Three Days in Detention, Then Freedom: The Story of Makoko’s Oluwatobi Aide

By: Abudu Olalekan

He is free. Finally.

Oluwatobi Aide, the youth leader from the Makoko waterfront, walked out of detention on Wednesday evening. The clock read 7:03 PM. It had been three days. Three days of uncertainty. Three days of fear.

His release didn’t happen by accident. It took a storm. A storm of public outcry. The heavy lifting of human rights lawyer Femi Falana (SAN). And the relentless pressure from a community that refused to let their leader disappear into the system.

But let’s be clear. The road to that freedom was rough.

The Arrest That Sparked It

It started on a Sunday. January 11. The sun was beating down on Makoko, and the dust was rising. Not just from the heat, but from the machines. Bulldozers. They were tearing down homes.

The community had an agreement. A 30-meter setback. That was the line. The government promised it. But the demolition crews pushed past that line. They took more land.

Aide couldn’t just watch. He was the youth leader. He spoke up. He questioned it. He asked why the deal was broken.

For that, the Rapid Response Squad (RRS) moved in. They didn’t listen. They just grabbed him. Just like that, a leader was gone.

The Nightmare Inside

For 72 hours, Aide was held at the Area F Police Division in Ikeja. It wasn’t a hotel. It was a cage. And it was dangerous.

See, Aide wasn’t fresh and healthy when they took him. He had been in the community two weeks prior when the demolitions first started heating up. Tear gas was fired. He inhaled it. His lungs were already struggling.

Inside that cell, the conditions were poor. Mosquitoes feasted on him. By Monday night, he was burning up. His body was rejecting the stress, the bites, the filth.

He collapsed. He had to be rushed to a hospital by the RRS operatives. Think about that. They arrested him, then had to save him from the conditions they put him in.

But here is the part that makes your blood boil. When he got to the hospital, the police initially told him to pay his own bill. A man they arrested, getting sick in their custody, and they wanted him to cover the cost.

It took pressure from activists, loud and angry, before the police finally agreed to foot the bill. They treated him, patched him up, and then? They took him right back to the cell.

The Threats in Oshodi

By Wednesday morning, the game changed. The police weren’t just holding him anymore. They were moving him.

A source confirmed to Reportersroom that Aide was taken to the mobile court at the Lagos State Taskforce office in Oshodi. The plan was simple: charge him.

The charge? “Conduct likely to cause a breach of public peace.” It’s a classic catch-all charge. It’s what they use when they want to silence someone without a real crime.

The source called it “false and politically motivated.” It was criminalizing dissent. It was punishing a man for asking questions.

Inside the RRS office, the intimidation tactics were in full swing. A commander allegedly got in Aide’s face. He told Aide he was pretending to be sick. He demanded an apology to the Lagos State Government.

The price of freedom? Sign an undertaking. Promise never to protest again.

Aide refused. He stood his ground. He knew his rights. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Because he refused to bow, they pushed harder. “We will charge you,” they said. “We will make an example of you.”

The Breakthrough

But they underestimated the noise outside.

While Aide was facing down the commanders in Oshodi, the story was blowing up. Civil society organizations were screaming. The media was watching. The people of Makoko were holding vigil.

The pressure became too much. The narrative was slipping away from the government. Charging a sick man for defending his community’s homes? It looked bad. It looked cruel.

And so, at 7:03 PM, the gates opened.

No grand ceremony. No press conference. Just a man walking out, blinking against the evening lights, a free man again.

What This Really Means

Oluwatobi Aide is out. But the story isn’t over.

This wasn’t just about one man. It was a warning shot. The demolition in Makoko is still happening. The tension is still there.

Activists are calling it what it is: a pattern. It happened in Ajegunle. It happened in Oworoshoki. Now it’s Makoko’s turn. It’s about pushing out the poor. It’s about grabbing the waterfront.

Aide’s arrest was meant to scare everyone else into silence. It was supposed to make the residents think, “If we speak, we go to jail.”

His release is a victory, yes. It proves that resistance works. It proves that when people shout loud enough, the system can be forced to bend.

But the bulldozers are still there. The government still wants that land. And while Aide is home with his family, safe for now, the rest of Makoko is still holding its breath.

The fight for the waterfront continues. It just got a new hero.