The sun had long begun its descent on Friday, September 19, 2025, when tragedy struck a quiet stretch of road in southeastern Nigeria. Reverend Father Mathew Eya, a Catholic parish priest known and cherished in his community, was making his journey home. What started as an ordinary return from Enugu would end in sudden violence, forever altering lives.
As twilight cloaked the countryside, Father Eya’s vehicle trundled down the Eha-Alumona–Eha-Ndiagu Road, approaching a site near a hospital project under construction. Eyewitnesses later said that everything seemed normal until the last moments—until shapes materialized, engines revved, and danger closed in.
Unbeknownst to him, assailants on motorbike lurked ahead. The tyres of his car—his lifeline—were deflated, incapacitating the vehicle on that remote section of road. With the car stranded, Father Eya had nowhere to go. The attackers, stealthy and methodical, descended. At close range, they opened fire. Multiple shots. No survival.
Another occupant in the car, sources say, escaped unhurt—but the horror of sound, of metal tearing flesh, remains imprinted in memory. The gunmen vanished almost immediately after the assault, leaving smoke, shattered glass, questions, and grief in their wake.
When news spread, the Catholic Diocese confirmed the worst. In a statement filled with sorrow, the Chancellor spoke of a brother fallen, of the crushing weight of loss—and yet, of an unbroken faith. Reverend Father Mathew Eya, parish priest of St. Charles Catholic Church, was declared dead, his life extinguished along that dusty road.
Shock rippled through the community. Friends, parishioners, fellow priests—all were left asking: Why him? Why then? Was this a random act of violence, an attempted kidnapping gone horribly wrong, or something else entirely—something planned?
At first, some believed it might have been an attempted abduction. But as clues emerged—the deflated tyres, the precision of the attack—many now think otherwise: that this was a targeted assassination.
Still, many pieces remain missing. Conspiracies swirl. Motives are unspoken. No suspects have stepped forward. The killers, riding away into darkness, left behind only dread and unanswered questions.
And so the night deepens. In the homes of those who held him dear, in the pews where he once preached, in the roads where he traveled—Father Eya’s absence is as palpable as the cold wind. The community mourns, they pray, and they wait—for justice, for truth, perhaps for closure.
But will the truth ever come?
