According to Reports, in the bustling cities and quiet towns of Nigeria, an unsettling phenomenon lurks behind closed doors—individuals who live and die in isolation, their absence unnoticed for days, weeks, or even years. The stories of John Aderemi Abiola, Mama Nene, and Pastor Jonah are haunting reminders of the silent epidemic of loneliness that often goes unspoken....CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE READING.>>
In Adeosun/Idi Orogbo, Ibadan, Oyo State, the once-proud residence of John Aderemi Abiola had become an overgrown jungle, its rusted gate standing like a reluctant guardian. Neighbors hadn’t seen him since December 2018, assuming he’d traveled for work. But on September 4, 2022, the truth surfaced.
Thank you for reading this post, don't forget to subscribe!“The reptiles drove us to act,” said Mr. Oluwafemi Omilana, chairman of the local landlords’ association. “Snakes from his compound began invading nearby homes. We had no choice but to clear the bush.”
Laborers, armed with machetes, hacked through years of neglect. One of them, Mohammed Ademola, stumbled upon an open window and peeked inside. His voice trembled as he recalled the moment: “I saw bones—just bones lying on the bed. His hand was still holding a phone like he’d been waiting for someone to call.”
Inside, Abiola’s skeletal remains were found alongside expired medicines, a laptop, and a dusty Bible. His Volkswagen Golf, swallowed by weeds, sat as a silent monument to a man forgotten by time.
Neighbors speculated about his reclusive life. “He was always distant. He had children abroad but rarely spoke of them,” said Ademola. Efforts to contact his family led nowhere. “It’s heartbreaking. He lived among us, but in truth, he was always alone,” Omilana added.
In Port Harcourt, the scent of frying dough once marked the mornings of Mama Nene, an elderly woman whose quiet resilience made her part of the neighborhood’s rhythm. But one day, the familiar smell vanished.
“We thought she was just resting,” said Patience, a neighbor. “She’d disappear for days sometimes.”
Weeks passed, and an unbearable odor seeped through the compound. Neighbors finally broke into her small home, finding her lifeless body where she’d died alone in her sleep.
“She had no family to claim her, no one to weep by her side,” recalled Patience. “It’s like she just disappeared from the world, and the world didn’t notice.”
Authorities buried her alongside others who died unnoticed during the COVID-19 pandemic. No names on the gravestone—just another life lost to solitude.
Pastor Jonah’s final words weren’t spoken—they were written on a simple note pinned to his study door: “Do Not Disturb.” After returning from a missionary trip in Akwete, he retreated into his home in Owerri, as he often did for reflection and prayer.
“We didn’t worry at first. Dad loved his solitude,” said Josiah, his youngest son. But days turned into weeks. Phone calls went unanswered until the silence grew heavy with dread.
“The smell hit us first,” Josiah admitted. When they finally broke down the door, they found Pastor Jonah slumped over his Bible, glasses perched on a bookmarked page.
“He died the way he lived—quietly, with no fuss,” Josiah reflected. “But it haunts me that we didn’t notice sooner.”
His burial was modest—no grand procession, just the whispered prayers of those who knew him.
These stories, though tragic, are not unique. They reflect an unsettling reality in modern Nigeria—an epidemic of loneliness hidden behind the noise of daily life.
“It’s a painful reminder,” said Omilana, “that we must look out for one another, not just in times of crisis, but always.”
