Inside were scanned documents, voice recordings, and photographs that traced a web of stolen oil money, ghost contracts, and the names of politicians who had never spent a day in court. Temi couldn’t publish them openly — she’d end up like her uncle. So she built a vault.
It was a photograph of a man in a military uniform, standing next to her uncle Dele — alive — at a café in Nairobi. The caption read: “Tell Temi: the vault was just the beginning.” naijavault
As her taxi crawled toward the airport, stuck behind a broken-down Danfo bus, her phone pinged. A new submission to NaijaVault. It was a photograph of a man in
Temi didn’t sleep that night. She traced the number to a government IP address — the same one her uncle had flagged in his final file. She had a choice: scrub the vault and disappear, or release the crown jewel — a folder Dele had labeled — a spreadsheet linking a current governor to over thirty unsolved assassinations. Temi didn’t sleep that night