UK Prosecution Witness Narrates How Nigerian Ex-Minister Diezani Spent £170,000 In 24 Hours In London Shopping Spree

The case, brought by UK prosecutors, continues to probe allegations of corruption, money laundering, and the movement of oil wealth beyond Nigeria’s shores. All defendants have denied wrongdoing.

In the chambers of Southwark Crown Court on Monday, February 2, 2026, the name Diezani Alison-Madueke once again echoed through an international courtroom, reviving one of Nigeria’s most notorious corruption sagas.

Alison-Madueke, a former President of the Organisation of Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC) and once Nigeria’s Minister of Petroleum Resources and Transport, appeared before the court alongside her brother, former Bishop Doye Agama, and Ayinde Olatimbo Bukola, an oil executive linked to Duchess Oil.

The trio stood at the centre of proceedings in a case British prosecutors say represents years of painstaking financial investigations spanning multiple jurisdictions.

The case, brought by UK prosecutors, continues to probe allegations of corruption, money laundering, and the movement of oil wealth beyond Nigeria’s shores. All defendants have denied wrongdoing.

Yet on this day, the focus narrowed sharply—not on oil blocks or shell companies—but on chairs, lamps, and tables.

As the prosecution called its witnesses, the courtroom listened as Monica, a director at the ultra-exclusive Vincenzo Cafferrella furniture gallery, calmly laid out a spending pattern that stunned even seasoned court observers.

According to her testimony, purchases totalling approximately £170,000 were made within a single 24-hour period, covering luxury chairs, bespoke tables, designer lamps, and other high-end furnishings.

Ms. Leary, leading the prosecution, read through item after item—each more extravagant than the last. Italian-crafted sofas, custom finishes, rare materials. The list was so extensive it felt, to some in the gallery, like a catalogue of excess.

However, the defence did not contest the existence of the purchases themselves. There were no arguments over whether the furniture was bought, or how much it cost.

The dispute, instead, lies in where the money came from, and whether these luxury acquisitions were funded by proceeds linked to corruption connected to Nigeria’s oil sector.

Courtroom murmurs turned cynical as the scale of the spending sank in.

One could almost hear the silent arithmetic being done by Nigerians following the case: how many schools, clinics, roads, or water projects could £170,000 fund back home?

Spending such a sum on furniture in one day suggested, to prosecutors, not simply wealth, but detachment—a disconnect from the realities of the country whose oil revenues allegedly financed this lifestyle.

To critics, it looked less like furnishing a home and more like an attempt to buy prestige itself, one luxury item at a time.

The drama did not stop inside the courtroom.

Outside Southwark Crown Court, the arrival of Alison-Madueke and her associates appeared carefully choreographed.

Relatives and associates moved with deliberate timing, ensuring cameras captured a composed, almost regal procession. To onlookers, it felt less like defendants walking into court and more like the opening scene of a high-budget biographical film.

Among the entourage was a young man, presented with the quiet gravity of a concerned son — an image that contrasted sharply with the prosecution’s narrative of excess and abuse of office.

The prosecution speaks of “bad actions.”

Observers whisper about “bad people.”

But for millions of Nigerians—citizens of an oil-rich nation still grappling with poverty, insecurity, and decaying infrastructure—the issue cuts deeper than courtroom language.

To them, this case is not about furniture alone; it is about accountability and the long shadow cast by those who once controlled the country’s most lucrative resources.

Alison-Madueke and her co-defendants maintain their innocence, insisting that their wealth has legitimate explanations.

Their trial continues in the coming days.