In the late 1990s, the bustling oil town of Eket, Akwa Ibom State, carried an uneasy rhythm; progress on the surface, human struggle beneath. On one such evening, inside a popular lounge known as Lost and Found, I met a young woman whose quiet presence stood in stark contrast to the chaos around her. The encounter would later unravel into a story far bigger than either of us imagined, a story that mirrors the collective experience of the Southeast in today’s Nigeria.
She introduced herself as Joy Punany, a name spoken with a soft humour that seemed to mask something deeper. Unlike many others in the club, she declined offers of drinks and maintained a composure that suggested she was not there by preference but by circumstance.
Hours later, after we had left the lounge for safety, she revealed her real name: Ihuoma. And with it came a narrative laced with abandonment, exploitation, and resilience.
A CHILDHOOD ON SHAKY GROUND
Ihuoma’s life as narrated in my Facebook wall (@chuka.okoye3), began with difficulty. Her mother, Chinyere, had been a promising university student who suddenly found her life upended by an unexpected pregnancy. With the father of the child refusing responsibility, she withdrew from school and relied entirely on her widowed mother. That grandmother became the young girl’s anchor, until her passing when Ihuoma turned fourteen.
Bereft of support, Chinyere moved Ihuoma to Eket after marrying a wealthy and influential man, Chief Ubon. For the first time in years, there seemed to be stability: a decent home, a better job for the mother, and hope for a new beginning.
But appearances, especially in homes built on unequal power, can be deceiving.
SILENCE WHERE PROTECTION SHOULD HAVE BEEN
With her mother often away for work, Ihuoma gradually began to face troubling behaviour from her stepfather, behaviour no child should ever experience. Each time she sought comfort and help from her mother, she encountered fear-driven silence.
“We can’t afford trouble,” her mother would say. “Please, just endure. We have nowhere else to go.”
For a teenage girl, it was a shattering realisation: the person expected to protect her had chosen self-preservation over truth.
When Ihuoma became older and more assertive, the situation escalated. Her stepfather, armed with status and influence, labelled her “rebellious” and “disrespectful.” In their community, his word overshadowed hers. Even her mother, perhaps out of fear, dependence, or denial, chose to believe him.
Eventually, Ihuoma found herself restricted, isolated, and unheard.
But not defeated.
With the help of kind-hearted estate cleaners, ordinary people with extraordinary empathy, she escaped. By the time I met her, she was moving through life cautiously, trusting only when absolutely necessary.
“You are only the third person I have followed since I ran away,” she told me that night.
Her story was more than a personal tragedy, it was a testament to what happens when the vulnerable are abandoned by those who owe them protection.
THE ANALOGY WE CANNOT IGNORE: IHOMA, THE SOUTHEAST & A NATION IN DENIAL
Listening to Ihuoma, one truth struck me with unsettling clarity: her story is not just hers. It is also the story of an entire region (the Southeast) and the predicament surrounding IPOB and Mazi Nnamdi Kanu.
The parallels are almost too stark to ignore.
1.CHINYERE: THE SOUTHEAST LEADERSHIP
Like the mother who feared losing comfort, certain Southeast leaders have often chosen political convenience over truth. Instead of defending legitimate grievances within their region, many have opted for silence, alignment with power, or outright desertion of their own people’s interests.
2.IHUOMA: IPOB AND MAZI NNAMDI KANU
Like the young girl whose cries were misunderstood and suppressed, IPOB and Mazi Nnamdi Kanu emerged not from rebellion but from long-standing frustration, marginalisation, and exclusion. Whether or not one agrees with their methods, their origin story (like Ihuoma’s) was rooted in the desperate need for acknowledgment and protection.
3.CHIEF UBON — THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT
Chief Ubon represents the Federal Government; powerful, influential, and often unwilling to confront deeper structural issues. Instead of addressing the historical injustices that gave rise to Southeast agitation, the government has frequently leaned on force, arrest, or narrative framing.
4.THE TRUE TRAGEDY: ABANDONMENT FROM WITHIN
The greatest injury in Ihuoma’s story did not come from the powerful oppressor but from the loved one who chose silence over courage.
The Southeast today faces a similar hurt: a region left vulnerable not only by federal policies but also by internal leaders unwilling to stand firmly for justice, equity, and truth.
CONCLUSION: A CALL FOR COURAGE
Ihuoma survived because someone (unexpected, ordinary, and brave) chose to believe her.
Similarly, the Southeast’s path to justice requires courage: courage from its leaders, courage from its citizens, and courage from a nation willing to finally confront uncomfortable truths.
The story of Joy (of Ihuoma) is a reminder that silence protects the powerful, not the vulnerable. And until we learn to stand for those whose voices are diminished, we will continue to repeat the same cycles of betrayal.
Her story is our story.
Her survival is our warning.
Her resilience is our call to action.
“When a child like Ihuoma must choose between abuse and survival, it is not just a family that has failed her, it is a nation. Our daughters should not have to run into the night to find safety. Southeast leaders and the Federal Government must rise above politics and excuses, and finally build a Nigeria where every girl (the region and Igbos) is protected, heard, and valued.”
By Okoye, Chuka Peter
The Executive Director, Centre for Human Rights Advocacy and Wholesome Society (CEHRAWS)
