In many parts of the world, loneliness is a silent killer. For Nigerians living in urban centres or without close family or friends, isolation can be deadly. This story by GODFREY GEORGE delves into the tragic reality of Nigerians who die alone in their homes, their passing unnoticed for days, even weeks
The gate stood like a silent sentinel, rusted with time and neglect, its padlock still firmly in place, as if it had been abandoned only yesterday.
But beyond it, nature had made its claim—an overgrown jungle of weeds, vines, and crawling things, swallowing what was once a man’s home.
It wasn’t until Sunday, September 4, that residents of Adeosun/Idi Orogbo community in Ibadan, Oyo State, decided they had had enough. Reptiles slithering from the neglected compound into their homes forced them to act.
What they found inside was something no one had expected: the skeletal remains of the house’s owner, John Aderemi Abiola, lying undisturbed in his bedroom, nearly four years after he was last seen.
It was the foul-smelling whispers of decay, the eerie quiet of a house frozen in time, that sent shivers down the spine of those who dared peer through the window.
There, on his bed, the bones of a man who had vanished without a trace rested—one bony hand still gripping his mobile phone, as if waiting for a call that would never come.
A life in the shadows
Abiola was last seen in December 2018. By then, he had been living in his newly built home for just over a year. A man of few words, he shared little about his life. “He was the type to pay his dues but never stayed for meetings,” said Mr Oluwafemi Omilana, the central chairman of the Adeosun/Idi Orogbo Landlords’ Association, Ibadan, Oyo State.
“He built his house with a high fence, set far back from the gate, with an expanse of land in front—almost as if he wanted to remain unseen.”
The last conversation anyone had with Abiola was about his trip to Port Harcourt. He had mentioned he would return for the Ileya festivities in 2018, but when the celebrations came and went without a sign of him, no one thought much of it. They assumed he had simply changed his mind. And so, the days turned into months, the months into years, and the mystery of his absence deepened into nothing but silence.
His compound, however, told a different story. The weeds grew wild, swallowing his Volkswagen Golf, registration AKD 769 DC, like a burial shroud. The house itself stood untouched, waiting—perhaps, for someone to return.
The discovery
The breakthrough came when the owner of the adjacent property finally moved in.
The invasion of his home by snakes slithering from Abiola’s overgrown compound forced the community to take action. They approached the Apete Police Division for permission to clear the bush. Initially hesitant, due to the legal implications of trespassing, the police eventually granted them the go-ahead.
Labourers were hired, and with machetes in hand, they jumped the locked gate and hacked away at years of unchecked growth.
As the house gradually emerged from the green tangle, one worker, Mohammed Ademola, noticed something strange: a bedroom window left ajar. Driven by curiosity, he approached. A quick glance through the torn mosquito net sent him reeling.
“There he was,” Ademola recalled, still shaken. “Just bones on the bed. His skull, his ribcage, his hand… and that phone, as if he had been waiting for someone to call.”
Word spread like wildfire.
Soon, the entire community gathered, staring at the house in horrified fascination. The police were immediately summoned, arriving with officials from the Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps and the Ministry of Environment.
The skeleton that told a story
Inside Abiola’s room, dust had settled like a fine shroud over remnants of his final days. A bottle of Astymin, packets of Bicarbonate of Soda, Vitamin C, Coartem (an antimalarial drug), and herbal tea sat undisturbed, their expiry dates long past. His laptop remained where he had left it.
His wardrobe still held his clothes, untouched by time. A plasma TV clung to the wall, a silent witness to whatever had transpired within those walls.
Perhaps the most haunting detail was his skull. “You could still see his teeth,” a witness noted.
“He was gap-toothed.” Even in death, his remains bore the final traces of his identity—an eerie reminder that he had been more than just bones; he had been a man with a life, a past, a story.
The vanishing act
But who was Abiola beyond the skeleton in the room?
Born on October 1, 1955, he was an engineer by profession, working between Port Harcourt and Ibadan. Before moving to his house in Adeosun in 2017, he had lived in various parts of the city. He was known to travel frequently for work, and his neighbours had grown accustomed to his periodic disappearances.
His reclusive nature kept people at a distance. “He didn’t disclose much to anyone,” said Ademola, who had worked for him as a carpenter. “But I remember he told me he had children in the United States. He even called one of them once while I was working. I heard them talking for a long time.”
There were whispers of a family estrangement. His wife, an Igbo woman, had reportedly remained in Port Harcourt with their children. “He and his wife had some kind of disagreement,” another source revealed. “That’s why he decided to move here alone. He didn’t even let his family know where he was.”
Even in death, Abiola seemed to resist being found. With no immediate family contactable, the authorities hesitated to remove his remains. “We want to try to trace his relatives,” said Omilana. “We were told his mother lived in Agugu, so we are following that lead. If we can’t find them, we’ll need government’s approval to proceed.”
A lonely end
It is a tragic thing to die unnoticed, to leave no immediate echo in the world. As the investigation into Abiola’s death continues, the community reflects on the unsettling truth of modern solitude. How does a man die in his own home, in a neighbourhood filled with people, and remain undiscovered for four years?
“We called his number many times,” said Pastor Olusola Bobade, secretary of the landlords’ association.
“But it just wouldn’t go through. We thought maybe he had changed it.”
The phone found next to his skeletal remains raised unsettling questions. Had he tried to call for help in his final moments? Had he been waiting for someone to reach out? Or had he simply given in to the slow, creeping inevitability of death?
Found dead
Days passed, and no one saw her. No one noticed.
She was old, her steps slower with the years, yet she carried herself with quiet dignity.
Some mornings, long before the first light touched the sky, she would rise, wrap a faded cloth around her shoulders, and set her firewood ablaze, the soft crackling flames licking the base of her blackened pots.
The air would fill with the scent of frying dough—buns, pancakes, sometimes akara—wafting through the compound, a silent herald of her waking.
Other times, she would not come out at all.
So when her absence stretched from one day to the next, the neighbours assumed it was just one of those days. It wasn’t. Mama Nene had died in her sleep.
She had outlived them all—every soul who once called her mother, sister, wife. If she had children, none ever came looking for her.
Whispers said she had once been the second wife of a local chief, a man of some repute in the area. But when he fell ill and died in a hospital in Port Harcourt, the Rivers State capital. she never returned to his house.
Instead, she stayed in the small home that once belonged to her mother, a place where time seemed to have frozen, where memories folded over themselves like dust gathering on an untouched table.
“She lived alone,” said Patience, a woman from the next compound. “But you could always tell when she was awake—there was always smoke curling from her kitchen.”
Once, a young ward had kept her company, helping with housework and errands. But one day, the girl vanished, never to return.
“She got pregnant,” a neighbour recalled. “She decided she couldn’t stay with Mama anymore. After that, the old woman was always alone.”
Occasionally, someone would offer to help—sweep her yard, fetch water—but she would wave them off, insisting she could manage. It wasn’t meanness. It was the quiet pride of a woman who had spent too many years relying only on herself.
And so, she continued—moving like a shadow through the community, never quite vanishing, never quite present. Until that fateful Thursday in 2020.
It was deep in the heart of the COVID-19 pandemic, when the world had descended into a strange, breathless silence. The streets were empty. People kept their distance, wary of getting too close.
Then came the smell. It crept into the air, thick and unmistakable. It settled in doorways and seeped into conversations.
At first, they thought it was a dead rat, maybe a stray dog left to rot under the sweltering sun. But as the days wore on, the truth became undeniable.
The doors to Mama Nene’s house were locked from the inside.
By the time they broke them open, the woman who once filled the air with the scent of warm pastries was gone.
There were no wailing relatives, no frantic calls to distant children. Only a handful of neighbours stood in the harsh light of day, staring into the quiet, empty room where she had breathed her last—alone.
The authorities were called, and the investigation suggested she might have died of natural causes. A notice went out for family members to come forward before she was buried, but no one came.
And so, she was buried alongside others who had passed during the peak of the pandemic.
Do not disturb!
The last time anyone saw Pastor Jonah alive, he had just returned from a missionary journey in Akwete. He’d cut his programme short by a day—another engagement in Owerri awaited him, another pulpit, another sermon.
He had planned only to stop briefly, gather fresh clothes, rest for the night, and set out again at first light.
But the first light came, and he did not rise. In the stillness of that night, somewhere between prayer and slumber, breath and eternity, he slipped away.
At first, no one noticed. It wasn’t unusual for him to retreat into solitude. For days—sometimes weeks—he would fast and pray, secluding himself in the quiet sanctuary of his study, lost in communion with a presence only he could feel. His family had learned to give him space. His late wife had understood it. His sons had grown up with it.
So when he did not emerge, no alarm was raised.
Josiah, his youngest son, was at home that evening, watching his father return—weary yet resolute. There had been no final words, no lingering farewells. Just the familiar rhythm of routine. His father had walked into his study, closed the door behind him, and, as always, left the unspoken command: Do not disturb! Josiah obeyed.
Days passed, and still, the door remained shut.
Then came the calls. First, a trickle—concerned voices asking after him—then a flood, his phone ringing incessantly, unanswered, its shrill tone an intruder in the thick silence of the house. And then, silence. The ringing stopped.
But something else soon replaced it. An odour—faint at first, then undeniable. It crept through the house, settled into the walls, and clung to the curtains. Josiah, unsettled yet unsure, finally dialled his brothers. When they arrived, they said nothing. There was no need to speak.
Together, they broke the door open. Inside, their father lay where he had fallen asleep, his Bible beside him, glasses resting on a bookmarked page. His earthly vessel had given way, quietly, without protest.
No wails. No frantic scrambling. Just the steady, inevitable weight of realisation settling in.
Josiah reached for his phone and called their head pastor. The senior pastor arrived soon after, sending people to take the body away.
Three months passed before he was buried. No elaborate ceremony. No loud processions. Just the hum of scripture, the murmur of prayer, and the soft whisper of the wind through the trees.
“This is the first time I am telling this story, and my siblings would be very mad at me, but I felt it needed to be told, so others can learn,” he confessed.
The need for commonality
The phenomenon of individuals dying alone and remaining undiscovered for extended periods has emerged as a powerful symbol of increasing social isolation in contemporary society. This issue transcends geographical boundaries, affecting urban centres worldwide, including Nigerian cities.
The erosion of communal ties, rapid urbanisation, and shifting societal norms contribute to a landscape where individuals, particularly the elderly and those with mental health challenges, find themselves disconnected from traditional support networks.
In Nigeria, the extended family system has long served as a crucial social safety net, ensuring that people remain connected and cared for within the community.
However, the rapid pace of urbanisation and the adoption of Western lifestyles have led to the fragmentation of these once-strong communal structures.
As more Nigerians migrate to urban centres in pursuit of economic opportunities, the close-knit relationships characteristic of rural life often diminish. This shift results in situations where individuals, especially the elderly, live in isolation, with limited social interaction.
Dimensions of isolation
Social isolation is defined as an objective condition characterised by a lack of contact with others and disengagement from social activities.
Senior psychologist Usen Essien notes, “Loneliness, while related, is a subjective feeling of being disconnected or lacking companionship. Both conditions have been linked to adverse mental health outcomes.”
Research suggests that social isolation increases the risk of premature death from every cause. Among Black participants, social isolation doubled the risk of early death, while it increased the risk for white participants by 60 to 84 per cent.
Another psychologist, Sophia Bristol, emphasises the profound psychological impacts of isolation: “Individuals experiencing loneliness are more susceptible to depression, anxiety, and cognitive decline. The absence of social interactions can lead to a lack of mental stimulation, exacerbating these conditions. Moreover, the stigma surrounding loneliness may prevent individuals from seeking help, further entrenching their isolation.”
Sociological perspectives
From a sociological standpoint, the rise in solitary deaths reflects broader societal changes. Sociologist and research consultant Isaiah Coker observes that the transition from collectivist to individualistic lifestyles has altered the functioning of communities.
“In urban settings, high-density living does not necessarily equate to social connectedness. Residents may share physical spaces yet remain emotionally and socially distant. This phenomenon is not unique to Nigeria; globally, urban dwellers often report feelings of isolation despite being surrounded by people.”
He continues, “The breakdown of traditional communal living arrangements means fewer people are available to notice the absence of a neighbour or friend. In the past, community members routinely checked on each other, and any prolonged absence was promptly investigated. Today, such communal vigilance has waned, leading to tragic instances where individuals pass away unnoticed.”
A growing concern abroad
In December 2024, growing concerns arose within the Nigerian community in the United Kingdom over a troubling rise in sudden, unexplained deaths among their compatriots. One particularly poignant case was that of Ross, an international student who tragically passed away after collapsing unexpectedly.
This incident, among others, sparked critical discussions about the health and well-being of Nigerians living abroad, especially those isolated from immediate family support. These deaths underscore a broader issue—individuals living and dying in isolation, both within Nigeria and across the diaspora. Urbanisation, the erosion of traditional communal living, and the unique challenges faced by migrants adapting to life abroad all contribute to this growing phenomenon.
These factors can leave many feeling disconnected, with no strong community network to turn to in times of crisis. Addressing this requires a concerted effort to re-establish community ties, raise awareness around mental health, and build robust support systems for those most at risk of social isolation.
One heart-wrenching example is the death of Joy Nsude, a Nigerian woman whose lifeless body was discovered in November 2023 in her Hartlepool residence, United Kingdom. She had been living alone, and her death was only discovered after she failed to respond to multiple calls and messages. While the specific circumstances of her death remain unclear, her tragic end highlights the vulnerability faced by many Nigerians in the diaspora, particularly those living far from family or close-knit community networks.
Another case that underscored these vulnerabilities occurred in February 2024 when a Nigerian man, who had relocated to Canada two months earlier, was found dead in his apartment. The man’s sister, Addlin, shared the devastating news in a post on X. She explained that the family had not heard from him for several days, and when they grew concerned, they contacted local authorities. Upon investigating, the police discovered his lifeless body in his room. Disturbingly, his phone and laptop were missing, and the family was left in a state of shock and confusion.
“My friend’s brother, who travelled to Canada in December with an express entry visa, was found dead in his room yesterday,” Addlin wrote. “The family couldn’t reach him for about four days, and when they became worried and contacted the police, they went to his apartment and found him lifeless. His phone and laptop were gone.
“The family is devastated, and they need closure. They want to see his body, but they can’t… they’re just living in limbo. The police have promised an autopsy and an investigation, but the family is desperate for answers.”
The autopsy results revealed that there was no anatomical cause of death, leaving the family, and the wider community, with more questions than answers. The circumstances surrounding his passing remain shrouded in uncertainty, and many feel a deep sense of injustice, believing that foul play may be involved. The family has called for the Nigerian embassy to intervene, urging a thorough investigation to help provide closure and unravel the truth.
These tragic events bring into focus the need for stronger communal bonds, greater awareness of mental health challenges, and a collective commitment to safeguarding the well-being of Nigerians in the diaspora.
Health implications
The health consequences of social isolation are well-documented. Studies have shown that social isolation increases mortality risk by more than 50 per cent, and experiences of loneliness increase the risk of mortality by 22 per cent.
These risks are higher than the effects of obesity, air pollution, and excessive alcohol use. Physiologically, isolation can lead to elevated stress levels, weakened immune function, and increased inflammation.
These factors contribute to a range of health issues, including cardiovascular diseases and a heightened risk of stroke. The lack of social support also means that isolated individuals are less likely to seek medical attention promptly, potentially delaying diagnoses and treatments.
What changes to make
Addressing the issue of deaths due to social isolation requires a multifaceted approach, experts have noted. The fear of isolation and the possibility of dying alone without anyone noticing is an understandable concern, especially for those living far from family or in unfamiliar environments.
However, there are proactive steps you can take to prevent isolation and foster meaningful connections. Here are some practical ideas to help reduce loneliness and ensure that someone will be there for you if needed.
Essien said that revitalising community networks could help recreate the support systems that have eroded over time. “Encouraging neighbourhood associations and community watch programmes can foster a sense of belonging and mutual responsibility.”
He also noted that people living in gated apartments and estates should have a strong social network with neighbours so that if they are in need of emergency care, these neighbours can come to their aid. “No one should live in isolation. We all need each other, and we must learn to involve each other in our lives. There should be someone who should check up on you if you have not been seen for some days.”
He added that leveraging technology to maintain social connections is vital. “Regular check-ins through phone calls or video chats can help monitor the well-being of isolated individuals. Community platforms can also facilitate virtual gatherings, reducing feelings of loneliness,” he concluded.
Establish a routine
An Abia State-based psychologist and therapist, Mrs Fidelia Nwankwo, emphasised the importance of engaging in regular activities, whether it’s work, study, exercise, or volunteering, as a way to create systems that help mitigate isolation.
She further highlighted that, particularly in urban settings, individuals need to have at least one trusted person who knows where they live, work, study, and how to reach them in case of an emergency.
“It’s also a good idea to give your contact information to your neighbours or close acquaintances,” Nwankwo suggested. “Always have access to important contact numbers such as local emergency services, a trusted neighbour, or a nearby friend or family member.”
In her recommendations for combating isolation, Nwankwo also proposed considering the option of living with housemates.
“Sharing a living space with roommates or flatmates can provide natural opportunities for interaction, even if you’re not particularly close to them,” she noted. “The simple act of being around others—whether it’s having a casual conversation in the kitchen or briefly crossing paths in the hallway—can create a sense of community that helps alleviate feelings of loneliness.”
Living with others, she continued, also ensures that someone is nearby in case of an emergency, which can be reassuring for those concerned about being alone for extended periods.
“Moreover, shared housing or co-living spaces are increasingly popular, especially in larger cities or among young professionals. These types of living arrangements often come with the added benefit of a built-in social atmosphere. In co-living spaces, residents typically share common areas and sometimes even participate in community events or group activities, fostering a sense of belonging and camaraderie,” she added.
