Six things to do after a robbery attack in Nigeria

A quietly ingrained and recently formed tradition for many Nigerians is saying the short and fervent “Nigeria will not happen to me today” prayer. Yet, Nigeria continues to happen to people every day, especially when they are least expecting it.

In 2024 alone, 2.8 million people in Nigeria fell victim to robbery. As disturbing as the data is, it’s even more bothersome that only 988,652 of these robbery cases were reported to the police. The majority of the victims chose to suffer their losses alone and bear their trauma because they had concerns and distrust towards the Nigerian Police Force.

We spoke to five out of the millions of Nigerians who fall into the latter category, and they shared their traumatic experiences at the hands of robbers.

“I started dozing off in a way that didn’t feel natural”– *Ben, 34

It happened on a Sunday afternoon, around 1 p.m. I left my house to get a haircut. I used public transport since the place isn’t far from my home.

I got into the bus, and a woman was in front, so I didn’t suspect anything. It might sound weird as a guy, but sometimes when a bus is full of only men, I get a strange vibe. But that afternoon, I didn’t think too much about it. I was completely relaxed, just listening to a podcast and scrolling through Twitter.

The next thing I knew, I started feeling tired and unnaturally sleepy. Then I began to struggle. That’s the last thing I remember. I remember faintly that someone started hitting me, and my reflex action was to fight back.

When I regained some consciousness and made it out of the bus, I could taste sweat and filthy skin in my mouth; It was disgusting. I later realised that they had stolen my phone, and my wallet was open, but luckily I didn’t have any cash in it.

But honestly, what annoyed me more was what happened afterwards. Everyone I encountered just tried to scam me instead of offering a helping hand.

Then I went to the police to try to track my phone using my laptop. That was another disaster. I had to pay ₦5,000 just to log in my statement. Then another ₦18,000 or ₦20,000 to “mobilise” the tracker. Then they asked for ₦35,000 more, and that wasn’t even for actual tracking.

The whole thing just kept snowballing. They kept telling me that recovering the phone depended on how much I “followed up.” I asked what “follow up” meant. They said I’d need to keep calling and checking in, and if they needed more money, I’d have to pay.

I’ve been afraid since that experience. More scared than usual. I’ve always felt like I had a bit of male privilege—like I could move around at night and not feel unsafe. But these past few days, I’ve been conscious of my environment. I don’t feel as safe anymore.

“I noticed how uncomfortable the driver was” – *Ade, 24

It’s been almost two months now. I was going home after attending a wedding in Ibadan. I entered a tricycle because my house wasn’t that far. But the driver was acting suspicious. There were just two of us in the tricycle, but I noticed how uncomfortable the driver seemed and decided to stop at the next junction.

When I was dropped off, I realised my phone was gone. I finally understood why the driver was being weird. As a journalist, I had many voice recordings, interviews, and story plans. Gone. I had over 2,000 contacts saved on my SIM, which I’ve been unable to recover. I had to spend over ₦400,000 getting a new phone.

The whole thing messed with my head. I had severe paranoia. It messed me up so bad that I didn’t work for a week. Thankfully, I knew people in my bank, so it was easy to block my accounts immediately. I didn’t go to the police because it seemed like a waste of time.

“I don’t feel safe walking at night or using public transport anymore” – *Florence, 28

I was robbed on December 1, 2024. I was going from Lagos Island to the Mainland on a Sunday. I decided to take public transport because I was trying to save money.

When I got off the first bus I took, I didn’t know exactly where they had dropped me off. It was somewhere on the Island, but I wasn’t familiar with the area, so I thought, “Let me just check Google Maps to confirm where I am, and maybe I can book a ride from there.”

I reached into my bag to retrieve my phone, but it was gone. I was shocked. I just froze.

You know when people say they’re so shocked they can’t move? That was me. I didn’t think it was real until it happened to me. I was trembling, shaking. It felt like I was having an electric shock from my head down.

I tried to walk forward while still shaking. I saw some people and asked to use their phones to call someone. But I couldn’t even remember my parents’ numbers. I have a few numbers memorised (my mum, dad, and my own), but even those flew out of my head. I kept typing and deleting, trying to piece it together until I finally remembered one. I was too deep in shock to even think of going to the police.

After that day, I stopped trusting people.

I don’t feel safe walking at night or using public transport anymore. I always use Uber or Bolt now, not because I can afford it, but because I value my safety. And this anxiety didn’t start recently. I’ve always been an overthinker, someone with anxiety. But after that incident, it got worse.

Now, even if I want to go somewhere simple like the salon, a trip that typically costs ₦500 by bus, I still take an Uber. It’s not financially sustainable, but I don’t feel safe otherwise.

“I was pushed off a bus by the robbers” — *Chioma, 22

I typically close at work around 4 p.m., but the day I was robbed was different. I ordered food, which was delayed. So I didn’t leave until about 5 p.m., which was rush hour.

Uber rides were beyond my budget, so I decided to catch a bus. When one finally came heading my way, I hopped quickly, oblivious to the fact that it was one chance.

As soon as I got in, the guy started acting weird, telling me I was in his seat and pushing me around. While that was happening, someone picked my iPhone 12 right from my bag. Then they pushed me off the bus. I was so dumbfounded and confused. It felt like my brain just shut down. I didn’t think the police could help, so I didn’t even bother. I bought that phone after saving up for months. It cost me almost half a million naira. It might seem small to others, but losing it set me back financially.

I couldn’t sleep properly for days. I’d wake up in panic, reaching for my phone to send a text, then suddenly remember—oh, wait, that phone is gone.

“The bus driver pointed what looked like a gun at me” – *Ibrahim, 26

I usually avoid night movements in Lagos, especially on public holidays when the roads are deserted. But I had a work event, and I’d already committed.

The meeting ended around 8:30 p.m., and I couldn’t find an Uber to get back home to Ajao Estate. A friend suggested I take public transport from Palmgrove. I was hesitant, but I didn’t want to be stranded. That’s how I ended up on a one-chance bus.

At first, nothing seemed off; the bus had people in it. But along the way, somewhere near Oshodi, the driver stopped abruptly, made us get out, pointed what looked like a gun, and robbed us. He had assistance, and they took my phone and my cash. Then they dumped us in the middle of the express.

I had to trek to Oshodi, beg a kind man for ₦500, and return to my friend’s house. That night, I used his phone to block my bank and savings apps. The next day, I started trying to retrieve my line and access my accounts. I even paid a police officer ₦50k to help track the phone. They promised results but never delivered.

Eventually, I gave up, bought a new phone within a week, and moved on. Lesson learned the hard way.