In the theater of Nigerian criminal justice, bail is the sparkling prop they wheel out to dazzle the audience with tales of constitutional benevolence, only for the curtain to fall on a punchline so absurd it would make a stand-up comedian blush. Our dear leaders preach presumption of innocence while tying defendants in knots tighter than a Lagos traffic jam. Let’s dissect this farce with the cold scalpel of statute, constitution, and case law—before contrasting it with the recent tragicomedy starring politically exposed persons (PEPs) like El-Rufai (Al-Rufia), Sowore (Swore), and the ghost of Malami’s empire.
The Noble Legal Script: What Bail Should Be
Section 35(4) of the 1999 Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (as amended) is the star of the show: every person arrested or detained shall be brought before a court within a reasonable time and is entitled to bail, except for serious (often capital) offences. This isn’t charity it’s anchored in the presumption of innocence under Section 36(5). You’re not a convict yet; you’re just a guest of the state who might, theoretically, show up for trial.
The Administration of Criminal Justice Act (ACJA) 2015, now largely adopted across states, reinforces this in Sections 158-165 or so. Bail exists to ensure the accused’s presence at trial, not to punish them pre-conviction. Courts must exercise discretion judicially and judiciously weighing factors like:
- Probability of a provable offence.
- Availability (flight risk?).
- Gravity/seriousness of the offence.
- Interferability (influence, intimidation).
- Propensity to reoffend.
Classic case law echoes this. In Dokubo-Asari v. FRN (2007), the Supreme Court underscored that bail conditions must not be so stringent as to amount to a denial of bail. The purpose? Preserve liberty pending trial, prevent arbitrary detention, and uphold the rule of law. Blackstone’s old English principle better ten guilty escape than one innocent suffer has Nigerian echoes in countless rulings. Bail isn’t a get-out-of-jail-free card for the powerful; it’s a constitutional shield for all.
Or so the script says.
The Satirical Reality: Bail as Political Theater for PEPs
Enter the PEP special edition where “bail granted” translates to “bail technically exists but good luck perfecting it in a country where life expectancy hovers around 50-55 and grandparents are rarer than honest procurement contracts.”
Take Nasir El-Rufai (Al-Rufai). Courts have tossed him bail figures like ₦100m or ₦200m with sureties involving Grade Level 17 civil servants owning Maitama/Asokoro property, plus traditional council attestations and enough paperwork to bury a small village. A 70-year-old (or thereabouts) scrambling for a grandparent surety? In a nation where the average age is far lower and ancestors are busy in the spirit world? That’s not bail; that’s a polite way of saying “remain in custody indefinitely.” The traditional ruler surety for Sowore? Pure comedy gold if it weren’t tragic.
Omoyele Sowore’s saga adds more layers of farce: ₦200m bail with two sureties (one a traditional ruler), passport surrender, and conditions that feel less like safeguards and more like house arrest with extra steps. Revocations, re-arrests, and chaos follow because in Nigeria, bail for vocal critics often comes with invisible strings attached to the DSS or EFCC’s whims.
These aren’t isolated slips. Stringent, impractical conditions for PEPs especially opposition figures or loudmouths turn the constitutional right into a cruel joke. The law demands conditions be reasonable and practicable, not punitive. Yet here we are, with courts (or their interpreters) crafting terms that mock the average citizen’s reality. A surety needing to outlive the national average? In a country battling youth unemployment and elder scarcity? That’s not justice; that’s judicial stand-up, and the audience (the public) isn’t laughing.
The Malami Coda: When the Mighty Finally Fall (Sort Of)
And then there’s Abubakar Malami, former Attorney-General. While others danced the bail limbo, the Federal High Court in Abuja recently ordered the final forfeiture of 48 properties linked to him valued at a staggering ₦212 billion or thereabouts including universities, hotels, and luxury pads across states. EFCC proved reasonable suspicion of proceeds of unlawful activity; Malami’s side couldn’t show legitimate sources. No bail theatrics here just assets gone.
One might cynically note the timing and optics: selective finality for some, endless procedural bail dances for others. The Constitution doesn’t carve out exemptions for “my guy” versus “their guy.” Yet the system performs as if it does.
The Punchline We All Know
Bail’s purpose is noble on paper: liberty, fairness, trial readiness. But in practice, for politically exposed persons, it’s often a velvet glove over an iron fist or a paper promise designed to fail. Nigeria’s average age makes grandparent sureties a macabre jest. Courts must return to judicious discretion, not performative severity that erodes public trust.
Until then, the blog keeps calling it: selective justice isn’t justice it’s just us, the people, getting bailed on by the very system meant to protect us. What a constitutional comedy of errors.
Centre for Nigeria Progress 