Dorothy Survives Deadly Crash That Killed 22 Kano Athletes

Dorothy Survives Deadly Crash That Killed 22 Kano Athletes
Dorothy had no idea the trip home would become a nightmare. The young athlete, filled with pride after representing Kano State at the National Sports Festival in Abeokuta, is now one of the few survivors of a fatal road crash that claimed the lives of 22 others, including athletes and officials.
She lies in a hospital bed, her leg bandaged and swollen, recalling a journey she says was cursed from the start. The bus, according to Dorothy, was old, unreliable, and not meant for long-distance travel.
“We spent two days on the road to Abeokuta,” she said quietly. “And on the way back, it was the same. We moved for a few hours, then the bus would break down. They would fix it, and we’d go again. But not long after, it would break down again.”
It was a struggle just to keep going.
Dorothy described how the coaster bus, filled with young hopefuls who had just completed national competition, kept stalling and overheating along the highway. The athletes endured exhaustion, poor ventilation, and hours of delay.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
“The only thing I can remember clearly,” she said, “is the driver losing control. I held the seat in front of me so tightly. Then I blacked out. When I woke up, I was here—in the hospital.”
The crash was brutal.
Brakes failed. The bus veered off course. It tumbled violently. In seconds, what should have been a triumphant return turned into mass tragedy.
Among the dead was Galadima Ibrahim, a respected official with the Kano State Sports Council. Ado Salisu, the Council’s spokesperson, confirmed his passing and said several others were rushed to Kura General Hospital with severe injuries. Dorothy is among those lucky to be alive.
But her survival came at a heavy cost. She is traumatised, physically battered, and emotionally broken.
A video of Dorothy’s hospital statement has gone viral on social media, capturing the nation’s attention. Her voice, though weak, struck a nerve across Nigeria. People listened. And they got angry.
“How could the state send athletes to a national event in such a bad vehicle?” one user wrote. “This wasn’t just an accident. This was negligence.”
For many Nigerians, this is not just another road crash. It is a painful symbol of the poor treatment young athletes often endure—underfunded, overlooked, and treated like they’re expendable.
Dorothy doesn’t argue with that. Her voice carries no hate, only heartbreak.
“We went to compete with pride. But we were not taken care of,” she said.
She explained how the bus jerked and rattled for most of the trip. At one point, she said, passengers had to get down so mechanics could fix something under the vehicle. No backup bus was provided. There were no emergency protocols in place. The long journey felt like a punishment, not a return from national service.
Former Senator Shehu Sani reacted strongly to the tragedy. In a public post, he demanded answers from both the Kano State government and the federal administration.
“They must do better,” he said. “These athletes gave their lives in service. Support their families. Immortalise their names.”
His words reflect a broader national frustration.
Nigeria has lost some of its brightest young sportsmen and women—not in the heat of competition, but on a broken road, in a broken vehicle, under a broken system.
Dorothy’s testimony has now become a rallying cry.
“We were not asking for luxury,” she said. “Just safety. Just care. Just a bus that works.”
Her words have triggered renewed demands for better investment in athlete welfare, especially for those representing their states at national events. Too often, athletes return home to no recognition, no benefits, and in this case, no protection.
Parents of the deceased are devastated. Many of the athletes were the pride of their families—the first to go to university, the ones who trained every day, who skipped meals to stay in shape, who chased a future through sport.
Now their names are being read in memorials, not victory lists.
The story of Dorothy is not just about survival—it’s about truth. It’s about the dangers Nigerian athletes face when the spotlight turns off. It’s about buses that stall, systems that fail, and young lives lost too soon.
In Kano, grief has spread like wildfire. The sports community is holding vigils. The air is thick with mourning and unanswered questions.
At the hospital, Dorothy fights to heal.
She remembers her teammates—laughing, singing, dreaming big. She wonders why she lived and they didn’t. She doesn’t yet have the answers. But she knows one thing for sure.
“This should never happen again,” she said. “Not to any athlete. Not to anyone.”
Her voice now carries the pain of 22 silenced dreams. But it also carries hope—hope that someone is listening, that change will come, and that the names of her fallen teammates will not fade into forgetfulness.
For Nigeria, this isn’t just about a crash. It’s about who we are, and how we treat those who represent us.
And thanks to Dorothy, the truth is now impossible to ignore.
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