Surviving the Shasha Market Crisis: A Story of Violence, Motherhood, and Survival

On February 12, 2021, my life changed forever.

That morning, a violent clash broke out between Yoruba and Hausa-Fulani traders at Shasha (also called Sasa) Market in Ibadan, Oyo State. It began with a confrontation that escalated into mob violence, and left behind a trail of destruction. Shops were vandalized, homes were torched, and lives were lost. Among those affected was my father a pharmacist and philanthropist whose store was reduced to ashes. His cars were set on fire. Our lives were never the same again.

I was assisting as an accountant at my father’s pharmacy, having resigned from my job in the banking sector after marriage. That day, an injured Yoruba woman was rushed into our store. My father began treating her, as he always did when anyone was in need regardless of ethnicity or background.

Moments later, a well-known Fulani man in our community popularly called Babangida “Man of the House” entered the pharmacy with his severely injured son. Without even assessing the situation, he demanded that my father stop treating the Yoruba woman and attend to his child immediately. My father, seeing that the child’s condition was serious and required more than basic treatment, advised him to head to the hospital or call an ambulance.

Babangida became furious. He started dragging my father by his shirt. I stepped in and urged him to follow my father’s advice and rush the boy to the hospital. In response, he slapped me. Then he stormed out, still carrying his son.

Later that evening, he returned with a group of Fulani men.

They were shouting my name, vowing to kill me. Babangida claimed that I had stopped his son from receiving treatment and that his child had died because of me. He promised to take my life in return.

It all happened so fast. They began vandalizing my father’s cars and smashing the windows of the pharmacy. We were trapped inside. Eventually, we managed to escape through a back window. In the process, I injured my left foot and ankle they were crushed against the window frame as I tried to crawl out. It was the next morning we heard that the pharmacy had been burnt down overnight.

We went into hiding immediately. My husband and I fled to his village Odo Agbaowo in Ogun State. We couldn’t risk being seen or reaching out to anyone. The fear was constant. The Fulani community in Nigeria is tightly connected. We knew that if Babangida really wanted to find us, he could.

Not long after, I discovered I was pregnant.

I was terrified. I hadn’t seen a doctor. I couldn’t go to a clinic. I had no access to prenatal care. We lived like fugitives, hiding in fear. My husband would only leave the house at night, sneaking out to the market to get supplies. Meanwhile, I was growing weaker, both physically and mentally. In September, around my seventh month of pregnancy, I fell seriously ill and my feet and hand were swollen. The left foot was bigger than the rest as a result of the injury I sustained in the night of the incident. I was fragile and scared not only for myself but for my unborn child.

At around 37weeks of the pregnancy , my father took the risk to call us back to Ibadan. He wanted to monitor me closely and prepare for the baby’s arrival. But somehow, Babangida found out we had returned. The threats started again. He told my father to hand me over. We didn’t know how he found out but it didn’t matter. We knew we were in danger again.

On the night of November 10th, 2021, I went into labor. I was filled with terror. As a first-time mom who had never seen a doctor or midwife during pregnancy, I feared the worst. My father, equally traumatized, drove me to the military cantonment nearby. The military hospital agreed to help under one condition that I had to leave the very next day.

I gave birth there with stitches and trauma, but miraculously, alive.

The following night, we traveled back to the village. It was a six hours journey in the dark. I was still in intense pain, seated on fresh stitches, cradling a newborn, and watching over my shoulder. We were exhausted but safe.

The family is now calling on human rights organizations, the media, and relevant authorities to revisit the events of Shasha Market and offer justice, protection, and support to those who were severely impacted.

This press release serves not only as a call for justice, but also as a reflection of the hidden and ongoing toll of ethnically driven violence in Nigeria.