BY RITA OYIBOKA/OGORAMAKA AMOS/JUDITH OBIANUA
All he wanted was a few spare parts. It was just a routine trip to fix a vehicle that had been brought to his mechanic’s workshop. But what was meant to be a quick errand turned into a bizarre odyssey, one that he (and his penis) won’t forget in a hurry.
The man, who shall be called Mr. Anonymous, boarded a commercial tricycle in a busy part of Asaba, the Delta State Capital. Seated beside him was another passenger, casually fanning himself with a crisp white handkerchief. But that piece of cloth, it turns out, was no ordinary fabric.
According to the shaken mechanic, the handkerchief grazed his body once. Then again. And on the third gentle sweep, like a magician’s final flourish, he felt something eerily off.
As he tells it, he felt an inexplicable emptiness where something very essential used to be. Panicking, he attempted to raise the alarm, but the tricycle sped off in a trail of dust, its occupants and mysterious handkerchief nowhere to be found.
Rushing home in confusion and despair, he confirmed his worst fear: his “weapon of mass production” had indeed been stolen, without pain, blood, or trace. Just like that, his penis had disappeared.
But that was not the case for a real victim, Evans Okonkwo from Aguata Local Government Area in Anambra State who eked a living as a building apprentice in Asaba. According to him, ‘’What happened on that fateful day was…. That very day, after the day’s work, me and my colleague, Prosper went to Zappa Street to look for what to eat. Being new there, were asking for where to eat. Then we asked a small girl who told us that the place where we could get food to eat was far from where we were. Then, a small boy came and told us that he knew the place. He told us that the place was not far.
But while he was directing us, we discovered that the place was too far for us and we told him that we could not continue the journey as we had decided to make do with bread and akara. But when we turned to go, the boy just turned and shouted that his penis was missing. At that moment, we were shocked but before we knew it, the boy ran inside and came with all his family members and they descended on me. When my friend saw the danger, he had to run away to save his life’’
Now, this is Nigeria. A place where the spiritual and physical often intersect in bizarre, inexplicable ways. So, instead of heading to a hospital or police station, the man did what many in his position would, he went to church. In the sanctuary of divine intervention and amid fervent prayers, he claims his manhood was miraculously restored.
For some, stories like this may seem like the stuff of urban legends, fit only for fictional tales or beer parlour banter. But across the country, from markets to motor parks, many Nigerians swear by these experiences. A mysterious brush, a sudden emptiness, a scream, and then, chaos. Crowds gather, accusations fly, and sometimes, jungle justice kicks in before reason does.
But here’s where it gets puzzling. For a phenomenon so widely believed, not a single shred of physical evidence has ever been produced. No penises were found in handbags. No suspects have been paraded by the police with “spiritual” phalluses in their possession. No medical diagnosis. No legal conviction.
And yet, these claims persist. In part, perhaps, because they are seldom challenged.
But one man who has made it his mission to confront this wave of superstition is a Nigerian human rights advocate, secular humanist, and founder of the Advocacy for Alleged Witches (AfAW), Dr. Leo Igwe.
Speaking in an exclusive interview with The Pointer, he shed light on the dangerous consequences of these so-called “penis thefts” and why society must begin to ask hard questions.
“These cases of alleged penis theft have been around for decades. It would make waves in the news and die down only until another headline on it crops up again. People grow up believing in it as fact, and before long, it becomes deeply ingrained in our social fabric. The accused are often the poor, disabled, elderly, and the like who cannot defend themselves,” he said.
According to Igwe, the organisation has investigated several of these cases. In one instance, he recounted, a man who accused another of “stealing” his penis was taken to the A Division Police Station in Asaba.
“There, the area commander asked a female police officer to confirm the claim. She was instructed to check if the supposed victim had both testicles. So, she examined him. The man had an erection during the process. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him.”
He continued: “We’ve seen this repeatedly. There was another case in Ibadan, where I live. A man screamed that his penis was gone. A woman stepped forward, rubbed his genitals with her lap, and, voila, it ‘returned’. These are false alarms.”
And while it may sound comedic, the implications are anything but true. In some cases, accused persons have been lynched or beaten within inches of their lives. Mob justice, fuelled by fear and superstition, becomes the law.
“So these accusations are not just laughable, they are dangerous. If not properly managed, somebody dies,” Igwe said. His organisation is now working not only to respond to such incidents but to prevent them.
“We want to be proactive. We’re engaging with security agents even in Delta State and have found them very willing to help. The idea is that any time someone makes such a claim, they should be taken to the station. Those involved in jungle justice or mob action should also be arrested. Only then will people realise there are consequences.”
But why do people make such accusations in the first place?
“That’s the big question. When they’re caught, all they do is cry, apologise, and beg. There’s no chance to properly interrogate their motives,” he said. Igwe pointed to the media as both part of the problem and part of the solution.
“We work with journalists because sometimes, media reports help reinforce these beliefs. You read headlines like ‘Witch crash-lands’, what does that even mean? A spiritual being crash-landed? How? Spirits don’t crash land. If it’s crying out in pain, then it’s not a spirit, it’s a physical being. And if something is physical, it cannot fly. If you could fly, why would you be walking in the first place?
“The contradiction is obvious, yet it persists and the media bears some responsibility for that. But they can also be part of the change. That’s why, whenever we’re on the ground, we try to bring in journalists and say, ‘Let’s begin to report this properly.’”
AfAW has attempted to engage religious leaders, but this has proven tricky. Many clerics, he notes, are reluctant to challenge these beliefs, perhaps because they benefit from them, directly or indirectly.
According to him, “We reached out to some pastors who are currently working with us, but we can’t fully bring religious organisations on board. Some feel that debunking these claims may hurt their economic base. Not long ago, a young man went to church to give a testimony, thanking God that his manhood had been stolen and later restored. So, how do you reason with that?”
He added: “At the moment, we have a filmmaker documenting certain events. We want to use this material as an educational resource. The goal is to keep returning to these communities, creating awareness, pushing back, and changing the narrative. That way, not every rumour becomes a trigger for another person to be brutalised or killed.”
Interestingly, the advocate pointed out that not a single alleged victim of penis theft has agreed to participate in the documentary, carefully distancing themselves from their accusation that nearly cost someone their life.
Also speaking on the issue, the founder of a non-profit organisation, Centre for Social Justice and Advocacy, Ms Benny Odigie questioned the plausibility of the widespread claims.
“If someone’s penis is allegedly stolen, what exactly would the person’s private part look like afterwards? Is it supposed to vanish completely? Where’s the physical evidence?” she asked.
“Each time, it’s the same chant: ‘They stole my penis! They stole my penis!’ but there’s never any actual proof. And it’s always the poor man’s penis they claim to steal like it’s the only valuable asset he owns. It’s sad, really,” she continued.
“Most times, they say the victim ‘found’ his manhood afterwards. Found it where exactly? And how? It’s all so dubious. If a man wants to falsely accuse another of something serious, like to get him brutalised or mobbed, all he has to do is shout that his penis was stolen. Next thing, fists are flying.”
According to Odigie, such claims are sometimes part of more sinister schemes. “In some cases, the accuser is part of a gang of pickpockets. They create chaos with the accusation, and while people are distracted, they rob both the accused and the onlookers,” she added.
Similarly, a respondent who barely escaped mob violence sparked by a spiritual accusation shared his ordeal. Identifying himself only as Sammy, he recounted: “A market woman once called me a ritualist because a ₦1000 note unknowingly fell from my pocket. I didn’t even understand what she was saying at first. I picked up the money, thanked her, and crossed to the other side of the road.
“But then, two men came from behind and held me. They demanded I return and explain what had just happened. Within a minute, about 20 people had gathered, some with sticks and rods, ready to lynch me.”
According to Sammy, only his composure and ability to speak eloquently saved him. “The way I carried myself, my confidence, my articulation was what saved me. If I looked poor or helpless, they probably would’ve killed me on the spot.”
He added, “A lot of these people are just bloodthirsty, frustrated souls looking for any excuse to unleash violence. Some of them are outright criminals. They don’t care about justice, they create these scenes deliberately to rob or destroy.”
In Port-Harcourt, rumours of individuals suddenly discovering their private parts have “disappeared” after a handshake or brief contact with a stranger spread like wildfire. But how much of this is real, and how much is mass hysteria?
In markets, bus stops, and social gatherings, whispers of “genital snatchers” dominate conversations. Many residents claim that sorcery or supernatural forces are at play, while others suspect organized criminals using hypnotism or black magic to extort victims.
Accounts have flooded social media, with viral videos showing alleged victims screaming in panic, accusing random strangers of being behind their sudden “loss.”
Human rights activists and medical professionals, however, urge caution. Dr. Ngozi Okoro, a psychologist attributes the phenomenon to “mass psychogenic illness.”
“Fear can create physical sensations. When people hear stories about disappearing genitals, their anxiety can manifest as numbness or a temporary loss of sensation, which they misinterpret as an actual disappearance,” she explained.
Emeka Ibe, a social activist, blames the allegation on the spread of superstition and misinformation. “These rumours often lead to mob attacks on innocent people accused of being ‘genital thieves.’ We’ve seen cases where innocent individuals are lynched based on mere suspicion.”
While some residents remain sceptical, others are convinced of the threat. “I don’t believe in such things until I see proof,” said Adaobi, a university student. “But my uncle swears it happened to his friend in Diobu. How can so many people be lying?”
Conversely, Pastor Ezekiel of a local Pentecostal church claims to have “delivered” several victims. “This is spiritual warfare. These thieves use demonic powers, but through prayer, we restore what was stolen.”
Another respondent, Agnes Jaja says “It’s quite funny to me, honestly I can’t wrap my head around it. How would someone’s genitalia suddenly disappear? Some people say it happens and some victims testify but to me, it’s really weird and unbelievable.”
Offering a legal viewpoint on the matter, Anambra-based human rights lawyer, Chinyere Obi condemned the trend of mob justice and called for a stronger institutional response.
“These accusations of penis theft are, in most cases, baseless and purely superstitious. Yet, they trigger severe consequences. We’ve seen people lynched, beaten to a coma, or paraded like criminals simply because someone made a claim that cannot be substantiated.”
According to Obi, the criminal justice system must be strengthened to curb these violent tendencies. “The Nigerian Constitution guarantees the presumption of innocence, and no citizen should be punished based on superstition. Security agencies must begin to arrest not only false accusers but also those who take the law into their own hands.”
She warned that ignoring such patterns could lead to normalising public executions based on unprovable allegations. “This is how societies slip into barbarism. We must confront this dangerous belief system and reorient our people,” she cautioned.
With more reactions trailing the controversy, Chinedu Okereke who spoke to our correspondent in Asaba said, ‘’It happens through handshake or body contact between the victim and the other person.’’ He narrated an incident that occurred in Calabar some years ago where a young man who was at a bus stop waiting for a bus claimed to have felt something leave his body when another young man passed by him. ‘’Immediately, he screened that his penis was missing and a mob gathered. Some men took him to a corner to check if what he was saying was true. To their greatest surprise, it was true, his penis was no longer there. The mob angrily sized the other man and beat him, asking him to return the stolen penis.
In the heart of the penis theft allegation epidemic is a cocktail of fear, ignorance, economic interest, and religious fervour. For every accusation, a scapegoat is born. And for every mob attack, the reason is the first casualty.
However, while sceptics scorn the concept of penile theft, the true believers remain steadfast, citing their fathers, brothers, sons, and nephews as victims of this curious scourge. So it wouldn’t hurt to keep your penis close but maybe keep your common sense even closer.
