Temples Of Justice In Ruins: How Neglect, Politics & Poverty Are Crumbling Nigeria’s Courts

By MELVIN KOFFA & TINA TOLUTOPE

From leaking roofs and collapsing walls to judicial dependency and eroding integrity, Nigeria’s justice system faces a crisis that threatens the very idea of fairness and democracy.

ONCE revered as sanctuaries of fairness, Nigeria’s courts are now haunting symbols of decay. In many judicial complexes across the country, cracked walls, leaking roofs, and dark, airless courtrooms mock the solemn promise engraved above their entrances: Justice for All.

At the Ikeja High Court in Lagos, Justice Adeniyi Onigbanjo once resorted to a torchlight to continue proceedings during a blackout in a ₦979 million fuel subsidy fraud case. It was a surreal scene — justice illuminated by a beam of light in an otherwise dark courtroom. The generator had failed again, and the power company had long stopped caring.

But that image, as absurd as it sounds, captures the reality of Nigeria’s judiciary — a system dimmed by years of neglect, starved of funds, and shackled by political control.

Courts of Broken Ceilings and Shattered Trust

Across Nigeria, courtrooms are collapsing — literally. In Lagos, the once-proud Ikeja High Court Complex now bears the marks of rot: sagging ceilings, flooded corridors, and broken chairs that harbour bedbugs. In Ondo, a rainstorm recently tore through the roof of a courtroom mid-session, drenching wigs, robes, and case files.

In Ekiti, part of the state’s High Court complex caved in, injuring the Chief Judge, Justice Oyewole Adeyeye. He was flown abroad for treatment but never fully recovered. In Imo, lawyers fled the Federal High Court in panic when the building began to vibrate during a session — a reminder that even justice trembles in Nigeria.

From North to South, the picture is the same: files piled like barricades, registrars working by candlelight, and magistrates holding sessions under trees when courtrooms flood.

In Ilaro, Delta, and parts of Kwara, some courts have no toilets or roofs. In Borno and Katsina, years of insurgency have left dozens of courts in ruins. In one magistrate court in the North-West, the clerk begins every morning fetching water from a nearby well to clean the courtroom before sitting. “We do it because justice must continue,” he said quietly, “even when the system forgets us.”

The Price of Dependency

But beyond crumbling walls lies a deeper corrosion — one of independence and dignity. Despite constitutional guarantees, state governors still control judicial funds, reducing judges to supplicants.

When former President Muhammadu Buhari signed Executive Order 10 in 2020 to enforce financial autonomy, many governors resisted. Implementation stalled. Today, judicial officers still “appeal” to governors for basic needs — vehicles, housing, office repairs — and sometimes receive them in public ceremonies that reek of humiliation.

“It is shameful for judges to depend on governors’ goodwill,” said Nigerian Bar Association (NBA) President, Afam Osigwe (SAN). “A judge should never be in a position where the public wonders if his decision is repayment for a gift.”

The consequences are dire: delayed funding, compromised independence, and weakened morale. “The judiciary is treated as a footnote in governance,” said a registrar in Abuja. “Even when money is approved, release is delayed. We beg for what is constitutionally ours.”

Underfunded and Overburdened

In 2024, Nigeria budgeted just ₦5.3 billion for judicial capital projects — barely enough to maintain the Supreme Court and federal high courts. By comparison, far more went to refurbishing executive offices and legislative chambers.

The result is visible: outdated infrastructure, unpaid staff, and stalled projects. Many state courts still record proceedings manually, using shorthand. Virtual hearings, e-filing, and digital systems — touted as reforms — remain luxuries of Lagos, Abuja, and Port Harcourt.

“The judiciary is fighting 21st-century crime with 19th-century equipment,” lamented a Lagos-based prosecutor.

A System on the Brink

When citizens lose faith in the courts, democracy falters. Investors hesitate to commit capital in a country where contract disputes take years to resolve. Human rights violations go unpunished. Corruption thrives in shadows of procedural chaos.

“Justice delayed is not just denied — it’s disbelieved,” said rights lawyer Femi Falana (SAN). “When the courts collapse, society follows.”

Constitutional scholar Professor Akin Oyebode agrees: “The strength of any democracy is not in its elections but in its courts. Ours are collapsing both physically and morally.”

The Lagos Exception and Glimmers of Hope

There are, however, flickers of progress. In Lagos, the judiciary under Chief Judge Kazeem Alogba is rebuilding the historic Igbosere Court — Nigeria’s oldest — into a world-class complex. New judicial housing is underway in Epe, Ikorodu, and Badagry to reduce long commutes and enhance safety.

These initiatives show what is possible when leadership meets vision. But even Lagos’s gains expose a national irony: the contrast between a few modernised courts and the nationwide decay that defines most others.

Reclaiming the Dignity of Justice

Stakeholders have long proposed clear solutions:

• Enforce full judicial financial autonomy through binding legislation.

• Establish a National Judicial Infrastructure Fund managed independently of the executive.

• Improve welfare, housing, and security for judicial officers.

• Digitise case management nationwide to reduce backlog and enhance transparency.

But perhaps the hardest task is not technical — it is moral. “A nation that neglects its courts destroys its conscience,” said child rights advocate Ebenezer Omajilile.

Justice as a Refuge, Not a Ruin

At a conference in Abuja, a young magistrate from the North-East summed it up poignantly:

“When it rains, I stop sitting because my courtroom leaks. When there’s no power, I adjourn. When the generator fails, I send everyone home. But I stay because I believe justice still matters.”

Her words capture the essence of a wounded but unbroken institution. Nigeria’s judiciary may be on its knees, but within its weary walls still resides a flicker of faith — a belief that justice, though battered, is not beyond redemption.

Until the nation restores dignity to its temples of justice, every leaking roof and every darkened courtroom will keep asking one haunting question: Who will judge the neglect of justice itself?