Woman Reportedly goes Missing After Joining Prayer Group Suspected to Be a Cult
In an age where the boundaries between faith and fanaticism blur easily, the disappearance of a young Nigerian woman, Ejiro—popularly known online as the CEO of the fashion brand @stylebyejiro—has stirred nationwide concern. The incident has gripped social media, not only for its mystery but also for the allegations that a supposed prayer group she joined may, in fact, be a manipulative religious cult.
The story, emerging from Instagram influencer and fashion entrepreneur @nhn_couture, paints a troubling picture of coercion, emotional manipulation, and isolation masquerading as spiritual mentorship. At the center of it all is a group called Naiboth, allegedly led by individuals named Joy Solomon, Aba, Elizabeth Owen-Eloho, and a self-styled spiritual leader, Bishop Taiye Adekammi.
As days turn into weeks without any confirmed sightings of Ejiro, her loved ones and a growing chorus of online supporters are demanding answers—from the church, from law enforcement, and from Nigeria’s larger society.
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Ejiro, a fashion entrepreneur in her late 20s, built a loyal following through her Instagram handle @stylebyejiro. Her brand, known for Afrocentric couture with a modern edge, attracted celebrities and style enthusiasts alike. Friends describe her as ambitious, gentle, and deeply spiritual.
“She was passionate about helping other young women grow,” said Tonia Aghedo, a former schoolmate and customer. “When I couldn’t afford a full package, she gave me a discount because she believed in me.”
It was this same trusting and compassionate nature, many now believe, that made her vulnerable to the religious group that reportedly led to her disappearance.
According to several online accounts—including a now-viral series of posts by @nhn_couture, who claims to be a concerned family friend—Ejiro began withdrawing from her business and family in the months leading up to her disappearance. Her social media activity declined sharply. Close friends noted she began expressing unusual spiritual convictions and became increasingly suspicious of her mother and siblings.
“She told me one day that the Holy Spirit told her not to answer my calls anymore,” said a former colleague who requested anonymity. “Then she blocked me. It was weird. We had no fight.”
@nhn_couture alleges that Ejiro was indoctrinated by the Naiboth group, who convinced her to sell off her inventory, close her business operations, and donate the entire proceeds to the group as a “seed.” The term “seed offering” is common in Pentecostal Christian circles, but critics warn it can be misused in exploitative religious environments.
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“She emptied her shop, sold her equipment and even her car, and gave it all to the group. They told her it was for her ‘next spiritual level’,” wrote @nhn_couture in a post that has been shared over 40,000 times on Instagram.
Worse still, the group reportedly manipulated her into believing her mother was a “spiritual threat.” The bond between Ejiro and her family—once tight-knit—fractured under this new doctrine of suspicion and spiritual warfare.
The central controversy revolves around the group known as Naiboth, reportedly led by Joy Solomon and supported by Aba, Elizabeth Owen-Eloho, and Bishop Taiye Adekammi. While little is officially known about the group’s operations, numerous anecdotal accounts have surfaced online, warning others to stay clear of the group’s gatherings.
One former member, who identified herself as Chinyere, told this reporter via direct message:
“They use fear and guilt. They tell you your destiny is under attack and only full submission to their prophet can save you. They demand total loyalty. You are encouraged to cut off friends and family, especially those who question the group.”
Allegations against Naiboth include:
- Brainwashing and psychological manipulation
- Coercion to sow large “seed offerings”
- Imposed isolation from friends and family
- Banning of recording or documenting prayer meetings
- Curses pronounced against defectors or critics
Efforts to reach members of the group for comment were unsuccessful. Their known Instagram accounts have either been deleted or made private since the controversy began.
The term “cult” is a heavy one in religious discourse. While not every insular or charismatic religious group qualifies, experts say certain red flags—especially when a group discourages external scrutiny, promotes absolute obedience to leaders, and isolates members—are worth serious attention.
As word of Ejiro’s disappearance spread, Nigerians on Twitter and Instagram quickly mobilized under the hashtag #FindEjiro. Posts flooded timelines, urging the police, human rights agencies, and religious bodies to investigate Naiboth and the people reportedly behind it.
Influential voices joined the call. Media personality Toolz, fashion designer Toyin Lawani, and actress Beverly Naya all posted about the case
“If this is true, this isn’t just religion. It’s psychological kidnapping,” wrote Beverly Naya. “These groups need to be exposed and stopped.”
The digital outrage appears to have galvanized action. According to @nhn_couture’s latest update, Ejiro’s family has officially lodged a complaint with the Lagos State Police Command, and efforts are underway to locate the prayer camp where she was last reportedly seen.
A senior police officer, speaking anonymously to this publication, confirmed the matter is under investigation but declined to give specifics.
“We are aware of the allegations and are pursuing all leads. The priority is to find the missing person and ensure her safety,” the officer said.
Nigeria is no stranger to the weaponization of faith. The country, rich in religious diversity, is also riddled with a history of spiritual manipulation, from fake miracle workers to self-declared prophets running underground communes.
Just last year, over 70 individuals were rescued from an unregistered church compound in Ondo State where members had been held in isolation for months, awaiting the “second coming” of Christ.
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Dr. Christiana Okorie, a sociologist at the University of Lagos, says Ejiro’s case, if confirmed, reflects a disturbing pattern.
“People are searching for hope, and sometimes in the process, they meet predators cloaked in piety,” she said. “These groups often target emotionally or economically vulnerable individuals. They isolate them and create a new identity that is entirely tied to the group’s approval.”
In many cases, the line between spiritual mentorship and mental manipulation becomes so thin it’s indistinguishable until it’s too late.
While Ejiro’s family has largely stayed out of the media, a voice note circulated on WhatsApp—reportedly from her mother—pleads for her daughter’s return.
“Ejiro, wherever you are, your mother is not your enemy. I gave birth to you, and I love you. Come home, my daughter. These people are not of God,” she sobs in the clip.
The family’s anguish is compounded by the silence of those allegedly involved. None of the named leaders of the group have publicly commented or presented Ejiro alive to counter the rumors.
Legal experts say if the group is found to have knowingly detained or endangered Ejiro, they could face charges of abduction, emotional abuse, and fraud under Nigerian law.
Following the virality of Ejiro’s story, several individuals have stepped forward to recount similar experiences. One woman, Adaeze, described a different but comparable prayer group in Port Harcourt where she was told to disown her father because he was a “demonic gatekeeper.”
“They wanted me to move into their guesthouse. That’s when I knew something was wrong,” she said.
These testimonies point to a growing underground trend: unregulated religious groups operating like secret societies, wielding intense spiritual control over members, especially women.
Mental health experts warn that victims often suffer long-term effects—ranging from anxiety and depression to paranoia and suicidal ideation.
“There is spiritual trauma, and it’s real,” said Dr. Tolu Fagbemi, a clinical psychologist. “We must not dismiss people’s experiences because they happened in a church setting.”
Many critics have pointed fingers at the Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN) and the Pentecostal Fellowship of Nigeria (PFN), asking why self-appointed prophets with no theological training or oversight are allowed to operate unchecked.
“These groups don’t fall under any known denomination,” said Pastor Emmanuel Adeyemi of the Redeemed Christian Church of God. “They spring up in private homes, hotel halls, and WhatsApp groups. And before you know it, they’re running people’s lives.”
He called for new policies requiring all prayer groups and prophetic ministries to register with appropriate religious bodies and provide psychological screening for leaders who claim divine authority.
“It’s not about stifling spirituality. It’s about accountability,” he added.
As of this publication, Ejiro has still not been found. Her face is now a symbol for a growing awareness campaign warning young Nigerians—especially women—against falling prey to manipulative religious environments.
The question remains: How many more are out there, disconnected from their loved ones, trapped in spiritual echo chambers, believing they are fighting demons when in reality, they are fleeing truth?
Until Ejiro is found, and groups like Naiboth are either exonerated or held accountable, Nigeria must reckon with the sobering reality that not all who invoke God do so with clean hands—or clear intentions.
