CHIMA AZUBUIKE, critically examines the sustainability of the 180-day proposal, situating it within Nigeria’s broader criminal justice landscape, while also amplifying the lived experiences of inmates whose suffering underscores the urgency of reform.
When Agada Felix-Audu, the newly posted Controller of the Correctional Service, Gombe State declared that no suspect should spend more than 180 days awaiting trial before being either convicted or acquitted, his words reverberated beyond the conference hall. They touched the very heart of Nigeria’s criminal justice crisis.
For decades, Nigeria’s custodial centres—misleadingly still called “correctional”—have been filled not only with hardened convicts but with men and women who have not yet been found guilty of any crime. In some cases, these individuals have spent years behind bars over allegations as minor as theft of a mobile phone, repayment of loans as little as N20,000 simply because their cases were not heard in time or because they could not afford the bribes often demanded to move their files forward.
Felix-Audu’s pronouncement at his familiarisation visit to the Secretary to the Government of Gombe State, Professor Ibrahim Abubakar-Njodi, was both bold and simple: “Within 180 days, a suspect awaiting trial must either be convicted or acquitted, no matter the crime committed.”
But is this feasible? Can a justice system plagued by delays, underfunding, corruption, and human rights violations suddenly begin to function like clockwork? And while this debate rages, what happens to inmates in Gombe, Nafada, Bajoga, Cham, and Billiri custodial centres, who continue to languish in squalid conditions, surviving on meals of plain rice without stew, bug-ridden beds, and the constant shadow of extortion?
The Controller’s 180-day proposal is not an entirely new idea. The Nigerian Constitution under Section 35(4) already requires that any person arrested or detained on suspicion of committing an offence must be arraigned in court within a reasonable time—defined as one day in cases where a court is within a forty-kilometre radius, or two days otherwise.
Furthermore, the Administration of Criminal Justice Act (ACJA) 2015, and its state-level adaptations, sought to eliminate unnecessary delays by introducing stricter timelines for trials, case management powers for judges, and provisions for non-custodial sentencing.
However, implementation remains the Achilles’ heel. Police still complain of lack of resources, prosecutors are stretched thin, courts are congested, and the political will to enforce discipline in the system is often weak. What Felix-Audu did was to translate these lofty legal aspirations into a concrete, time-bound call: 180 days, no more.
His further suggestion of a centralised Database Management System, hosted by the Ministry of Justice, to synchronise police investigations, prosecutorial actions, and correctional records, holds promise. By digitising case flows, accountability could improve, and inmates would no longer disappear into the cracks of paper-based bureaucracy.
“We are working to create a more responsive and efficient system. A biometric database of offenders has already been established to improve information sharing with other security agencies and to help decongest custodial centres nationwide,” CC Felix-Audu noted.
He emphasised that ensuring security should not always mean incarceration, but also include psychological interventions such as counselling.
“Security goes beyond confinement. Rehabilitation, especially for those with minor offences, is essential to breaking the cycle of crime,” he added.
Yet, for many observers, the question is not whether the idea is desirable, but whether it is sustainable.
The Gombe State Deputy Governor, Manassah Jatau, on according Felix-Audu a similar reception decried the congestion and mixing of violent and non-violent offenders in custodial centres across the country.
He warned that violent inmates could negatively influence non-violent ones, thereby exposing them to deeper criminal tendencies, aggression, ill health, and even mental disorders.
“The situation where hardened criminals are kept together with minor offenders is a dangerous trend. It only worsens the problem rather than solving it,” Jatau stated.
The deputy governor acknowledged the enormity of challenges facing the security and justice system in the country, stressing the need for justice to be delivered promptly and without bias.
He also urged some solicitors to desist from compounding the justice system by shielding criminals for selfish interests.
Jatau further identified youthful exuberance as a common issue among inmates, stressing the need for counselling and rehabilitation rather than outright incarceration.
“Most of these young people need guidance, not just punishment. We must prioritise reformation over retribution,” he added.
Jatau pledged the state government’s support to the service in this regard and advised the Comptroller to work in synergy with sister security agencies especially the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency, and other stakeholders for an effective fight against crime.
Across Nigeria, the statistics paint a grim picture. According to the Nigerian Correctional Service (NCoS) 2024 annual report, out of approximately 77,000 inmates nationwide, more than 52,000 are awaiting trial. That is nearly 70 percent of the total prison population. Some inmates have been in pre-trial detention for upwards of five years, despite being accused of offences carrying maximum sentences of two years. By August 2025, the number rose to 53,460 awaiting trial with 81,000 inmates nationwide.
In Gombe State, the situation mirrors the national crisis. The state’s five custodial centres—Gombe, Nafada, Bajoga, Cham, and Billiri—are home to thousands of inmates, the vast majority of whom are awaiting trial. Cases drag on for reasons ranging from incomplete police investigations to prosecutors deliberately inflating charges for personal gain. Courtrooms are few and under-resourced, while magistrates juggle overwhelming caseloads.
Against this background, the call for a 180-day limit feels both urgent and aspirational. For those languishing in cells, it could mean the difference between life and death, between hope and despair.
At the Gombe custodial centre, Aisha, a female inmate who was remanded pending trial, narrated her ordeal with quiet resignation. “For the time I spent there I didn’t eat rice with stew, whether with groundnut oil or palm oil. The food lacked salt. The rice comes in small quantity—it won’t satisfy even a child.”
Her account is echoed by others across the state. Elijah , a former inmate from Plateau State who served in Gombe custodial centre recounted how he entrusted N8,000 to prison records upon arrival. When he fell sick, part of the money was spent on medicine. Upon release, only N3,000 was returned. Worse still, the police officers who came to take him for court proceedings collected another N2,000.
The conditions of incarceration are equally disturbing. Inmates complain of bug-ridden mattresses, and when mats are donated, prison officials hoard them instead of distributing them. With no option, inmates resort to sleeping on bare floors. Meals are poor in both quantity and quality. Kunu, a watery millet drink, is often the only breakfast available, unless inmates can afford to buy food. Lunch might be a cup of garri, without sugar or water. Dinner is a small cup of rice shared among three people in a rubber plate.
“If you have money, you will buy water. If you don’t, you eat like that,” one inmate explained.
This reality is compounded by extortion at every level. Inmates and their families are forced to pay for services that should be free—from faster case processing to better food portions.
A family member to one of the inmates, who identified himself as Sambo Danti, said payment at an opposite point that serves as clearing stand is most disappointing describing it as conduit of corruption.
Danti added, “As you are made to pay N200 for form before going in to see your family member. I wonder what the N200 form is. I wonder what it will solve but without it you can’t gain access, upon entry you are made to drop all your phones for fear of incriminating evidence but they forget that we now have other recording devices like pen, glasses but of course that wasn’t my intention. I have seen family members who were asked to go home because they couldn’t afford entry pass and it’s not like you are going into the compound or cells. I doubt if the money they make is sent as revenue.”
Ndam Nanfa, Assistant Chief Admin Officer at the National Human Rights Commission in Gombe, offered a scathing assessment of corruption within custodial facilities in the state.
Nanfa said, “How will you explain a situation where in prison, if an inmate has N1,000 in custody, officials only release N500 and keep the rest? Imagine how much more they take when the money is bigger.”
The rot is not confined to correctional officials. Nanfa alleged that prosecutors also exploit families. “If a suspect is fined N5,000 by a magistrate, prosecutors can demand N30,000 from the family, plus another N30,000 for logistics. Failure to pay lands the suspect in prison.”
Such practices not only prolong incarceration but also reinforce the perception that justice in Nigeria is for sale. For the poor, the inability to pay means endless waiting; for the rich, it is merely another cost of doing business.
The feasibility of a 180-day trial completion is undermined by multiple structural challenges. Police investigations remain underfunded and slow, often reliant on confessions extracted under duress rather than forensic evidence. Prosecutors are overstretched, handling more cases than they can realistically manage, and at times deliberately delaying cases to extract bribes. The judiciary suffers from a shortage of judges and magistrates, leading to clogged dockets and endless adjournments.
As they await not more than 180 days, Barrister Abdullahi Bello said the inmates should be put into use towards realising the country’s food security, “Instead of allocating millions into food that is not adequately supplied, they should be made to farm crops that they will not only eat but will be used to achieve the country’s food sufficiency by so doing the time spent won’t be in vain and they will feed well.”
Even where the law provides for speedy trials, weak enforcement and lack of accountability mean that timelines are rarely respected. Without addressing these systemic flaws, the 180-day deadline risks becoming another unfulfilled aspiration.
Elsewhere, models exist that Gombe could learn from. In South Africa, the Criminal Procedure Act sets clear bail and remand timelines, with strict oversight by judicial officers. In Kenya, judicial reforms in the early 2010s introduced case-tracking systems and regular audit reviews of remand cases, leading to significant reductions in pre-trial detention.
In Ghana, the introduction of non-custodial sentencing, such as community service, has eased congestion in prisons and allowed courts to focus on more serious cases. These examples demonstrate that reform is possible when backed by political will, adequate funding, and institutional accountability.
For Gombe to make the 180-day proposal sustainable, a multipronged approach is required. Judicial capacity must be expanded through the appointment of more judges and magistrates. Police investigations need reform, shifting from confession-based methods to evidence-driven approaches. Prosecutors require oversight mechanisms to curb extortion, while correctional officers must be held accountable for the welfare of inmates.
Technology can play a transformative role. A digital case management system linking police, prosecutors, courts, and correctional centres could improve transparency, prevent files from “disappearing,” and provide real-time tracking of case progress. Equally important is the expansion of legal aid services to ensure that poor defendants are not abandoned in the system without representation.
Alternative sentencing should be embraced. Minor offences, such as petty theft, should attract community service or fines, not prolonged detention. This would reduce congestion in custodial centres and allow resources to be focused on serious offenders. There is need to eabsorb the Correctional Service into the State Security Council, as Felix-Audu suggested, would give the agency a voice in crime prevention and intelligence-sharing, ensuring that it is not merely the endpoint of the justice system but an active participant in security governance.
The call to convict or acquit within 180 days is more than a bureaucratic target. For thousands of inmates in Gombe and across Nigeria, it represents hope, the possibility that their lives will not be wasted in the limbo of pre-trial detention. But hope alone is not enough. Without structural reforms addressing corruption, underfunding, and inefficiency, the proposal risks becoming another well-meaning but unimplemented policy. For the woman who never ate stew in detention, for the man who lost his savings to corruption, and for countless others surviving on kunu and bug-ridden mats, justice delayed is justice denied. The sustainability of the 180-day proposal will depend not on pronouncements but on action—by police, prosecutors, judges, correctional officers, and the state government. Only then can Gombe State transform its custodial centres from warehouses of despair into true centres of rehabilitation and justice.
