Malami Meets Bail Conditions But Refuses to Leave Kuje Prison Over DSS Rearrest Fears
By: Abudu Olalekan
Here’s a strange one for you. A man gets the key to his freedom. The judge says he can go. He’s met every single condition. But he won’t leave his cell. He’s choosing to stay in prison.
That’s the surreal situation with Abubakar Malami, the former Attorney-General of the Federation. Justice Emeka Nwite granted him, his wife, and son bail on Wednesday. ₦500 million each. Tough conditions—prime property in Asokoro or Maitama as surety, passports surrendered. They did it all. The gate is literally open.
But Malami won’t walk through it. He’s still inside Kuje Correctional Centre. By choice.
Why? Fear. Pure, cold fear of what’s waiting outside. Sources close to the matter tell Reportersroom that Malami is terrified of an immediate rearrest by operatives of the Department of State Services, the DSS. He believes the moment he steps into the sunlight as a free man, they’ll scoop him right back up. And that’s a different kind of problem.
See, inside Kuje, he’s under the authority of the correctional service. There’s a structure. Rules, however flawed. But if the DSS takes him? That’s a black hole. Detention outside the court’s immediate oversight. A place where things can get… murky. To him, the prison cell has become the safer option. Let that sink in.
His lawyers are scrambling. We learned they’ve been instructed to run back to court, seeking an urgent ex parte order. A legal shield to block the DSS from touching him the second he leaves. But so far, no judge has signed off on that protection. Which leaves him in this bizarre limbo. A prisoner by his own volition.
It’s a stunning reversal of fortune. This is the man who was Nigeria’s top law officer. The Minister of Justice. He wielded immense power, often overseeing the very agencies he now fears. The irony is so thick you could cut it. The hunter, now viewing the same forest as a terrifying wilderness.
The details of his bail are no joke, showing just how serious the court views his case. Justice Nwite didn’t play. Two sureties each, with landed property in Abuja’s most exclusive neighbourhoods—Asokoro, Maitama, Gwarinpa. The court’s Deputy Chief Registrar has to verify those documents personally. They must swear affidavits of means. Passport photos. The whole nine yards. It’s the kind of bail designed for flight risks and the powerfully connected.
And he complied. He jumped through every hoop. Only to stop at the finish line.
This tells you something about the state of play. It speaks to a deep distrust in the system he once helmed. It suggests a belief that legal victories on paper mean nothing if the security agencies operate on a different set of rules. He’s opting for the devil he knows—a prison cell—over the one he doesn’t—a DSS detention facility.
People are whispering. Is this paranoia? Or is it a calculated move based on inside knowledge? A man with his experience knows how the gears of state security turn. If he’s this scared, what does he know that the public doesn’t? His refusal to leave is a louder statement than any press release.
For now, the scene is almost absurd. A former AGF, legally free, staring at the walls of Kuje Prison from the inside by his own choice. His freedom papers are in order, but they’re worthless if he believes they won’t be honored by the men with the guns and the unmarked cars.
It’s a standoff. Not with the court, but with the shadowy apparatus of the state. He’s waiting for a guarantee. A piece of paper that says he can walk to his car without being intercepted. Until he gets it, he’s staying put. The cell is his sanctuary. The prison, his refuge.
The ball is now in the court’s court, so to speak. Will a judge grant that protective order? Or will the state give assurances? For now, one of Nigeria’s most powerful former officials is teaching a masterclass in political risk. Sometimes, the cage is safer than the jungle. Even when the door is wide open.
