By Zainab Ibrahim
The tragic story of Ruth Otabor, the younger sister of reality star Phyna, has once again thrown the spotlight on a growing concern across Nigerian roads, the menace of heavy-duty trucks, particularly those branded with the Dangote logo. Ruth, a fresh graduate of Auchi Polytechnic, suffered a life-altering accident on August 13, 2025, when a truck reportedly belonging to Dangote Cement crushed her. She later died from complications arising from the crash, despite promises that she would be flown abroad for further treatment. The incident has sparked outrage, not just over her death, but over what many believe to be a long history of corporate negligence hidden behind media statements and public relations efforts.
This is not the first time the public has expressed anger at Dangote trucks. Over the years, numerous road users have raised alarms about how these massive vehicles drag the road with reckless abandon, often showing no regard for smaller vehicles or pedestrians. In cities and towns across the country, Dangote trucks have developed a reputation for dominating highways, speeding dangerously, and being involved in serious sometimes fatal accidents. Social media is awash with images, videos, and firsthand accounts of such incidents, many of which never make it to official records. Phyna’s personal tragedy has simply reignited a fire that has been burning beneath the surface for years.
The grief-stricken Phyna accused the Dangote Group of insensitivity and negligence, saying the company promised to handle her sister’s treatment abroad but later reneged. While Dangote Cement Plc issued a public statement acknowledging the accident and pledging full support, Phyna claimed the reality behind the scenes was starkly different. According to her, the family was made to shoulder many of the early medical expenses, and even the mortuary and burial bills despite the company’s claim that it had paid all related costs.
She also alleged that Dangote’s representatives sent a letter, supposedly drafted in her father’s voice, asking him to acknowledge receipt of burial funds, a move she interpreted as an attempt to cover legal bases and evade further responsibility. Whether this letter was legally binding or not, the optics further stoked public distrust. For many, it was emblematic of how corporations in Nigeria often operate: grand gestures on camera, backpedaling off it.
Beyond the specific case of Ruth Otabor, the deeper issue is systemic. Across Nigeria, Dangote trucks or those bearing its branding are frequently mentioned in relation to highway disasters. Accidents are reported in Abuja, Ogun, Enugu, and countless other locations. Some trucks lose control on slopes, while others reportedly suffer brake failure or are driven by untrained or underaged drivers. In response, the company often claims the vehicles involved are operated by third-party logistics partners or independent contractors misusing the brand name. This has led to a messy legal and moral grey area. The question on many lips is: If a truck carries the Dangote logo, does the brand not carry the weight of accountability?
In fairness, Dangote Group has on several occasions denied direct ownership of certain vehicles involved in accidents, insisting that some rogue operators falsely brand their trucks with the company logo. However, the repeated nature of these incidents suggests a deeper regulatory lapse either in vetting contractors, monitoring drivers, or enforcing safety standards. It’s not enough to wash hands clean when things go wrong. Nigerians are demanding transparency, proactive oversight, and a genuine commitment to public safety not just carefully crafted press releases.
Some citizens have even gone so far as to suggest that other road users avoid highways frequented by Dangote trucks, especially on steep slopes and in busy intersections. While that may seem like a practical solution, it is far from sustainable. Nigeria’s road infrastructure doesn’t allow for such luxury alternate routes are often either non-existent or in worse condition. Instead of ordinary citizens adjusting to accommodate recklessness, there is a growing consensus that the burden must shift to the corporations and regulators responsible for road safety.
The tragedy of Ruth Otabor is heartbreaking, a young life full of promise cut short. But if her story can serve as a turning point, a wake-up call that forces both private companies and government agencies to act, then maybe her death won’t be in vain. For now, the public waits not just for justice for Ruth, but for real, lasting reform on Nigerian roads.
