Keji MustaphaBy Isiaka Mustapha, Editor-In-Chief, People’s Security Monitor
A police vehicle, a Toyota Buffalo Land Cruiser (NPF 5594 D, chassis JTELU71JX0B027126), has vanished from the Nigeria Police Force Headquarters in Abuja. Yes, you read that right. Force Headquarters—the fortress of law enforcement. The so-called citadel of national security.
Let that sink in. A whole car. Gone. Not from a dark alleyway in Mushin. Not from a lonely checkpoint in Kaduna. But from Louis Edet House itself. The nerve centre of the Nigeria Police.
This is not some abandoned outpost. This is where the Inspector-General of Police sits. Where the nation’s most sensitive operations are planned. Where Nigerians are told their safety begins. And yet, under the nose of the country’s top cops, an SUV simply disappeared.
It is not just embarrassing—it is symbolic. If the police cannot secure their own backyard, who then is safe? If the guardians of the law cannot protect their own assets, how much hope is left for ordinary Nigerians?
Force Headquarters is sold to the public as impregnable. Armed men at every gate. Layers of checkpoints. CCTV cameras on every corner. Visitors screened. Staff logged. Vehicles tracked. At least, that’s what we are told.
And yet, here we are. A multimillion-naira Land Cruiser vanished. Not in Borno. Not in Zamfara. But in Abuja—the capital where government loves to showcase order.
So, what really happened? Was it negligence officers sleeping on duty? Or complicity insiders looking the other way? In Nigeria, both are possible. Both are scandalous.
The implications are chilling. Criminal gangs thrive on state weakness. Terrorists feed on institutional lapses. If crooks can see that even the heart of the police is porous, they will only grow bolder. This is fuel for lawlessness.
And this is not new. In 2009, a police helicopter disappeared mysteriously during a test flight. In 2018, weapons went missing from a Lagos police armoury. In 2021, Customs admitted over 2,000 seized firearms had vanished. If aircraft and rifles can vanish, what is one Toyota?
Nigeria’s record is shameful. Between 2016 and 2019, the Auditor-General reported 149 missing government vehicles across ministries. In 2020, the Senate raised alarm over 77 police vehicles that could not be accounted for. This latest case is simply one more item in a long list of vanishing state property.
But this is not just about a car. This is about confidence. If the police cannot protect their own fleet in their most secure compound, how do they protect farmers in Katsina, traders in Lagos, or commuters in Abuja? Trust—already fragile—is being shattered.
Nigerians deserve answers. Who signed out the vehicle? Who last drove it? Were the CCTV cameras working? Has anyone been arrested, suspended, or even questioned? Silence, excuses, or cover-ups will only make matters worse.
The danger goes beyond theft. A stolen police SUV can be repainted and used for robbery, kidnapping, or worse. In 2019, bandits in Katsina used a stolen Hilux to abduct 20 villagers. Imagine criminals setting up fake checkpoints with this Land Cruiser. The consequences could be deadly.
Elsewhere in the world, security institutions treat their assets like sacred property. In the UK, the loss of a single police firearm sparks a crisis. In the U.S., the disappearance of a laptop triggers a federal probe. Here, in Nigeria, a whole Land Cruiser goes missing at Force Headquarters—and the nation is expected to shrug.
This scandal must be a turning point. Asset management in the police needs a total overhaul. Vehicles must be GPS-tracked. Movements logged. Officers held accountable. This culture of disappearance must end.
Because in the end, this is bigger than a Toyota Buffalo. It is about the very integrity of the police. If they cannot guard themselves, they cannot guard us. If they cannot secure their fortress, they cannot secure the streets. Anything short of accountability will confirm what many Nigerians already fear: that the police are fortresses only in name, hollow at the core, and incapable of protecting even themselves—let alone the rest of us.
