The “Wanted” Poster: Sadiya Umar Farouq and the EFCC…

Nobody is above the law. Not the former ministers. Not just any public official.

But even the law cannot become theater. When anti-corruption efforts begin to feel like a public spectacle, the hunt risks becoming a matter of humiliation, not justice.

The recent “wanted” notice issued by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, EFCC, against former Minister of Humanitarian Affairs, Sadiya Umar Farouq, raises uncomfortable questions. It’s not just aggressive. It borders on the theatrical in ways that erode what remains of public trust in anti-corruption efforts.

Let’s let the news do the talking. And let him speak clearly.

Since the commencement of investigations in 2024, Sadiya Umar Farouq has, as learnt, voluntarily presented herself at the EFCC headquarters on no fewer than 30 occasions. She appeared thirty times. Not in protest. Not under duress of arrest. Voluntarily.

She was granted administrative bail. His passport has been released. Credible information confirms that he has received explicit approval to travel abroad, including his current medical trip to Egypt. Each trip, as we learned, was communicated in advance. Each received permission from the commission.

This is not the model of a fugitive evading justice.

It is the conduct of a citizen engaged in the process, however imperfect that process may be. A fugitive does not ask permission to leave. A fugitive does not return. A fugitive does not count approximately 30 voluntary appearances.

Then came the change.

For months, the main allegations reportedly focused on around ₦2 billion. This was the universe in which bail was granted, passport issued and travel approved. Two billion naira. Serious money, certainly. But at least a defined universe.

Then, while the former minister was legally out of the country on a pre-approved medical trip, the EFCC dramatically increased the compensation demand from ₦2 billion to ₦37 billion.

Let’s let the arithmetic settle.

This larger figure was already not included in the 21 charges presented to the court. It had not been tested during cross-examination. He had not been subjected to the scrutiny that accompanies formal charges. It emerged suddenly, explosively, and just as the former minister was exercising the permission granted by the same agency that now declared her wanted.

Coincidence?

Perhaps. But the optics are hard to ignore.

If there was credible evidence for £37 billion, why was it not included in the original charges? Why was the suspect granted bail, her passport issued and her travel approved if the commission was already sitting on evidence allegedly ₦35 billion higher than what it had charged?

Why did this new figure only emerge after travel approval had been granted and implemented?

The sequence suggests something less than a pure search for justice. It suggests, instead, a carefully planned and calibrated escalation for public effect. The law is not a trap door. An agency cannot grant permission with one hand and issue a “wanted” notice with the other without raising serious questions about its own consistency and integrity.

Equally significant is the disparity in treatment.

The matter reportedly involves other individuals. Other names. More hands in the same jam, if the allegations are to be believed. Yet the spotlight and the EFCC’s “wanted” mechanism seem to be pointed predominantly in one direction. The same public vigor was not extended to all parties linked to the matter.

Selective intensity. Selective indignation. Selective advertising.

When the fight against corruption begins to resemble a political attack, the fight already runs the risk of losing its moral authority. Not because corruption has won, but because the institution risks giving up its claim to impartiality.

Nigerians have seen enough cycles of dramatic announcements, media trials and selective outrage to recognize this pattern.

Here is a press conference. There’s a wanted poster. A leaked investigative document. A carefully planned revelation just as the political winds shift. The choreography is familiar. What is less familiar is consistency. What remains rare is the quiet, arduous work of building cases capable of surviving the scrutiny of a courtroom.

This is not how serious institutions build public trust.
Humiliating a suspect with colorful posters and spreading them around the world while others move more silently does not strengthen anti-corruption efforts. It weakens the credibility of the institutions charged with this responsibility. It deepens the cynicism already coursing through the national bloodstream.

The principle at play is simple.

If Sadiya Umar Farouq has a case to answer, let him answer it in court on the due date, which, according to the records of the FCT High Court 30, is May 18, 2026. Courts exist for a reason. They have procedures. They have rules of evidence. They have judges who can distinguish between a ₦2 billion charge and a ₦37 billion charge.

An agency cannot grant travel permission, issue a passport, and then issue a “wanted” statement as if the citizen was in hiding. This is not convincing on the part of law enforcement. It is a contradiction that borders on institutional self-sabotage.

Let’s be clear about what is really at stake.

This is not simply the fate of a former minister. The very integrity of Nigeria’s anti-corruption architecture is at stake. Every time the EFCC seems to move the goalpost, every time the charges are escalated for maximum media impact, every time a suspected collaborator is publicly treated as a fugitive, the institution loses another piece of its credibility.

And credibility, once wasted, is painfully difficult to rebuild.

Nigeria has had enough of selective justice. Enough of agencies pursuing some while appearing hesitant with others. Enough of the wanted posters that seem designed more for public consumption than sentencing in court. Enough with theatrical performances disguised as law enforcement.

The EFCC must present its full case. In court. Not through statements to the press that convince the collective imagination before a statement is even presented. Not through timed escalations in ways that appear calculated to embarrass a suspect who, according to available accounts, repeatedly complied with investigative procedures. Not through the public humiliation of a citizen who reportedly appeared around 30 times, was granted bail and only traveled with explicit permission.

If the evidence exists, let it speak where it matters most.
If not, the commission will owe the nation an explanation for this curious spectacle.

Until then, this “wanted” notice sounds less like a measured step in the pursuit of justice and more like performative governance. In a country already burdened by the perception of selective justice, such performances weaken institutions much more than they strengthen them.

The law is not theatre. The courtroom is not a press conference. The Nigerian people, tired as they are, can still distinguish between justice and entertainment.

●Abu-Sufuyan Isa is a journalist from Abuja.

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