Kebbi, Zamfara and the burden of a country failing its rural citizens
By Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu
Nigeria has fallen into a bitter cycle of violence, with communities caught in a war they neither invited nor comprehend. In four days, at least 145 Nigerians were abducted in Kebbi, Zamfara, and Niger. This included 25 schoolgirls kidnapped in Kebbi, three villagers killed, 64 seized in Zamfara, 16 vigilantes murdered, and 42 abducted in Niger. The headlines are shocking, but the stories are more troubling: rural areas are dissolving under fear, abandonment, and rising criminal violence.
For many Nigerians, these incidents are not isolated tragedies; they are part of a vicious pattern stretching back years. In 2023, during the tense pre-election months, at least 792 Nigerians were abducted in only the first quarter, according to verified data. Today, as political parties warm up again for the 2027 contest, the shadows are lengthening once more. Insecurity rises, rhetoric rises, promises rise, but communities continue to fall.
The Kebbi school attack is particularly symbolic. Once again, the targets were schoolgirls. Once again, a perimeter fence proved more ceremonial than protective. Once again, armed men walked into a public school as though strolling through an unguarded market. According to the police, the bandits arrived at about 4:00 a.m., firing into the air and overpowering the school’s security before escaping with 25 children. A staff member, Hassan Makuku, was killed. A guard was shot. And the students vanished into the vast, unregulated forests that now function as safe havens for armed groups.
The Federal Government has condemned the attack as governments always do, calling it “reprehensible,” promising swift rescue, and directing security agencies to “locate, rescue and ensure justice.” The Minister of Defence described the incident as “totally unacceptable.” These statements are necessary, but they do little for the parents who now spend their days staring at empty bunks and silent uniforms.
Zamfara’s case is no less alarming. Entire families were carted away from Tsafe and Maru LGAs, with reports confirming three deaths and at least 64 abducted in one attack alone. Communities such as Zurmi, Shinkafi, Maradun, Maru and Bungudu have lived under this shadow for years. They pay levies. They negotiate to farm. They bury loved ones. They flee at night. Banditry in Zamfara has evolved into a parallel economy, one that thrives because the state’s presence has weakened, and criminal syndicates now operate with cold confidence.
Niger State’s tragedy further complicates the picture. Sixteen vigilantes were killed, and dozens were kidnapped. These vigilantes are ordinary residents who step in where the state has failed with torches, dane guns and courage as their only armour. They are outmatched, outgunned and overstretched. Yet they stand in the gap because the alternative is abandonment.
What links Kebbi, Zamfara and Niger is not geography but the silence that follows after promises fade and attention shifts elsewhere. Rural Nigeria has become the theatre of a slow, grinding war of attrition. Schools, farms, highways and markets have become targets. Parents now enrol children in schools not by distance or quality, but by safety. Communities now make security decisions based on rumours, not signals from the government.
Reactions from political figures capture a growing national frustration. Former Vice President Atiku Abubakar condemned the attacks as “a reminder of worsening insecurity,” pointing also to killings in Plateau, Benue and Kano. The PDP accused the Federal Government of “preferring politicisation to protection.” Security experts have raised deeper worries. Former CP Emmanuel Ojukwu warned that abductions often spike ahead of elections, becoming tools of disruption and intimidation. Another retired CP, Ladodo Rabiu, countered that insecurity has now become permanent, not seasonal, and politicians merely exploit it when convenient.
Both views reveal a brutal truth: Nigeria’s insecurity is no longer episodic; it is structural. It feeds on weak governance, fragile policing, porous borders, fragmented jurisdictions, and an overstretched military deployed incessantly for internal duties it was never designed to handle.
But beyond statistics and politics lies the real crisis, a moral one. Rural Nigerians are bearing the brunt of the state’s slow decay. They pay for security with money they don’t have. They live in fear; they didn’t create. They bury victims they cannot protect. Nigeria is failing them not because officials do not speak loudly, but because institutions do not act deeply.
So where does the problem lie, and what must be done?
First, the country’s security response remains reactive. Troops are deployed after attacks, not before them. Intelligence is gathered after kidnappings, not to prevent them. This cycle guarantees repetition. Nigeria must invest in village-level intelligence networks, not just forest-level firepower.
Second, the state is fragmented. Federal, state and local security efforts exist in parallel but rarely intersect meaningfully. Community policing remains a slogan instead of a functional architecture. Insecurity requires a coordinated chain; currently, Nigeria operates with scattered links.
Third, governance in the North-West has become inconsistent. Some states negotiate with bandits; others fight them; others allow communities to fend for themselves. Criminals easily read these patterns and exploit them.
Fourth, poverty and governance failure feed bandit armies. Unemployed youths become foot soldiers. Unprotected forests become camps. Unregulated mining corridors become revenue lines. No amount of military operations can defeat a criminal economy unless the incentives are dismantled.
Finally, transparency is missing. Nigerians rarely know what works or fails. Operations are announced, but outcomes are not documented. Without accountability, improvement is impossible.
The solutions are not mysterious. Deploy intelligence-driven operations; rebuild local policing; integrate vigilantes into formal security structures with training; secure forests with drone surveillance; regulate mining corridors; strengthen border patrols; ensure swift prosecution of captured bandits; and most importantly, ensure that victims are rescued quickly and consistently.
But no solution will matter unless Nigeria is honest with itself: the country has abandoned its rural citizens, leaving millions to bargain daily with terror. Kebbi, Zamfara and Niger are not just news items; they are warning lights for a nation whose peripheries are collapsing inward.
The question now is not whether the government will condemn the attacks it already has. The question is whether Nigerians will see meaningful change, or whether new tragedies will replace these before this week ends.
Until the state reclaims every inch of its territory physically, administratively and morally, rural Nigerians will continue to live on borrowed certainty, waiting for the next sound of gunshots in the night.
Abdulhamid Abdullahi Aliyu is a journalist and syndicated commentator based in Abuja.
