Apart from the routine stories of kidnapping, banditry, fraud, and the cost-of-living crisis, now staples in Nigerian news cycles. The most “interesting” headline I saw this morning was that we lost the World Cup bid. And that is supposed to pass for good news.
But it’s Monday, and the country wakes devastated by the tragic attack on Government Girls Comprehensive Senior Secondary School, Maga, in Kebbi State. An attack that claimed the life of the Vice-Principal and led to the abduction of innocent students. As if that were not enough, news filtered in that Brigadier General Yu Uba, the Brigade Commander in Damboa, was confirmed killed in an ISWAP ambush.
The Nigerian Army later insisted that he had never gone missing, a line that some media houses appeared pressured to echo. Yet ISWAP’s own footage and claims have complicated the narrative, leaving many Nigerians confused, angry, and asking uncomfortable questions — questions that echo the darkest moments of our recent past.
The cruel fact remains: countless young girls have fallen victim to these groups. Equally cruel is the reality that many Nigerians still struggle to understand who these armed groups are, what exactly motivates them, and why they continue to thrive. Is it ideology? Is it poverty? Is it geopolitics? Is it state failure? Is it, as some whisper, an international conspiracy?
The questions are many, and the answers remain evasive. But as the #BringBackOurGirls narrative resurfaces, as it always does whenever another tragedy strikes — one cannot help but think of the real parents. Grieving, exhausted, invisible. Meanwhile, a parallel industry emerges around their pain, with people turning tragedy into platforms, movements, brands, and sometimes into opportunities for personal gain.
While families mourned, and a nation sat in shock, the architecture of the state danced. Literally. Senior officials, including the Vice President, were in Kogi State celebrating the defection of former Governor Idris Wada to the APC.
It instantly reminded many of the old Jonathan-era anecdote, the one about a national tragedy unfolding while the president reportedly danced at a rally. Back then, it sparked outrage and became a symbol of disconnect between leadership and the people. Today, the symbolism feels painfully familiar.
Nigeria is grieving. Nigeria is confused. Nigeria is tired.
And yet, Nigeria must watch its leaders dance.
Allah dai ya rufa mana asiri duniya da lahira. Ameen
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