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By Henry Udutchay
In the early hours of 4th July, 2025, I lost my son, Ndubuisi Kanayo Iheanacho Udutchay—my pride, my joy, and the embodiment of hope I had for the future. Armed robbers snatched his life away in the cruelest of ways at his residence in Independence Layout, Enugu, leaving behind a shattered father, family and a society that ought to demand better.
On the fateful night of 3rd July, 2025, he had returned home, parked his car, and alighted to open the gate to his house. It was in that moment of vulnerability, in front of his own home, that the heartless robbers struck. They had most likely trailed him with the sinister intent of snatching his vehicle or abducting him. What followed was a scene of chaos, fear, and senseless violence. The robbers shot sporadically into the air, unleashing terror on a quiet neigbourhood. Amid the confusion, some courageous neighbours attempted to interrupt the robbery. But that disruption, rather than scaring the criminals away harmlessly, provoked them.
They panicked, and in their evil bid to escape, they shot my son in the stomach and fled with his mobile phone, leaving him bleeding and broken.
Ndubuisi was rushed to the Parklane Hospital in Enugu where he was operated on.
As a father, nothing can prepare one for the sight of his son lying in a hospital bed, fighting to live, struggling to breathe, and clutching the fragile thread between life and death. For a moment, we had hope. He was young, strong, and had dreams.
He had just begun to walk the path of a meaningful life. But at 2am on July 4th, that hope was crushed. My son breathed his last. He died not just of the robbers’ bullet, but of a system that failed to protect him. The pain is indescribable.
Ndubuisi was born on 14th October, 1992. He was a promising lawyer, a graduate of the University of Nigeria, Enugu campus, and almost celebrating his 33rd birthday. One of those children that gave parents reason to believe Nigeria could be great again. He was diligent, passionate, and humane. His journey through school and into the legal profession was driven by a desire to serve justice, to stand for what is right, and to contribute meaningfully to society. He was a child every father would be proud of — respectful, responsible, and full of promise.
Regrettably, his laughter, which used to echo down the halls, is now a memory. His meticulous advice, his youthful energy, his burning desire to serve justice—they are gone, snuffed out by a reckless act that was both senseless and preventable.
As I write this, my heart bleeds. I am a father in mourning. I am a father in anguish.
I am a father whose son was murdered by the very violence we have normalized in this country. My son’s life was worth more than a phone or a car. He was worth more than the fear that drove armed men to shoot blindly. He was worth every ounce of effort our leaders should be investing in security and justice reform.
I write not only to express my grief, but to scream in anger, in despair, and in deep frustration. How long shall we continue to bury the future because of the failures of the present? My son’s death is not an isolated case. Across the country, the stories are the same. Sons and daughters full of promise are wasted daily by criminals emboldened by a society that seems numb to tragedy. What will become of a nation where the dreams of its youth are silenced at gun-point?
I want answers, but more than that, I want change. I want my son’s death to matter.
I want his blood to speak not in vengeance, but in transformation. Let his death stir something in our leaders, in our security agencies, in our lawmakers. Let this loss not just be another statistic. I raise this voice not only for my beloved son, Ndubuisi, but for every victim of insecurity in Nigeria. We are tired of candlelight processions, condolences and statements. We want action and reform. We want a country where dreams are nurtured, not destroyed. Where lawyers, doctors, engineers, artisans, and all our children can live without fear of being murdered in front of their homes.
My son is gone and no amount of words will bring him back. But I will not be silent. For the sake of other sons and daughters, I will speak. For the sake of our collective sanity and existence, we must speak. Let us not wait until tragedy visits our doorsteps before we cry for justice. No father should ever have to bury his child under such circumstances. No parent should receive that call in the middle of the night that shatters everything they have built.
As I mourn, I hold onto one thing, and that is hope. The hope that someday, this country will be safe. That other fathers will not suffer as I do now. That a time will come when human life is sacred, when young Nigerians can live out their dreams without fear.
That one day, when I join my son, I can tell him that Nigeria did not forget him. That his death made a difference. That his blood became a seed for national re-awakening.
Rest, my son. Rest until Nigeria becomes the nation you dreamt of; one where no father buries his son because he simply came home.
• Chief Henry Udutchay,
Public Affairs Analyst,
writes from Abuja.
