I Will Run: A Cry That Echoed Beyond Ozoro
She screamed, “I will run!” Her voice trembled, yet it carried defiance. In that moment at the Ozoro Festival, surrounded by hands tearing at her clothes and laughter mocking her pain, she clung to the instinct to escape. That cry was more than desperation — it was a mirror held up to the nation. It reminded us how hard it is to be Nigerian, especially a Nigerian woman, where survival itself often feels like resistance.
This single incident is not isolated. It awakens memories of countless times when women have been silenced, when violence has been excused as culture, and when justice has been delayed until outrage fades. It is one cry, but it carries the weight of many voices that were never heard. It has the ability to be a turning point — but only if we refuse to keep quiet, only if we break the cycle of forgetting after a few weeks, as we so often do.
The law is clear. The Violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act was enacted to protect against assault, harassment, and humiliation. It promises punishment for perpetrators and safety for victims. Yet, despite its existence, the reality on the ground tells another story. The law feels distant, like words on paper that struggle to come alive in practice. For the girl who screamed “I will run,” the law was nowhere to be found in that crowd. It did not shield her. It did not silence her attackers. It did not stop the cameras from recording her pain.
The Nigerian Bar Association has called this assault a national disgrace. Their condemnation reminds us that justice must not only exist in statutes but must be enforced in streets, festivals, and communities. Their words echo the outrage of millions who watched the videos in disbelief. They remind us that silence is complicity, and that the collapse of conscience is as dangerous as the crime itself.
History has shown us that one voice can change the course of events in Nigeria. When ordinary citizens spoke up against police brutality during the #EndSARS protests, it forced the nation to confront abuses that had long been ignored. One cry became many, and many became a movement. The cry from Ozoro has the same potential — if we do not let it fade.
As Nigerians, we must act. If any of the perpetrators are found, citizens must demand their prosecution, not shield them with excuses of culture or community ties. We must share this story, keep the outrage alive, and refuse to let silence bury it. Justice must be demanded until it is delivered. Communities must hold themselves accountable, traditions must be redefined, and women must be protected.
The cry that echoed beyond Ozoro is more than a scream. It is a reminder of the struggle of being Nigerian, of the distance between law and lived reality, and of the urgent need for justice. Its echo carries both pain and possibility. Nigeria must decide whether it will let that cry fade or let it change the way we protect our people.
Please do well to repost, to share, and to speak — so that this cry does not die in silence as so many have before.
Written by Soaring Eagles Attorneys