Teddy Onyjuwe
The storm currently shaking Nigeria’s Senate began quietly on December 8, 2023, when Senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan, representing Kogi Central Senatorial District, paid a visit to the residence of Senate President Godswill Akpabio. According to her, that encounter morphed into one of unwanted sexual advances. The matter stayed private for over a year, until late February 2025, when Akpoti-Uduaghan went public in a televised interview, accusing the Senate President of sexual harassment, abuse of office, and obstructing her legislative duties. The waves generated by the disclosure were instantaneous, with the country plunged into debates on gender, power, and transparency within its highest legislative body.
Within days, she brought the allegations into the formal sphere, submitting a written petition to the Senate Committee on Ethics, Privileges, and Public Petitions. Yet, the petition was swiftly dismissed on procedural grounds, a decision that critics decried as prioritizing form over substance. Undeterred, Akpoti-Uduaghan refiled, this time with constituent endorsements, insisting that the gravity of her claim warranted objective investigation rather than bureaucratic rebuff.
On February 25, 2025, she took her fight to the judiciary, filing a ₦100 billion defamation suit at the Federal High Court in Abuja against Akpabio and an aide, arguing that his public rebuttals had caused irreparable damage to her reputation. At the same time, she appealed to the police and international parliamentary bodies, underscoring her resolve to escalate the case beyond national politics and into a broader quest for accountability.
Soon after, in early March 2025, the Senate, acting on the Ethics Committee’s recommendation, suspended her for six months, citing breaches of its standing orders unrelated to the harassment claim. Critics argued the move appeared retaliatory, punishing a complainant whose substantive allegations were yet to be investigated. Supporters, however, maintained that the Senate was simply exercising its internal disciplinary prerogatives.
The saga took another turn when Dr. Sandra Duru, also known as “Professor Mgbeke”, surfaced via livestream, alleging that Akpoti-Uduaghan offered her ₦200 million to produce false narratives about Akpabio, including organ trafficking and other sensational claims. The allegations were brazen and widespread, but quickly challenged.
In rapid response, figures like Dr. Joe Okei-Odumakin, Aisha Yesufu, and Kadaria Ahmed emerged publicly to denounce Duru’s claims. They asserted the allegations were unsubstantiated and dangerous, characterizing them as smear tactics designed to discredit a woman speaking against entrenched power. Two other voices added damning weight to the rebuttal: Francess Olisa-Ogbonnaya, a media personality, disclosed that Duru paid her ₦300,000 to create a manipulated audio script to defame Akpoti-Uduaghan, but she refused to carry out the fabrication. Maazi Obinna Oparaku Akuwudike, a journalist and media activist, similarly revealed that Duru offered him ₦2.5 million to produce defamatory video content, only for him to withdraw after recognizing the allegations as baseless. Both testimonies, made public in interviews with Adeola Fayehun, reinforced the perception that a calculated smear campaign was underway.
Amidst the fallout, a surprising twist emerged, a tweet apparently from Ken Okolugbo, Special Adviser to Akpabio, in which he apologized to Akpoti-Uduaghan and admitted regret over the alleged smear. The tweet went viral, suggesting fractures within the Akpabio camp. Though Okolugbo later denied authoring the apology, labeling it a forgery, the image of internal dissent had already taken root in public perception.
Civil-society actors, especially women’s rights groups, have used the moment to demand an independent, transparent investigation, pointing out the Senate’s inadequacies in handling allegations against its own leadership. Media campaigns and protests echoed the imperative that Nigeria protect those who speak out, especially women in governance.
The judiciary now stands at the center of the confrontation. In June 2025, the Federal High Court granted leave for substituted service in Akpoti-Uduaghan’s defamation case, with hearings now scheduled. The intricate blur of civil litigation, potential criminal investigation, and legislative discipline poses a formidable legal challenge—touching on parliamentary privilege, evidence standards in harassment claims, and whether internal sanctions can obstruct judicial recourse.
If the courts fail to act impartially, the consequences for Nigeria’s democratic fabric could be devastating. Political elites may be emboldened to deploy accusations and procedural maneuvers as weapons, driving whistleblowers into silence. The erosion of judicial credibility in the face of political pressure could crumble trust in the separation of powers and deter citizens from seeking justice.
The broader implications for Nigeria’s polity are equally profound. A compromised outcome risks deepening public cynicism, dampening civic engagement, and stirring social fissures over gender and political partisanship. But if resolved transparently and fairly, the case could become a watershed, reinforcing that justice is not for the powerful alone, and strengthening the rule of law in a democracy still battling for its soul.
