By Comrade Usman Abdulkadir Taleeki
In my column this week, I want to take a close and honest look at the growing security challenge in one of the states in the North-West of Nigeria, and that is my home, Kebbi State, a state once celebrated for its peace, calmness, and hospitality, but which in recent times has become a theatre of violent attacks and abductions. The situation has worsened with the emergence of Lakurawa, who now dominate mostly the northern axis of the state. What makes this tragedy more painful is that the problem persists not only because of the attacks themselves, but because those who should be taking decisive action are busy denying the very existence of the crisis. And as we all know, identifying and admitting a problem is already halfway to solving it.
Security is the first and most sacred duty of any government. It is the foundation on which every other aspect of governance, from education to agriculture to development, must rest. When lives are no longer safe, nothing else can thrive. Unfortunately, since the beginning of this year, Kebbi State has witnessed an alarming rise in killings, kidnappings, and mass displacements. These are not distant headlines or rumours; they are experiences lived daily by people I know, in places I have personally been to.
I recall vividly the night of September 24, 2025, a night that will remain etched in my memory. I was traveling from Birnin Kebbi to my hometown, Kamba. We set out around 8:00 p.m., thinking it was just another normal journey. But as we reached Kyangakwai, a small town under my local government, we suddenly saw people on the road carrying rifles and moving in a manner that made it clear they were not security personnel. Before we could fully grasp the situation, our driver made a quick turn and sped back to Fingilla, a nearby village where we hid for safety. From our hiding spot, we could hear gunshots and people shouting. The bandits operated freely for over an hour, and later reports confirmed that they kidnapped several people that night. I was lucky to escape. But the question that haunted me afterward was, what about others who are not as fortunate? What about my friends, my family, or the hundreds of innocent citizens who travel that same road every day?
To understand how Kebbi reached this point, we must go back to how the state leadership began getting it wrong. On June 17, 2025, there was a devastating attack on the people of Tadurga in Zuru Emirate. The assault claimed many lives and destroyed properties. Families were thrown into mourning, and communities were left in fear. Naturally, one would expect the government to visit the scene, console the victims, and roll out emergency measures to prevent a recurrence. But shockingly, the very next day, government officials were seen , publicly donating ₦30 million to Pastor Dr. Paul Enenche, a gesture that made national news. The pastor, in a rare act of moral clarity, rejected the donation, advising the government to return home and attend to its people who were under attack. At that very moment, the victims of Tadurga had not even finished burying their dead, and no government assistance had reached them. That single incident of misplaced priority prompted me to write a piece titled A Comedy of Errors — When Eye Service Goes Wrong and Further Exposes the Misplaced Priorities of Kebbi State Government.
That article wasn’t written out of anger, but out of deep concern for a government that seemed more focused on public image than public safety. Later, as prominent sons and daughters of Kebbi, including the former Attorney General of the Federation, Abubakar Malami (SAN), raised their voices to draw attention to the worsening insecurity, the state government still refused to acknowledge the gravity of the situation. Instead of appreciating their concern, the Commissioner for Information published a counterpiece titled Dancing on the Grave in Pursuit of Power, accusing Malami of politicising insecurity. That response forced me to write a rejoinder titled The Grave You Refused to See, because what was at stake was not politics but human lives.
When the killings continued without any serious government response, Malami again wrote formally to the relevant federal authorities, seeking intervention in Kebbi’s deteriorating security situation. Instead of viewing this as a patriotic act, the Kebbi State House of Assembly convened a press conference, calling for his arrest. Members of the National Assembly from the state joined in, repeating the claim that there was no insecurity in Kebbi. Ironically, barely a month later, one of the very senators who made that claim stood on the floor of the Senate, pleading for help and saying, “Keep your water, keep your education, keep your roads — what we need in Kebbi now is security.” That confession alone vindicated everything Malami and other well-meaning voices had been saying.
Then came another shocking event, the kidnapping of the Deputy Speaker of the Kebbi State House of Assembly, the fourth most powerful person in the state. If someone at that level of government could be abducted without resistance, what hope remains for ordinary farmers, traders, and students in places like Kaoje, Bunza, Koko, and Yauri?
This is the point where leadership must stop pretending. The insecurity in Kebbi is real, and denial will not make it disappear. The government must stop seeing every criticism as an attack and start treating it as a mirror for reflection. Kebbi needs sincere leadership, not defensive propaganda. The government must work hand in hand with federal authorities, traditional rulers, vigilantes, and community leaders to restore peace. There must be structured rehabilitation and support for displaced families. The people who have lost loved ones and livelihoods deserve not only sympathy but action.
Security is not a favour a government does for its citizens; it is a constitutional responsibility. The essence of leadership is to protect lives and properties. Anything short of that is failure. Kebbi State has the potential to rise again because its people are resilient, intelligent, and patriotic. But that recovery can only begin when truth is allowed to guide governance.
The people of Zuru are watching. The people of Dandi, Kamba, Bunza, and Yauri are watching. They know the truth, and they will not forget. The blood of those who died in vain will not be forgotten.
It is time for the Kebbi State Government to drop the culture of denial and confront the crisis head-on. I sincerely hope that after all these painful experiences, the bloodshed, the abductions, the public embarrassment, and the economic paralysis, our leaders will now learn the lesson that denial in the face of danger is the fastest route to destruction. Kebbi must act now before this fire consumes us all.
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