By Usman Abdulkadir Taleeki
On my column this week I opted to look at the recent unpleasant development in Nigeria concerning insecurity. Though these incidents shock many people today, we in the northern region have seen similar patterns again and again for more than a decade. The situation in Maga in Kebbi State, the events in Kwara, and the fresh abductions in Niger State feel like a painful continuation of a cycle that never ended. They remind us that the crisis of school kidnappings in Nigeria did not start today, and they expose how the North has become the region paying the highest price while often being blamed, mocked, and misunderstood. It is important to treat this subject with honesty, memory, and evidence, because this is not just a regional tragedy. It is a national failure.
The foundation of this crisis is rooted in the year that changed everything for Nigeria. On 14 April 2014, Boko Haram abducted 276 schoolgirls from Government Girls’ Secondary School in Chibok, Borno State. That date is not just a chapter in our history. It is a reference point for how insecurity dramatically evolved in Nigeria. The world was stunned. The global #BringBackOurGirls campaign was born, and Chibok became a symbol of how fragile northern communities had become. From the beginning, the North understood that this tragedy was not an isolated moment but a warning about the future.
Four years later, the country confirmed that we had learned little. On 19 February 2018, extremist fighters stormed Government Girls Science and Technical College, Dapchi, in Yobe State, and abducted 110 girls. Reports later showed that security agencies received warnings in the days leading to the attack. Nothing was done. By 21 March 2018, the girls were returned except for five who died along the way. This was more than a security failure. It was proof that the structural weaknesses that made Chibok possible were still fully alive. The North mourned again, traumatised again, and wondered again why the nation allowed schools in the region to remain exposed.
In December 2020, the same story resurfaced in a different state. On the night of 11 December, bandits kidnapped over 300 boys from Government Science Secondary School, Kankara, in Katsina State. The attack took place the same day the President arrived in the state. The symbolism was unnerving. It showed the confidence that criminal groups had developed. It also revealed how stretched and reactive the nation’s security forces had become. There was national outrage, but to people in northern Nigeria, the Kankara episode felt like a reminder rather than a surprise. Anyone who studied the pattern from 2014 to 2018 could see that another mass abduction was inevitable.
Barely six months later, tragedy struck again. On 30 May 2021, gunmen attacked Salihu Tanko Islamiya School in Tegina, Niger State, kidnapping between 136 and 200 children. These were much younger pupils. Innocent children. They were held for 88 days. When 91 of them were eventually released, a child had already died. That incident exposed another layer of the crisis. It showed that kidnappers were no longer limiting their targets to high-profile girls’ secondary schools. They had become confident enough to attack smaller, rural, Islamic schools. The geography of insecurity widened. The age of victims dropped. The psychological cost increased.
Then came 2024. On 7 March 2024, again in the early hours after assembly, armed groups invaded LEA Primary School and Government Secondary School in Kuriga, Kaduna State. They abducted hundreds of students. Some reports placed the figure at 227, others at 287, making it one of the largest school kidnappings after Chibok. On 24 March 2024, security forces announced the rescue of 137 victims. The Kuriga case reignited a national debate and prompted fresh promises of safe schools, but people in the North had heard such promises before and had seen too many of them evaporate without structural reforms.
Today, in 2025, the same pattern is repeating itself. Abductions in Maga in Kebbi State. New incidents in Kwara. Fresh kidnappings in Niger State. They are narratives built on the same template as 2014, 2018, 2020, 2021, and 2024. This is why the North is angry. This is why the region feels abandoned. Many Nigerians outside the region do not realise that every new abduction is not simply a news story. It is a reopening of old wounds.
The question that Nigeria must confront is why these tragedies keep returning. The answer is not about ethnicity or religion. It is structural. There are four central reasons why Arewa remains the epicentre of mass school abductions.
First, the North has the largest concentration of rural schools in Nigeria. Many of them are located in communities without proper fencing, surveillance, access roads, or law enforcement presence. This lack of basic infrastructure makes schools attractive targets for groups seeking attention, bargaining power, or ransom revenue. When insurgent groups want global attention, they attack schools. When bandits want quick money, they attack schools. When extremists want to weaken state authority, they attack schools.
Second, northern Nigeria has endured the highest concentration of armed non-state groups for more than a decade. Boko Haram and ISWAP dominate parts of Borno, Yobe, and Adamawa. Bandit networks operate across Zamfara, Katsina, Kaduna, Niger, Kebbi, Sokoto, and parts of Kwara. These groups have different motivations, but they share one thing. They thrive in areas where the state is absent. Since 2011, these territories have expanded and contracted, but they have never disappeared. That reality shapes the security environment of the region.
Third, the North suffers from the consequences of a weak national policing structure. Nigeria still relies on a highly centralised police architecture controlled from Abuja. Governors have no operational control. Local intelligence is minimal. Response time is slow. Criminal groups know this. They know that if they attack a rural school at 5 a.m., the nearest police response may arrive hours later. This weak policing model is not peculiar to the North but the North suffers the consequences more severely because of its vast landmass and high concentration of at-risk communities.
Fourth, the kidnapping industry has matured into an organised economy. Since 2014, data from independent trackers, civil society organisations, and research institutions show that kidnapping has become a multi-billion naira enterprise. There are financiers, informants, food suppliers, negotiators, weapon suppliers, and ransom transporters. Some operate in towns. Some work in markets. Some are part of political networks. It is a full economy built on the exploitation of fear and weak governance. Without addressing the financial infrastructure behind kidnapping, Nigeria will continue to treat symptoms rather than causes.
This is why it is painful when outsiders mock the North or blame the region for the insecurity it suffers. The narrative that the region enjoys sympathy, or that its crises are self-inflicted, is not supported by the evidence. The North has lost more children, more schools, more lives, more land, and more years of development to terrorism and banditry than any other part of the country. The region has stood on the frontlines of this war for more than ten years. It deserves empathy, not stigma.
Every date from 14 April 2014 to 19 February 2018, from 11 December 2020 to 30 May 2021, and from 7 March 2024 to the current tragedies of 2025 should have taught us something. Yet Nigeria keeps responding as if each incident is isolated. We forget too quickly. We reform too slowly. We invest too little in prevention and too much in reaction.
The way forward requires courage and sincerity. Nigeria must finally decentralise its policing system. States need controlled, accountable, well-trained security outfits to complement federal agencies. The country must dismantle the financial networks that sustain kidnapping. This requires intelligence-driven operations, financial surveillance, and prosecution of criminal collaborators in cities. Schools must be protected with real fencing, surveillance, trained guards, and community-based early warning systems. The military must prioritise intelligence and civilian protection rather than headline-driven operations. Communities must be treated as partners rather than suspects.
The truth is simple. The North is bleeding again because Nigeria refuses to learn. And until the nation becomes honest about the structural failures that produce these tragedies, the dates will continue to multiply.
The North has carried this burden long enough. It is time for the country to carry its responsibility.
Tags
Opinion