OPINION: As Chimamanda’s Baby Inquest begins, a Foundational Question Lingers

The coroner's inquest into the death of Master Nkanu Nnamdi Esege, the 21-month-old son of author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, took its first formal steps last week at the Yaba Magistrate Court in Lagos, as legal representatives for the family, the state, and two hospitals gathered for a preliminary hearing.

By the end of the session, the proceedings had generated a wave of media coverage. Reporters noted the legal firepower in the room. They noted the government's presence. They noted the weight of grief that hung over a case involving a child not yet two years old. What most of the reports did not note was something the court itself had been forced to confront. The child was cremated by the family.

Euracare, the private Lagos hospital whose conduct during the child's treatment is under examination, was represented by the law firm Jackson Etti & Edu. The Esege family was represented by Senior Advocate of Nigeria Kemi Pinheiro. Adebola Rahman appeared for the Lagos State Attorney-General's office. Also in court was Cheluchi Onyemelukwe, representing Atlantis Hospital, the facility that first treated the child before referring the family to Euracare.

The presence of a Senior Advocate, a state attorney, and two separate hospital legal teams in the same room for a preliminary session is not routine. It speaks to the scale of what this inquest has become, and by extension, the scale of what is expected from it. The Lagos State Government has publicly framed these proceedings as a test of medical accountability.

During the preliminary session, the presiding magistrate addressed the question of how the inquest would proceed. Her position was unambiguous.

"For every inquest," she stated, "the starting point is that there must be an autopsy done to give us a professional report."

It was a statement of procedure, not preference. Under the framework governing coroner's inquests, an autopsy is not one option among several. It is the beginning of the evidentiary chain. The Lagos State Attorney-General's office went further. Adebola Rahman, appearing for the state, acknowledged in open court that establishing the cause of death would be difficult without the body. Baby Nkanu's remains were cremated by the family. That fact is now part of the public record of these proceedings. It is not in dispute. And its implications for the inquest are significant in ways that have not been fully aired.

Cremation destroys physical remains permanently. There is no second examination. There is no tissue sample to be independently tested if a question arises mid-proceedings. There is no pathological report to set against the hospital's account of events. The door that an autopsy would have opened is closed.

What the court now has before it is a paper trail: clinical notes, admission records, treatment logs, and the testimonies of those present in the hospital during the child's final hours.

These are not without value. But forensic medicine draws a firm line between what records say was done and what a pathologist finds was present in a body. In cases where the cause of death is disputed, that line is everything. This is a case where the cause of death is disputed.

Legal observers familiar with coroner proceedings say the absence of an autopsy does not automatically invalidate an inquest, but it fundamentally changes what the inquest can achieve.

Without pathological findings to anchor expert testimony, proceedings of this nature risk becoming a forum where specialists talk past each other, each interpreting the same set of hospital documents to reach different conclusions, with no physical evidence to arbitrate between them.

A coroner's inquest is not a criminal trial. It does not assign guilt. Its purpose is narrower and, in theory, more achievable: to determine who died, when, where, and by what medical cause. But even that narrower purpose depends on having access to the body. When that access is gone, the court's ability to arrive at a finding it can state with confidence is constrained.

Beyond the specifics of this case, legal observers are watching how the court navigates the forensic gap. Nigeria's coroner's inquest framework is rarely tested at this level of public visibility.

The outcome here, and the reasoning the court applies to get there, will be cited. It will be cited by lawyers, by families, and by hospitals in future cases where bodies are unavailable, or where autopsies were not conducted before burial or cremation.

The Lagos State Government has staked its public position on this inquest to deliver accountability. Euracare has retained senior legal counsel to defend its position. The Esege family, through Kemi Pinheiro SAN, is pressing for answers. All of that is proper. All of that is expected.

But accountability and answers, in the context of a coroner's proceeding, are built on forensic foundations. And in this case, the most fundamental of those foundations is no longer there.

The inquest will continue. More hearings will be scheduled. More lawyers will rise to their feet in the Yaba Magistrate Court. And the coverage will follow, because the name Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie guarantees that it will.

The question is whether that coverage will, this time, make room for the harder conversation: about what a court can and cannot determine under the circumstances.

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed here are those of the author, Festus Banuso, a Social Commentator is based in Lagos, and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Legit.ng.

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Source: Legit.ng