“One chance.” Two words that now strike fear into the hearts of Abuja residents.
It’s a term that’s become all too familiar — whispered in taxi queues, discussed in hushed voices at bus stops, and splashed across tragic headlines. It no longer refers to just petty crime. In Nigeria’s Federal Capital Territory (FCT), “one-chance” has become a euphemism for abduction, assault, and even murder.
In the last few weeks, a disturbing spike in these violent incidents has plunged Abuja into a climate of fear. The city, meant to symbolize national unity, governance, and progress, is now grappling with a horrific wave of crimes that most often target young, vulnerable women.
A Deadly Pattern Emerging
It started — or at least escalated — in early July, when 23-year-old Grace Godwin, a petrol station attendant, was found unconscious along a roadside in Jabi. Police rushed her to the National Hospital, but it was too late. Grace was declared dead on arrival — yet another name added to the growing list of “one-chance” victims.
Just days earlier, Freda Arnong, a staff member at the Ghanaian High Commission, suffered a similar fate. She boarded a cab at Transcorp Junction. Instead of taking her home, the vehicle diverted toward Lugbe-Airport Road. Brutalized and thrown out of the moving car, Freda was found and taken to the hospital — where she, too, was pronounced dead.
These aren’t isolated stories. They’re becoming alarmingly frequent. In the same week, a female National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) member was found disoriented and injured near Maitama after a “one-chance” attack. Another woman, found unconscious on the Kubwa–Deidei Road, lies unidentified in the National Hospital’s Trauma ICU, clinging to life.
A System That Fails the Victims
What’s most unsettling isn’t just the violence — it’s the systemic numbness that follows it. Victims or their families report these attacks, only to be met with shrugging indifference or administrative dead ends. There’s trauma, there’s loss, and then there’s the agony of a flawed response mechanism that feels as dangerous as the crime itself.
Even the FCT Police Spokesperson, Josephine Adeh, voiced frustration when pressed by reporters:
“I am tired of answering questions on this ‘one-chance’ incident. We are looking for solutions. If you have any, bring it forth.”
While her candor might be honest, it underscores a more profound concern — is Abuja out of answers?
The Political Weight of Inaction
In May, FCT Minister Nyesom Wike raised alarms over the growing complexity of security challenges in Abuja. Speaking during the budget defense for the FCT’s ₦1.78 trillion estimate, he stated the obvious but crucial point:
“You cannot talk about autonomy in a city where the President resides… Security in Abuja isn’t something we can handle alone.”
But this isn’t just about policy. It’s about people dying — real lives being cut short on the roads we all use daily.
And yet, despite Abuja being home to the President, the National Assembly, foreign embassies, and the DSS headquarters, the streets — particularly for women — feel like a war zone.
Public Outcry: “What Are These Security Operatives Doing?”
The anguish is widespread. A teacher, Mike Divine, lamented:
“What are these security operatives littered everywhere in the FCT doing?”
Ogbonna Joel, still mourning his cousin’s brutal killing by ‘one-chance’ criminals last year, added:
“Her family will be searching just like we did. It’s heartbreaking.”
And Peter Echo captured the urgency many feel:
“The House of Reps should pass a law placing a life sentence on anyone convicted for ‘one-chance’. One of their aides died from this crime. If that’s not enough to spur action, what is?”
Who’s Most at Risk?
The victims of this silent epidemic are overwhelmingly women. The pattern is undeniable: young female professionals, NYSC members, embassy staff — individuals going about their daily lives — becoming targets of unspeakable violence.
And yet, the city carries on. There are no emergency laws, no special task forces publicly dispatched, no national address acknowledging the terror haunting Nigeria’s capital.
Time for Real Solutions — Not Just Statements
Yes, the crimes are hard to track. Yes, “one-chance” criminals are mobile, cunning, and often blend in with legitimate taxi operators. But complacency is not an option.
We need:
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Digital taxi regulations, where unregistered cabs are restricted from high-traffic zones.
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Verified, traceable public transport systems, with ID and tracking mechanisms.
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A public awareness campaign backed by real-time police response channels.
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A centralized victims’ support desk where those attacked can receive immediate trauma care and legal help.
And most of all, we need accountability — not just from criminals, but from those tasked with protecting us.
Conclusion: Abuja, We Need to Talk
Abuja was meant to be Nigeria’s crown jewel — a symbol of our unity and security. But today, it feels like a city bleeding from a wound no one wants to acknowledge.
“One-chance” isn’t just a crime. It’s a national shame. And until the authorities confront it with the urgency and seriousness it deserves, no one — especially women — can feel truly safe in Nigeria’s capital.
It’s time to stop whispering and start demanding better. For Grace. For Freda. For the unnamed woman in ICU. And for the countless others who may not survive the next ride.
