” he says as he directs a driver out of the open-air car park.
As the sun begins to recede into the Rigasa skyline, the fourth and final train of the day to Abuja gets ready to depart. On a bridge above the tracks, children run to get a glimpse of it.
Fourteen-year-old Aisha Badamasi, who sells corn by the side of the road, dashes across the bridge to wave the train goodbye.
“I don’t know where Abuja is, but I know that is where the train goes,” she says. “Maybe one day I can take the train too and see the city where President Buhari is living. Maybe,” she giggles shyly, as the train disappears from view.
By Sada Malumfashi
Nigeria 'rogue' police unit banned from stop and search
Nigeria's inspector general of police has banned a notorious unit from carrying out stop and search duties and setting up roadblocks amid growing anger at routine harassment and atrocities allegedly committed by its officers.
Mohammed Adamu also said members of the Special Anti Robbery Squad (SARS) must always wear uniforms.
Videos shared recently on social media appear to show officers extorting money and even shooting people.
Nigerians want SARS disbanded.
The hashtag #EndSARS is trending on Twitter, triggered by the alleged killing of a young man by officers from the unit in the city of Lagos on Saturday.
Many people are also using the hashtag to share stories of brutality attributed to the police unit.
Lagos Governor Sanwo-Olu tweeted on Sunday: "Appropriate actions will be taken, and speedily too".
SARS and other tactical police units have been banned from "invasion of privacy of citizens particularly through indiscriminate and unauthorised search of mobiles, laptops and smart devices," Mr Adamu said in a statement on Sunday.
They should, he said, focus on cases of armed robberies, kidnapping and other violent crimes. He also said that police commissioners and commanders would be held liable for misconduct of officers in the areas they were in charge of.
Three years ago Nigeria's police chief ordered an immediate re-organisation of the SARS after public outcry, but little, if any, changed according to an Amnesty International investigation published in June.
The rights group accused SARS officers of using "torture and other ill-treatment to execute, punish and extract information from suspects".
It documented 82 cases between January 2017 and May 2020.
Amnesty found the group allegedly targeted men between the ages of 17 and 30.
"Young men with dreadlocks, ripped jeans, tattoos, flashy cars or expensive gadgets are frequently targeted by SARS," the organisation said.
"The Nigerian authorities must go beyond lip service and ensure there is real reform, " Osai Ojigho, director of Amnesty International Nigeria, said about the findings.
Friday, October 2, 2020
A Nigerian Finds Hard Truths — And Hope — In Netflix Series On Nigeria
The street where I grew up in Kano, northwest Nigeria, is called Independence Road. Each day, it reminded me of Nigeria's independence and sovereignty from Great Britain on Oct. 1, 1960.
This year, as the country marks its 60th anniversary, celebrations will be muted due to COVID-19-related restrictions. But as many Nigerians stay home to celebrate, I hope they will watch the Netflix documentary series Journey of an African Colony, The Making of Nigeria, produced and narrated by Olasupo Shasore, the former attorney general and commissioner for justice in Lagos State and a historian and writer. The series, which has its world premiere on Thursday on the streaming service, traces Nigeria's history of slave trade and colonial occupation — and then independence.
As a Nigerian living in Nigeria, I found the documentary a powerful reminder that to truly celebrate this country's independence, we must take stock of where we came from.
The series begins with clips of Great Britain handing over the reins of power to Nigeria on Sept. 30, 1960. I was happy that it opened with interviews with two women who witnessed Nigeria's first Independence Day celebrations. This is a departure from the usual focus on men for such interviews.
Both women described the joy and pride they felt witnessing such a momentous occasion at the Independence Day ceremony at Race Course (now called Tafawa Balewa Square) in Lagos on Sept. 30, 1960. "I can still remember I was watching that flag. It was the British flag I was watching coming down, coming down, and the Nigerian flag, going up, going up," said Francesca Emmanuel, a former federal permanent secretary, in the documentary. "When the Nigerian flag got to the top, the whole of the racecourse lit up and then they shouted — and then the fireworks! It was a memorable early morning." As a Nigerian, I could relate to these feelings.
Shasore — whose books, A Platter of Gold: Making Nigeria and Possessed: A History Of Law & Justice In The Crown Colony Of Lagos 1861-1906, form the basis of the documentary — then takes viewers through the history of slavery. He says that "the transatlantic slave trade is the greatest human dispersal in history." He argues that Nigeria's role in slavery has not been properly acknowledged by historians. For example, slave merchants transported more than 4 million slaves from Nigeria to the west.
This documentary reminds me of my visit to Ghana in 2005 as part of my international fellowship with the Ford Foundation. A cohort of fellows from Ghana, Nigeria and Senegal visited the famous Elmina Castle to learn about the slave trade. Built by the Portuguese in the late 1400s, it became an important stop on the route of the Atlantic slave trade. We saw the "door of no return" gate. Once a slave passed through, there was no going back but onward, in shackles, to foreign lands.
Shasore reminds viewers that the slave trade run by European countries would not have been successful without participation of locals — an idea that started becoming prominent among Nigerians a few years ago. I myself was not aware of this until Nigerian writer Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani wrote about it in The New Yorker in 2018. In the piece, she told of her great-grandfather's role as a slave trader: "Long before Europeans arrived, Igbos enslaved other Igbos as punishment for crimes, for the payment of debts, and as prisoners of war. The practice differed from slavery in the Americas: slaves were permitted to move freely in their communities and to own property, but they were also sometimes sacrificed in religious ceremonies or buried alive with their masters to serve them in the next life," she wrote.
Sometimes I wish I could speak to my great-grandparents to hear their stories about the slave trade. Maybe they were enslaved. Maybe other family members of friends were enslaved. Sadly, they died decades before I was born. However, both my uncle Victor Nsofor and Obidinma Onyemelukwe, a professor and a member of my hometown Nanka's leadership council in southeast Nigeria, confirmed to me that there was a slave market in one of our villages. Indeed, the slave trade was closer than I knew. The next time I go to my village, I will visit and explore the site of Eke Ntai slave market in Amako village. According to scholars, local slavery in southeast Nigeria continued until the 1950s.
A recurring message in the documentary is the forceful removal of Black Africans from their communities to become slaves. Consequently, they lost connections to their roots. However, within the past two decades, DNA testing has helped Africans in the diaspora trace their roots back. For example, the late actor Chadwick Boseman was part Yoruba (Nigerian) and Limba (Sierra Leonian), pastor T.D. Jakes and actor Forrest Whitaker both have Igbo ancestries, and CNN journalist Don Lemon is part Nigerian, Ghanaian and Congolese.
After the slave trade ended came colonial occupation. At the Berlin Conference of 1884, European nations carved up the continent and shared the different nations among themselves. I believe it was all about human trafficking, which was sanctioned by the state, clergy and businesses. Great Britain's share were the nations that now make up present-day Nigeria.
The British colonialists ended up stitching together a country made of diverse cultures. Nigeria has more than 250 ethnicities and above 500 languages! These nations within Nigeria have been battling to live in peace with each other since Nigeria's independence. Some ethnic groups have called for secession. Between 1967 and 1970, Nigeria fought a brutal civil war, which led to deaths of at least 1 million Igbos. My only maternal uncle fought in the war and never returned. Although the Biafra-Nigeria civil war ended 50 years ago, the push for nation-building continues among all ethnic groups.
I am Igbo from the southeast part of Nigeria. I grew up in Kano state in northwest Nigeria, my wife is from Edo state, in southern Nigeria and my mother-in-law is from Lagos state in southwest Nigeria. Therefore, my two daughters have Igbo, Edo and Yoruba ancestries. My nuclear family is a microcosm of Nigeria, spanning formerly different nations. To me, Nigeria should not fail. It would be like my family failing.
I want Nigerians to live in peace. However, impacts of slave trade and colonialism continue to threaten our cohesion. Although on paper Nigeria is independent, it is not fully so given its overt dependence on foreign donors to fund social services despite the country's ability to pay for much of the services itself. For instance, Nigeria's total annual health expenditure is $10 billion. While $7.7 billion is spent by Nigerians as they pay for health services, the government and nonprofit organizations in Nigeria focus more on maintaining the $1.1 billion of total international donor support. Nigeria should instead put effort into finding creative ways to fund its health system by looking inward and rechanneling available resources.
Shasore's documentary made me realize that all the nations that make up Nigeria went through the trauma of slavery and colonialism. We need to constantly remind ourselves of our shared painful history so we can all heal together as a united Nigeria.
By Ifeanyi Nsofor
Related stories: Netflix Unveils Nigerian Original Series, Three Films
Thursday, October 1, 2020
Measure to Punish Rapists with Castration Raises Concern in Nigeria
Nigerian lawmakers in the northwestern state of Kaduna have approved a measure to castrate men convicted of raping children under the age of 14. The controversial law comes in the wake of public outrage over the rising number of rape cases in recent months. But while supporters praise the new law as a move to defend women and children, some human rights activists say it is too harsh and may even fail to deter perpetrators.
It’s a typical lonely day for thirteen-year-old Amina, (not her real name), in a safe house located in Rigasa area of Kaduna state.
She was brought here one month ago after being raped by three men from her neighborhood.
She feeds her pet cat as she recounts her ordeal.
“I was hanging around the shops, I didn’t want to go inside the house because my stepmom was beating me. They called me and gave me a drink and then raped me,” she said.
Amina is not the only girl being held here. Her roommate, also a teenage girl, said she had been molested by her own father.
Amina says she’s even more upset because her father, a police officer, dismissed the case after being bribed by her attackers.
“I feel bad that my dad did that,” she said.
But Amina’s case has been re-opened with help from Samira Modibbo — a Kaduna-based activist who is one of the coordinators of the state-led campaign against rape.
The three men have been re-arrested and are awaiting judgement. They could be among the first to be surgically castrated under a new law punishing rapists of children under the age of 14, says Modibbo.
"Anyone that could rape a child does not deserve to live. And I actually stand by that because it takes a monster to be able to do that. There are a lot of things that comes with the sexual assault of kids. It’s not just about the emotional damages. There are physical damages and sometimes for the rest of their lives,” she said.
Nigeria's federal law provides between 14 years and life imprisonment as punishment for rape, but states can set different sanctions.
Human rights lawyer Okoro Kelechi argues the new law is too harsh and may fail to address the issue.
“I don’t think surgical castration addresses the root problem of rape because rape occurs more in the mind than in the act. I like to look at it as something that is more psychological. It goes beyond the sex. So, it’s not about the utensil or the tool used to achieve sexual pleasure,” he said.
Local aid agencies in Kaduna say over 400 cases of rape were reported in the state during the coronavirus lockdown.
No one knows whether many more states in Nigeria will adopt this new law. But activists like Madibbo say they will remain vigilant to ensure children are protected and offenders are held accountable.
By Timothy Obiezu
Related story: Nigerian state says rapists will face surgical castration