Another evening, another kidnapping. In the serene Shanono communities of Kano State, fear has become the prevailing reality, and the cries of mothers resonate in the distance unanswered, unrecognized, and unforgiven. What started as yet another bandit raid has transformed into a chilling reminder that the nightmare of insecurity in Nigeria’s northern heartland is far from concluded.
On Sunday night, five nursing mothers were abducted in Shanono Local Council. Their infants were left behind a haunting emblem of the cruelty that now characterizes the ungoverned areas throughout the region. Just a week prior, the Nigerian Army’s 3 Brigade in Kano had triumphantly declared a victory 19 bandits neutralized in a fierce confrontation. Yet, the assailants returned, more audacious and bloodthirsty than before.
For Yahya Bagobiri, a community leader in Faruruwa village, the narrative is all too familiar. He characterized the assault as another devastating blow to already traumatized villagers. “Five women are missing, our livestock are gone, and fear has seized our homes,” he expressed with sorrow. “Despite the soldiers’ presence for three weeks, the attacks never cease. It’s as if the bandits reside among us.”
Indeed, the alarming pattern raises concerning questions. How do numerous gunmen on motorcycles invade communities despite significant military presence? How can mothers disappear in the night while security checkpoints are positioned along the highways? The silence from authorities resonates louder than the sporadic gunfire that terrorizes the countryside.
The Shanono tragedy is not an isolated incident. Throughout the North and beyond, banditry and terrorism continue to proliferate like wildfire. From Zamfara to Katsina, Niger to Taraba, communities exist under siege, and the state seems increasingly incapable or unwilling to protect its citizens.
In Taraba, priests and parishioners have raised a similar alarm. The Catholic Diocese of Wukari reports that entire parishes have been deserted amid renewed assaults by armed herdsmen.
Rev. Fr. John Laikel characterized the situation as “devastating,” recounting images of slaughtered villagers, destroyed homes, and cattle roaming freely across the farmlands of the deceased.
“We warned them,” stated Rev. Fr. George Dogo of Holy Family Catholic Church, Takum. “We notified the authorities, yet no action was taken. Now, our people are perishing, and our villages are turning to ashes.”
The Taraba Tiv Youth Development Forum resonates with this sorrow. Over 1,000 families have been displaced, millions have been lost in damaged property, and a persistent question remains: where is the state? The group’s urgent appeal for Governor Agbu Kefas to take action highlights a reality that Nigeria has attempted to conceal for years: insecurity has become localized, normalized, and tragically politicized.
Beneath the headlines lies a more profound tragedy the erosion of faith in government. For years, Nigerians have been assured that security operations are “ongoing,” that victories are “recorded,” and that “peace is returning.” However, in Shanono, peace is absent. In Wukari, security is lacking. In Takum, hope is nonexistent.
President Bola Tinubu’s administration has inherited a fragile nation, suffering from the wounds of terror, banditry, and communal violence. Yet, nearly two years into his term, Nigerians are becoming impatient for more than mere statistics and condolence messages. The blood staining the soil of Shanono and Wukari demands accountability, not mere rhetoric.
Security transcends the mere presence of troops or drones it encompasses trust, intelligence, and the determination to act decisively. The ongoing abductions of women, children, and farmers indicate a system too complacent with reaction and too hesitant for reform.
If the mothers from Shanono are ever located, their return would be miraculous. Yet, their abduction, like that of hundreds before them, serves as a grim indictment of a nation struggling to safeguard its most vulnerable citizens.
Until justice is served, until the guns are silenced, and the state reclaims its authority, every night in Northern Nigeria will remain a perilous gamble between life and death, and every dawn will serve as a reminder of how far we have fallen.
