Who is counting the bullets?

It’s been one of those weeks. The kind that makes people ask: “Jikin ko garin?” The body is weary, and the country has a headache that won’t quit. A stray bullet fired by someone who should know better steals a young girl’s life. The resident doctors went on a one-day strike that should not have […]

It’s been one of those weeks. The kind that makes people ask: “Jikin ko garin?” The body is weary, and the country has a headache that won’t quit. A stray bullet fired by someone who should know better steals a young girl’s life. The resident doctors went on a one-day strike that should not have happened in the first place. Patients were discharged from the wards only to be readmitted the next day. Some lost their bed space. Scheduled surgeries were cancelled on Tuesday. And all for what? Petrol prices are through the roof. And on the world stage, the drums of an unnecessary war beats louder by the day.

Last Saturday, in the heart of Maiduguri, a 14-year-old girl was inside her family home at the University of Maiduguri Teaching Hospital quarters washing dishes when she suddenly slumped and fell. Her mother found her on the floor and made a joke about her slipping on the wet floor until she realised that her daughter was unresponsive. Alarmed, the girl was rushed to the hospital where a brain CT revealed a bullet in her brainstem.

At a nearby wedding celebration, a group of armed men, identified as members of an escorts team attached to the Chairman of a Local Government Area decided to celebrate by firing sporadically into the air. A stray bullet from that reckless volley found its way to the young girl, snuffing out her future in an instant.

The military, to its credit, arrested five suspects, young men aged 18 to 28, and promised a “comprehensive investigation.” Amnesty International has rightly called for a transparent and impartial probe into what it described as the “reckless use of firearms” by military personnel. But as I’ve learned in my years of practice, an investigation in Nigeria often means the case file gathers dust while the family gathers for a burial.

This is not an isolated incident. Just weeks earlier, on March 22, another civilian, Abdulrahman Mustapha, was allegedly shot dead by troops near the Federal High Court in Maiduguri. Eyewitnesses say he was unarmed, returning from a Sallah visit. The military’s preliminary findings suggest a more complicated picture involving an alleged attempt to snatch a rifle and the possession of multiple IDs. But regardless of the specifics, the underlying question remains the same: why are our security forces so quick on the trigger in civilian spaces?

Sadly, it’s not only a Nigerian affliction. Trigger-happy security forces are a global plague, but the consequences are deadliest where accountability is weakest.

In neighbouring Kenya, a 19-year-old was shot dead by police in Nairobi earlier this year. The Kenya Human Rights Commission notes that at least seven people have been killed by police in the country since February. In Uganda, the army chief himself admitted that security forces killed 30 opposition supporters and detained 2,000 following a disputed election. In India, the army is currently investigating the alleged deaths of three civilians taken into military custody in Kashmir. And in Pakistan, rights groups accuse the military of extrajudicial killings in Balochistan, where three civilians were reportedly killed just this week.

From the Philippines to South Sudan, the pattern is the same: those sworn to protect become the arbiters of life and death, often with impunity.

We have a mechanism for accountability. The Nigerian Army has a General Court Martial. Just last September, Private Lukman Musa was sentenced to death by hanging for the murder of a tricycle rider in Bauchi State. The Chief of Defence Staff, General Christopher Musa, has insisted that the essence of a Court Martial “is not to punish but to correct and preserve discipline.”

That is a noble sentiment. But for every Private Musa who faces justice, how many other cases are swept under the rug? How many times have we heard the phrase “a full investigation has been launched,” only to hear nothing more? How many families are left to bury their loved ones while the soldiers return to their barracks, their hands clean?

Globally, we have seen how this plays out.

In the United States, the deaths of unarmed civilians have forced difficult national conversations about policing, race, and accountability. The killing of George Floyd did not just spark outrage it led to prosecutions, policy reviews, and institutional introspection, however imperfect. In Brazil, sustained pressure from civil society has pushed for reforms in police operations in favelas, where civilian casualties were once dismissed as inevitable.

These countries are far from perfect. But they demonstrate one critical principle: Public outrage, when sustained and supported by institutions, can force accountability.

The Senate is currently considering a bill to allow civil courts to review military convictions, a reform that could bring much-needed transparency to a system that often feels like a closed shop. But legislation is slow and bullets are fast.

You see the speed and alacrity with which MDCN suspended the licence of the doctors that were involved in the death of Chimamanda’s child due to ‘negligence’? The same doctor that carried the author’s child over his shoulder running to the ICU trying desperately to save him?

That kind of speed. That is the kind of speedy investigation I want into this young girl’s death.

My heart aches for the family of the doctor over the loss of his 14-year-old daughter. She was not a combatant. She was not a threat. She was a child dreaming of henna, school and family.

The Theatre Command has extended its “heartfelt condolences” and reassured the public of its “unwavering commitment to justice, accountability, and the protection of civilians.” These are comforting words. But comfort is not justice. A statement is not accountable.

Until we see a serving officer jailed for the reckless killing of a civilian, until we see a system where a bullet fired in celebration is treated with the same gravity as a bullet fired in combat, these tragedies will continue to define us. What the hell were they celebrating anyway? And why does celebration have to involve shots fired into the air?

In all this pain, one of the branches of the Islamic faith, stays true: Qadr. Whatever Allah SWT destined for us, will ALWAYS happen. Imagine being at home, washing dishes only for a stray bullet from a nearby location to hit you in the brain. How random is that? All that talk of avoiding crowded places in this era of insecurity only for you to be killed at home.

Qadr. Yes, Qadr. But that is not to say that those who committed these crimes should not be prosecuted.

By the way, who is counting these bullets?