Team from Dangote Group only came once to take my photograph —Precious Olurotimi
In October 2021, Precious Olurotimi, a bright and ambitious 22-year-old student of the Federal University of Agriculture, Abeokuta (FUNAAB), was on her way home. But little did she know that the journey would turn into a nightmare for her. Olurotimi, apart being a student, had dutifully engaged in fashion design by the side, delicately balancing her academic pursuit with making beautiful dresses for people. Unfortunately, an auto crash involving a Dangote truck had put paid to her dream, altering her life’s journey. In this interview, Precious Olurotimi shares the story her physical pain she has continued to live with, the emotional loss she is suffering, and the hope she still holds on to with YETUNDE AJANAKU.
CAN you tell us what your life was like before the accident?
Before the accident, I was just a regular 22-year-old girl, full of dreams. I was studying at FUNAAB, and aside from school, I was really passionate about fashion. I was learning fashion design on the side and hoping to build a future in it. I was happy, hardworking, and very focused. I lived at Oke Ayo, Apata Elesinmeta in Ibadan, and I had good friends around me. Life was far from perfect, but I had direction and hope.
What exactly happened on October 24, 2021?
That day, I was returning to Ibadan from Abeokuta. Everything was normal until we got to the Ibadan Expressway. Out of nowhere, a Dangote truck lost control and rammed into our vehicle. The crash was horrible. I remember screaming — then blacking out. When I woke up in the hospital, my right hand was badly injured. Eventually, the doctors told me it was beyond repair. That hand — my dominant hand — was gone.
What went through your mind when you realised you had lost the use of your right hand?
I was devastated. I felt like a part of me was taken away. Everything I knew how to do — writing, eating, sewing — involved that hand. I kept thinking, “How will I cope?” It wasn’t just a physical loss; it felt like my entire identity was shattered. It was hard to even recognise myself in the mirror.
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What was the recovery process like?
It was hell. I had to go through multiple surgeries, regular hospital visits, and therapy. Even basic things like bathing, eating, or brushing my teeth — I couldn’t do them without help. My parents had to do everything for me. I felt like a baby again. Nights were sleepless, full of pain and questions. I started falling into depression. I lost the motivation to study, missed classes and exams, and my grades dropped terribly. I went from being a determined student to someone who didn’t even feel being present anymore.
Did Dangote Group offer any support after the accident?
They came to the hospital once. Just once. Took pictures and left. That was it. No follow-up, no support, no compensation. We kept hoping someone would reach out by a phone call, anything. But nothing came. It was like we didn’t matter. That silence hurt even more than the accident sometimes. We weren’t asking for much — just an acknowledgment, support, a sense that they cared. But what we got was silence.
How has this affected your family financially and emotionally?
It’s been extremely tough. We’ve spent over ₦6 million trying to keep me alive and stable. Surgeries, medications, hospital stay, therapy — it never ended. My parents had to borrow from family and friends, and we even had to do fundraising at some point. They were already managing before the accident, and now we have been completely stretched. Emotionally, it has been draining for all of us. Watching your child suffer with no help in sight… no parent deserves that pain.
What about your relationships — with friends or your partner?
That is another kind of pain entirely. My boyfriend left. Some friends stopped showing up. They said I had changed. Maybe I wasn’t as cheerful or lively anymore. But how could I be? I was dealing with trauma, physical and emotional pain, and trying to adjust to a new reality. It made me question my self-worth. It felt like people only valued me when I was whole — when I was “fun”. That kind of rejection broke me even more.
Where do you draw your strength from now? What keeps you going?
Honestly, it is God and my inner will. I still have dreams. I refused to let that truck take everything from me. I’m determined to relearn fashion design using my left hand. I want to become independent again — to work, to sew, to create. I don’t want to keep calling people for every little thing. I just want to live on my own terms again, even if it is difficult.
What kind of support do you need now to move forward?
I need therapy — both physical and emotional. I need better medical equipment, and maybe even a prosthetic arm. But more than that, I need financial support to rebuild my life. I want to set up a small space where I can start sewing again. I’m not asking for pity — I’m asking for a chance to stand up again, to work and earn and live with dignity.
What do you want people — and especially big companies — to take away from your story?
That behind every accident, every headline, is a human being — someone with dreams and a future. Companies like Dangote need to take responsibility, not just show face once and disappear. There has to be justice. And to the public, I want them to see me not just as a victim, but as someone who is trying to rise again. My story isn’t over. With the right support, it can be a story of survival, strength, and a second chance.
and then