Jamiu Adedokun, a 17-year-old apprentice tailor working in the Oshodi area of Lagos, comes from a low-income home and cannot afford daily transportation fares. He treks 10 kilometers to and from work routinely. On an unfortunate night in October 2024, Jamiu was picked up by a notorious police task force team known for “raiding” innocent persons to demonstrate their efficiency. He was subsequently charged with breach of public peace before a magistrate court in Oshodi.

For months, Jamiu’s family members were unaware of his whereabouts. He languished in Kirikiri prison without trial until the Take It Back Movement Legal Aid, which I co-head, intervened and secured his release. Jamiu’s story exemplifies how Nigeria’s criminal justice system disproportionately targets the poor, criminalizing poverty instead of addressing real crimes. I can personally relate to Jamiu’s ordeal. On January 1, 2021, I was detained alongside other activists, including Omoyele Sowore and Juwon Sanyaolu, after participating in a peaceful protest demanding good governance.

We were charged with “disturbance of public peace” and held at Kuje Prison under inhumane conditions. I suffered a burst upper lip and loss of blood and flesh due to police brutality before being transferred to “Abattoir,” a notorious detention facility linked to the now-disbanded Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS). For eleven days, I endured the stench and misery of dingy cells, including the death row cell in Kuje prison, witnessing firsthand the systemic failures that keep the poor locked away without hope.

The Nigerian justice system is notorious for its inefficiency. Court cases drag on for years, often due to a lack of judicial personnel, poor case management, and a backlog of unresolved matters. According to Sylvester Nwakuche, the Acting Controller-General of the Nigerian Correctional Service (NCoS), as of January 6, 2025, a staggering 48,932 inmates are in custody awaiting trial. Many of them have spent years behind bars without having their cases heard.

Despite the government allocating N7.2 billion for the upgrade of correctional facilities, prisons like Kirikiri Maximum Security Prison remain severely overcrowded. Nigeria’s criminal justice system was never designed to protect the poor; it was built by colonialists to maintain control. The first constabulary forces, established in 1863, were meant to suppress dissent, protect colonial interests, and criminalize resistance.  After independence in 1960, rather than dismantling this oppressive structure, successive governments retained and even strengthened it, ensuring that law enforcement remained an instrument of repression rather than justice. A glaring example of this injustice was the execution of Ken Saro-Wiwa and the Ogoni Nine in 1995. Their trial, conducted under a military regime, was widely condemned for its lack of due process, with bribed witnesses and a predetermined verdict.

The case demonstrated how the criminal justice system could be weaponized to eliminate dissenters while shielding those in power. Today, similar abuses persist, with political prisoners, activists, and ordinary citizens suffering at the hands of a corrupt system. However, the post-1999 era of electoral democracy has introduced contradictions—on one hand, increasing judicial inefficiency and wrongful detentions, and on the other, fostering the rise of pro-bono legal practice and public interest litigation that have helped secure justice for many indigent persons.

The radical legal activism of figures like Alao Aka Bashorun, Gani Fawehinmi, and Femi Falana has significantly shaped the fight for justice. These lawyers and their contemporaries have worked to hold the state accountable and secure legal representation for those who cannot afford it. Their work, alongside movements like the Take It Back Movement Legal Aid and other progressive legal initiatives, has somewhat tempered the excesses of the justice system, though not yet enough to ensure fundamental fairness.

While the 1995 execution of Ken Saro-Wiwa and the Ogoni Nine under the Abacha regime marked a peak in state repression, the present-day system remains deeply flawed. The widespread practice of pre-trial detention, the weaponization of the legal system against political dissidents, and systemic police brutality show that justice is still out of reach for the poor. Unless Nigeria dismantles this inherited structure of oppression and replaces it with a justice system that prioritizes fairness and human rights, the cycle of impunity will continue. The current system does not just fail the poor—it actively punishes them for their poverty, ensuring that justice remains out of reach for those who need it most.

Since Nigeria’s return to electoral democracy in 1999, there have been legal reforms aimed at improving human rights protections, such as the enactment of the Administration of Criminal Justice Act (ACJA) in 2015. This law was meant to ensure speedier trials and reduce the number of people held in pre-trial detention. However, its impact has been inconsistent due to poor enforcement, corruption, and chronic underfunding of the judiciary.

Although there is now a more active civil society and a legal framework that theoretically provides for human rights, the criminal justice system remains heavily skewed against the poor. The government’s proposed N38 billion budget for feeding inmates and N7.2 billion for prison upgrades, while appearing as progress, fail to address the root causes of wrongful incarceration and prolonged detention.

For many awaiting trial, the inability to afford a lawyer is a major barrier to justice. The poor are left to navigate the legal system alone, often unaware of their rights or how to challenge their detention. Although Nigeria’s constitution provides for free legal aid, the Legal Aid Council of Nigeria is grossly underfunded and overwhelmed. Lateef Fagbemi, the Attorney General of the Federation, recently admitted:

I am not saying that the budget allocation of the Legal Aid Council should be as much as it is in developed countries, but it should be reasonable enough to reflect the reality in the country. Everything is changing, and it cannot give what it does not have.

In Gideon’s case, the police told Take it Back Legal Aid Committee that they were waiting for the advice of the Directorate of Public Prosecution (DPP) before proceeding to proper trial. However, investigations revealed that the prosecutor had not even applied for the advice since 2024, leaving the accused persons in indefinite legal limbo.

Similarly, Jamiu Adedokun, an orphan, has been in Kiri-Kiri prison detention, with a stalled trial, since October 2024, simply for being arrested for “breach of public peace,” further proving the system’s inefficiency. Justice in Nigeria has increasingly become a privilege of the wealthy. Legal representation is expensive, and suspects who cannot afford the steep legal fees often remain in detention indefinitely. According to Statista, as of October 2023, Nigeria ranked 14th globally in the share of pretrial detainees.

The connection between class and access to justice is clear. For individuals like Chimobi Obi, a 17-year-old accused of a minor offense, legal fees of ₦50,000 to ₦100,000 are simply out of reach for his father, a motorcycle rider. “My son has spent months behind bars for a crime just because lawyers are asking me for money I do not have,” he lamented. This commercialization of justice has created a two-tier system—where the wealthy can buy their freedom, while the poor languish in prison for years without trial. The criminal justice system has become a tool to suppress the poor and marginalized. Amnesty International reported that in the aftermath of the August 2024 protests, more than 1,000 people were arrested across Nigeria, with many remaining in detention without trial. Some detainees even lost their lives due to harsh treatment and prison conditions.

Activist Omoyele Sowore was detained for months in 2019, not for a crime, but for daring to challenge the government. Cases like his show how the justice system is weaponized to silence dissent and oppress the underprivileged. Ghana has made significant strides in reducing its pre-trial detainee population over the past decade. In 2015, the country had 2,423 detainees awaiting trial, but by 2024, the number had dropped to 1,666. This steady decline reflects a justice system that, while not perfect, has made efforts to address prolonged detention. With a total prison population of 14,991 as of 2024, Ghana’s percentage of pre-trial detainees is notably lower than Nigeria’s, showing a commitment to curbing excessive pretrial incarceration.

In contrast, Nigeria’s pre-trial detention crisis has worsened over time. In 2005, the number of awaiting-trial detainees stood at 28,363, but by 2024, it had skyrocketed to 56,973. As of February 2025, the total prison population stands at 79,863, with an alarming 67% awaiting trial. This means Nigeria now has more than 53,000 people in custody who have not been convicted of any crime—more than three times Ghana’s entire prison population. The trend highlights systemic inefficiencies, including police abuse of pre-trial detention, sluggish judicial processes, and an underfunded legal aid system.

The stark contrast between Nigeria and Ghana underscores a deeper issue: Nigeria’s criminal justice system is designed to detain rather than to deliver justice. While Ghana has demonstrated that reforms can reduce unnecessary pre-trial detention, Nigeria continues to treat incarceration as a default response, worsening overcrowding and human rights abuses. Without systemic change, the Nigerian justice system will remain a revolving door where the poor are trapped indefinitely, while the wealthy and powerful evade accountability. The plight of the more than 50,000 awaiting trial inmates is more than a statistic—it is a human rights crisis. Without urgent reform, thousands more will continue to suffer under an unjust system that punishes poverty rather than crime.

While the government’s proposed N38 billion budget for feeding inmates and the N7.2 billion for prison upgrades seem promising, these measures do little to address the root causes of prolonged pretrial detention and systemic failures.  The bitter experience of people like Jamiu Adedokun, Gideon Yahaya, Chimobi Obi, and countless others underscores the urgent need for a system that upholds justice for all, not just the privileged few.