HOOKED, HUNTED, AND SOLD: Inside Nigeria’s Booming Kidnap Economy Where Trust Is the Bait
Chukwu Obinna 
ABUJA, Nigeria – In Nigeria’s bustling cities and quiet suburbs alike, a new rule is taking hold: the call that promises work may be the call that ends your freedom. For Solomon Eze, a construction contractor who built his life pane by pane and railing by railing, that call came like any other—ordinary, routine, believable. What followed would expose not just a personal nightmare, but a national crisis spiralling beyond control.
Nigeria today stands at a dangerous crossroads. With a population exceeding 220 million and a police force numbering roughly 370,000 officers, the country operates at a ratio of one officer to every 600 citizens—far below the United Nations recommended one to 450. The Inspector General of Police has acknowledged a deficit of at least 190,000 personnel. Into this widening gap, a ruthless and highly organised kidnapping economy has flourished—one that no longer lurks in remote creeks or conflict zones but thrives in everyday transactions, professional exchanges, and urban life. This is not merely crime. It is an industry. Chukwu Obinna, writes.
The Trap: When Opportunity Turns to Ambush
It began, as it increasingly does, with a promise of work.
Solomon Eze recalls the moment with unsettling clarity:
“Someone contacted me presenting themselves as a client who needed glass installation and railings done on their property in Port Harcourt. It sounded like a genuine contract. We communicated, they described the job, and we agreed I would come to assess the site and confirm the work. That is completely normal in my line of business.”
— Solomon Eze, Construction Contractor and Kidnapping Survivor
There was nothing unusual. No warning signs. No reason to suspect danger.
Until he arrived
A car pulled up—ordinary, unremarkable. The “client” stepped out, but within seconds, Solomon was overpowered, forced into the vehicle, and driven to an abandoned building on the outskirts of the city. What followed was calculated brutality: hours of beatings, coercion, and financial extraction.
Every naira he had—nearly four million—was drained from his accounts.
But the ordeal was far from over.
“They told me to call my family and tell them I had been kidnapped. They demanded a ransom of ten million naira for my release. I had to make that call, hearing my family’s voice, knowing the shock and terror I was about to cause them, with a weapon pointed at me and no choice in the world. That call was one of the most painful moments of my life.”
— Solomon Eze
The threats escalated with chilling detachment.
“Nobody nobody should go through what I went through. Not for any contract. Not for any amount of money.”
From Militancy to Marketplace: The Evolution of Abduction
To understand how Nigeria arrived here, one must look back.
Retired military veteran Daniel Godsent traces kidnapping’s origins to the Niger Delta, where it began not as a business, but as a political tool.
“Original Niger Delta incidents were politically motivated, focused on resource control and community development rather than ransom payments. Militants used what they called ‘adoption’ tactics to force attention to demand for community development and environmental protection. They were negotiating for specific actions, not money.”
— Daniel Godsent, Retired Military Veteran
That ideological underpinning has since vanished.
What replaced it is a cold, profit-driven system.
“Kidnapping evolved into a systematic business enterprise, with criminals demanding specific amounts and families actually paying.”
— Daniel Godsent
That moment—when ransom became routine—changed everything. It transformed abduction into a predictable revenue stream, attracting actors with no political agenda, only financial ambition.
The consequences are profound. Kidnapping has not only spread geographically; it has embedded itself socially.
Godsent recounts a case that underscores the depth of the crisis: a young woman who orchestrated her own abduction to extort money from her parents.
The line between victim and perpetrator, he suggests, is blurring.
Corruption: The Silent Accomplice
If kidnapping is the symptom, corruption is the disease.
Godsent is unequivocal:
“Laws are adequate, but enforcement is completely compromised.”
He describes a routine encounter at a checkpoint, where a small bribe was enough to bypass scrutiny entirely. Such transactions, repeated daily across the country, erode the very foundation of law enforcement.
Security agencies, he argues, are not underpowered—they are undermined.
“Security budgets are reduced from requested amounts like two billion naira to seven hundred and fifty million naira by the time funds reach operational units. Soldiers remain willing to serve but lack proper support due to corrupt practices.”
— Daniel Godsent
The result is a paradox: a nation with capable institutions on paper, yet paralysed in practice.
Until corruption is addressed, he warns, no strategy will succeed.
The Human Cost: Living With the Aftermath
For survivors like Solomon, escape is not the end—it is the beginning of a different struggle.
“My body has healed on the outside, but the trauma is still very much present. A car slowing down near you, an unknown number calling, small things that never used to mean anything now carry a different weight. I am managing. But I want to be honest, it is not easy.”
— Solomon Eze
Beyond individual trauma lies a broader societal impact. Fear reshapes behaviour. Trust erodes. Economic activity slows as professionals become wary of travel and new engagements.
Godsent highlights another dimension: the role of unemployment.
“Internet fraudsters are now kidnapping each other’s family members to recover money from failed business deals.”
— Daniel Godsent
What emerges is a convergence of criminal ecosystems—cyber fraud bleeding into violent abduction, each reinforcing the other.
At its core, the crisis is fuelled by desperation and opportunity in equal measure.
What Must Change: Reform or Ruin
Solutions are widely debated but unevenly implemented.
One proposal gaining traction is the establishment of state police—requiring constitutional amendment but promising decentralised, community-based enforcement. Advocates argue that local officers, familiar with their terrain and communities, could respond faster and more effectively than a centralised structure.
This aligns with the United Nations Sustainable Development Goal 16, which calls for peaceful societies, access to justice, and strong institutions.
Yet structural reform alone is insufficient.
As legal practitioner Iwunnakwe Promise has noted, institutions are only as effective as the people who run them. Godsent echoes this sentiment bluntly: Nigeria does not lack resources—it lacks integrity in deploying them.
A Warning from the Frontlines
For Solomon, the lesson is immediate—and urgent.
“Be very careful when a new client contacts you, especially from outside your city. Verify that client thoroughly. Ask for references. Do not go alone. Make sure trusted people know exactly where you are going, who you are meeting, and when to expect you back. These criminals are deliberately targeting tradespeople and contractors because they know we travel to unfamiliar locations to inspect sites. They use that trust against us.”
— Solomon Eze
His words double as both survival guide and indictment.
Because in today’s Nigeria, trust itself has become a vulnerability.
SDG 16: A Broken Promise?
The kidnapping crisis strikes at the heart of SDG 16—Peace, Justice and Strong Institutions. With a policing deficit of 190,000 officers and a system weakened by corruption, achieving targets such as reducing violence and building accountable institutions remains an uphill battle.
The path forward is clear, if politically difficult: strengthen transparency, enforce accountability, and rebuild public trust.
Until then, the phone will keep ringing.
And for many Nigerians, answering it may come at an unimaginable cost.
About the Author
Hussaini Ibrahim 
Edino Chubiyo Cornelius