Olarewaju Ameedah, a 14-year-old girl, went missing after stepping out of her after-school lesson in Ofatedo, Osogbo, on November 5, 2025. Speaking with TEMITOPE ADETUNJI, her aunt and guardian, Muritala Monsurat, described how the sudden disappearance has thrown the family into distress, turning every moment into a tense wait filled with worry and prayers for her safe return
What is your relationship with the missing girl?
I am the elder sister of Ameedah’s mother, Halimat Sadia. My niece had been living with me in Osogbo until she went missing.
Where in Osogbo do you live, and what do you do?
We live in Ofatedo, Osogbo. I am a businesswoman; I sell foodstuffs. Ameedah was in Lagos before joining me here in Osogbo.
Can you tell us why Ameedah moved left Lagos to stay with you in Osogbo?
She came to live with me in August. She lived in Lagos with her mother and had just completed JSS3. Her mother said she wanted to withdraw her from the private school she was attending because the fees had become too expensive.
She thought the cost of a private school here would be cheaper, so I asked her to bring Ameedah to Osogbo so she could continue her education. She resumed SS1 here in Osogbo, and that is how she came to stay with me.
How old is Ameedah?
14 years old. She celebrated her birthday on August 19.
Tell us about the day she went missing. Start from the morning, what happened?
That day was her school’s Open Day. It was Wednesday, November 5, 2025. Open Day was scheduled to start from 10 a.m. to 12 noon. I went to the school to check her books and meet her teachers. She did very well.
The only concern I raised was about Biology. I told the class teacher that I didn’t like how the lessons were being handled. Students were often asked to copy notes from other groups without proper explanations. The teacher acknowledged the lapse and promised it would be addressed.
I then left the school and returned to attend the PTA meeting scheduled for 2 p.m. On my way, I met Ameedah walking home. I told her, “See how dirty your lunchbox is; make sure you wash it when you get home.” She responded, and we parted ways. Everything seemed normal.
Before that, I reminded her to take the small phone she had been given so I could reach her if necessary. I told her to take it with her to the after-school lesson she attends at Ofatedo Grammar School. We live not far from the school.
What happened after then?
I called her at about 3:39 p.m. because it had started to rain, and I wanted to know where she was. She told me she was at the lesson. I asked how many people were present, and she said she was the only one there. The conversation was calm, and her voice sounded normal. That was the last time we spoke.
When did you realise something was wrong?
Her lesson usually ends at 6 p.m. I always tell the teacher to release her by then so she can get home by 6:30 p.m. But at 6:30 p.m., she hadn’t returned. At 6:35 p.m., I called the teacher at the lesson centre, and she said Ameedah had left about an hour earlier. That confused me.
I then called someone who owns a shop near the junction close to the lesson centre, someone who usually watches the road and could have seen her pass. The woman said Ameedah passed about 30 minutes earlier. I began searching for her immediately that evening. I called her phone, but it was switched off. Her line has remained unreachable since then.
Have you made an official report to the police?
Yes. We went to the police station on Thursday to report the case. They told us it wasn’t up to 24 hours yet, and we were asked to return with her photograph once the 24 hours had elapsed. We later went back to make a formal report, but the officer in charge of the department wasn’t around. The officer who attended to us took my phone number and said the DCO would call us. We left our contact details and the passport photograph. We’re still waiting for their call.
What kind of child is Ameedah?
She is very gentle, calm, and quiet. She doesn’t make trouble or go out unnecessarily. Since she came to live with me, she has been well-behaved and focused. Even her teachers say she doesn’t talk much or have close friends. At the lesson centre, they said the same, she sits quietly, copies her notes, and doesn’t engage in conversations. At the mosque too, she keeps to herself.
She is not the type of child who would go somewhere alone or leave without informing someone. I never allow her to go out and play; I always encourage her to focus on her studies. She is an introverted and obedient child, certainly not wayward.
Did she have close friends that you know?
No. I asked the three girls who usually sit with her in class, and they all said the same thing: Ameedah rarely talk to them. She never discussed anything personal or shared her feelings. People at the lesson centre also confirmed that she barely engages in unnecessary conversation. She only spoke when she needed something.
Did you notice any worrying behaviour, signs of anxiety, fear, or distress in the days or weeks before she went missing?
Honestly, no. I didn’t notice anything unusual. We had no arguments. When I spoke to her that day before she left for her lesson, she responded calmly. There were no signs of distress, no issues at home, and no one had threatened her. Everything seemed normal.
How is her mother coping with this situation?
She is currently here with me in Osogbo. She can barely speak at the moment. It has been a deeply painful and distressing experience for all of us. Her father lives in Lagos, but they are separated. When he calls, I hand the phone to her. She doesn’t know her father’s number by heart, but she knows her mother’s. She also has a younger sister. Her mother is devastated and refuses to eat, spending her time just calling her daughter’s name.
How are you coping emotionally?
I’ve never experienced anything like this in my life. At first, I thought she would return. I kept telling myself she would come home. But as the hours and days go by, it feels like a nightmare. I can’t sleep; I can’t eat properly. Every sound makes me run to the window. I sit and stare at the road she usually walks, hoping to see her. Her mother is here, and she is shattered. The entire house is heavy with fear and waiting.
As a mother and guardian, I feel completely broken. To see a child laughing, learning, and living her life, and then, within hours, realise she is nowhere to be found. The pain is almost unbearable. My heart aches constantly. The silence in the house is overwhelming. I can’t stop imagining her alone or frightened. No one deserves to go through this. The pain is deep. We are praying and pleading every minute for her safe return.
What have you done to search for her besides reporting to the police?
I’ve been going out to search for her. I asked neighbours, shop owners along her route, and people at the junction. I have not stopped calling the lesson centre. I went to the mosque and nearby schools and lesson centres to ask if anyone had seen her. Everyone keeps saying the same thing: that they saw her pass by, but nothing suspicious, and no one has seen her since. We have also given her photograph to neighbours and the police.
Is there anything you want the public to know right now, any details that could help someone recognise her?
Ameedah is tall, slim, and dark in complexion, with a low-cut hairstyle. On the day she went missing, she was wearing a round-neck, goldish-yellow top and emerald-green trousers. She had a small phone with her.
She is calm, quiet, and reserved. Anyone who sees a girl matching this description, walking alone, being led by someone, or entering a vehicle, should report immediately. Even the smallest detail can help bring her home.
What do you need from the public right now?
We need people to share her picture and look out for her. Post her photograph. Ask around in Osogbo and nearby towns. Check buses, markets, and lesson centres. If anyone hears or sees anything, please contact the police or call us on 08078622982 or 08147333255.
We are begging the public to help. A child cannot just disappear. Someone knows where she is.
Is there anything you would like to say directly to Ameedah, if she were listening now?
Ameedah, if you can hear me, please come home. Your mother is here, waiting and calling your name every single moment. We miss you so much; the house feels empty without your laughter, your voice, your presence. Every corner of this home reminds us of you, and every second without you is heavy with worry and fear. We are praying for you every minute, hoping and believing that you will return safely.
If someone has taken you, or if you’re scared, please find a way to tell someone you trust. You’re not in trouble, and we’re not angry; we just want you home, safe and unharmed. No matter what has happened, you are loved beyond measure. Your mother cries for you, your sister misses you, and I cannot stop imagining your smile, your little gestures, and the way you speak.
Ameedah, wherever you are, know that there are people who care deeply for you and are searching for you. We will never give up. Come back to us; let us hold you, comfort you, and remind you that you are not alone. You are our child, our heart, and our hope. Please, please come home.