The Mirabel Confession and Simi’s Reckoning -By Oluwafemi Popoola

On February 16, Nigerians woke up to a tearful video of a young TikToker, Abigail Nsuka, popularly known as Mirabel. She alleged she had been raped in her apartment in the early hours of February 15 on Sunday. She also claimed the attacker inserted a blade in her private parts to make her bleed. Mirabel is only 18 years old. Within hours, Mirabel’s video had over 3 million views. The story detonated across timelines. Outrage rose like harmattan dust. Donations poured in. Hashtags also multiplied. The graphic details riled up many Nigerians as people shared the video. Some Advocacy groups also showed readiness to take up her case. Among the loudest voices demanding justice was one of Nigeria’s most beloved singers, Simi.

The Joromi crooner took it personally. She thundered. Her reaction was immediate and fiery. She then took to X, (formally known as Twitter) and wrote: “I’m sickkk of this. STOP RAPING WOMEN. They need to castrate rapists and burn them”. Then few days later, she doubled down with a longer post arguing that almost every woman she knows has experienced sexual assault and that silencing victims because “some people lie” was unacceptable. It was a passionate call for her. It was raw. It was visceral. The words resonated with many others. They were forceful, emotionally charged, and morally certain. In that moment, she embodied the anger of countless women who feel unsafe not only in public spaces but in their own homes.

As doubts began surfacing over inconsistencies in Mirabel’s claims, a user replied under Simi’s thread: “Including the false accusers too? Auntie Simi.” Her response was short and explosive: “Stfu.”. This means “Shut The F*** Up”. This became the pivot around which public sentiment began to turn. It was not her condemnation of rape that angered people; that stance is foundational and uncontroversial. It was the dismissal of a legitimate concern, the refusal to entertain nuance, that unsettled many observers.

Soon after, the entire narrative collapsed.
In a recorded audio conversation that circulated online, Mirabel admitted she fabricated the rape allegation. She confessed to creating a separate TikTok account to send herself threatening messages to make the story believable. She reportedly told VDM, popular commentator that she struggled with panic attacks, self-harm, and confusion over what might have been hallucinations. Donations that had flowed generously now looked like receipts in a fraud case. The Ogun State Police Command took her into custody. Public sympathy curdled into anger.
And Simi? She was left standing in the wreckage of a moral crusade that had imploded.

Let me be clear here. Rape is real. It is a violent abuse of power that shatters bodies, minds, and futures. Across the world, scholars such as Susan Brownmiller, in Against Our Will, have described rape as a tool of domination embedded in social structures, not merely an individual crime of passion. African feminist scholars like Amina Mama have similarly argued that sexual violence must be understood within systems of patriarchy, militarism, and inequality that silence women and normalize impunity. The trauma is profound and long-lasting.

At the same time, it is equally important to state that false rape accusations are also deeply harmful. Though empirical studies consistently show that intentionally fabricated reports constitute a small minority of cases, but their impact can be severe.

What is more disturbing was how quickly this spiraled beyond Mirabel. The ripple effects of the saga extended beyond one confession. At Obafemi Awolowo University, another drama unfolded.

A student, Adeife, falsely accused her schoolmate David of being a rapist after a disagreement over the “Mirabel issue.” In a now-viral apology video, she admitted she acted in the heat of the moment. She said plainly: “He is not a rapist… I’ve never caught him raping anybody.” But apologies do not erase reputational damage. David’s lawyers, K.C. Anekwe & Associates, taken a legal route. They have demanded N15 million in damages for defamation. And frankly, I don’t blame him.

False accusations have destroyed lives globally. Ask Cristiano Ronaldo, who faced rape allegations in the U.S. that were later dismissed. Or Neymar, accused in 2019 before Brazilian police concluded there was insufficient evidence and charged the accuser with fraud. Even Ghanaian footballer Asamoah Gyan battled allegations that were eventually withdrawn. These cases remind us that while many women are genuinely victimized, some accusations are weaponized. False rape accusations should attract severe legal consequences. The legislature must treat them as the grave offences they are. When you trivialize rape with fabrication, you make it harder for real victims to be believed.

However, the Mirabel saga did not end with legal implications, it evolved into a referendum on Simi herself. As public anger intensified, her old tweets resurfaced. One in particular from 2012 in which she described a four-year-old boy as having a crush on her.

In the now-viral tweet from her X account, @SympLySimi, the 23-year-old Simi wrote: “David has a crush on me. He kips comn close; actin lik he wana lock lips n den he puts his head on my lap. Shd I giv him a chance? P.S: Hes 4.” On the surface, she appeared to be describing a playful interaction with a child. But in today’s climate, framed against the language of “lock lips” and “give him a chance,” the tweet reads differently to many eyes. The discomfort is immediate. The optics are troubling.

When Simi addressed the controversy, she did not deny the tweets. Instead, she contextualized them. She explained that in 2012 she was 23 years old, living with her mother and helping at her mother’s daycare while pursuing her music career. She said she tweeted everything that happened in her life at the time, as many young people did. Children were mischievous and affectionate, she argued; if something amused her, she tweeted it. “Nothing I tweeted was from perversion,” she insisted. “I’ve never been depraved in my life.”

Her defense, however, has not quelled the outrage. In fact, for some critics, it intensified scrutiny. The revelation that her mother was running a daycare at the time became a fresh focal point of online commentary. Social media reactions ranged from skepticism to outright suspicion. Some users argued that authorities should investigate how children in that daycare were treated. Others went further, speculating — without evidence — about possible misconduct. The anger has not been subtle. It has been relentless.

When I read Simi’s statement acknowledging the tweets, I shook my head. Not because I believe she is guilty of some hidden crime — there is no evidence of that — but because public figures must understand that context does not always rescue perception. She maintained that she was simply tweeting lighthearted observations from her daily life at a daycare. She said if she had been famous then, perhaps she would have understood how easily words can be twisted or weaponized by a faceless mob. She insisted she has consistently spoken against rape and sexual assault long before fame found her.

Yet, the question many are asking is not about consistency alone. It is about judgment. A 23-year-old is not a child. Even in 2012, describing a four-year-old boy as wanting to “lock lips” and asking whether to “give him a chance” crosses a line for many readers. Language matters. The internet may evolve, but certain boundaries are timeless.

What complicates this narrative for me is that I genuinely admire Simi’s artistry. There is something profoundly disarming about Simi’s music. Its like a tenderness that seeps into the soul long after the last note fades. There is a conversational warmth in her tone, as though she is seated across from you, telling stories wrapped in melody.

Whether she is pouring out vulnerability in “Joromi,” radiating quiet confidence in “Duduke,” or delivering heartfelt reassurance in “Smile for Me,” Simi sings with an honesty that makes every lyric feel personal. Her collaboration with Chike on “Running (To You)” was on replay for me for the longest time — not just because it was melodious, but because her voice blended so effortlessly, like silk woven into harmony. In songs like “Love Don’t Care,” “Aimasiko,” “Soldier,” and “By You,” she consistently proves that her artistry is both timeless and deeply rooted in emotion.

As for Mirabel, the question remains: what are authorities doing beyond custody? Will there be prosecution? Will donors be refunded? Justice must not be selective.

If there is any lesson here, it is for Simi to admit that that outrage is not strategy. Advocacy without caution can backfire. And credibility, once cracked, is difficult to restore.

Despite the ‘gbasgbos’ and the social media storms, I still love Simi’s music. I probably will play “Aimasiko” on a quiet evening. But this episode reminds me that talent and wisdom are not the same thing. But in the end, justice must protect real victims, punish real offenders, and hold false accusers accountable, without fear or favoritism.

Oluwafemi Popoola is a Nigerian journalist, media strategist, and columnist. He can be reached via bromeo2013@gmail.com