Nigeria’s Banditry Crisis: A Personal Outcry from a Country Under Siege
Bandit attacks in Nigeria have evolved from isolated criminal activities into a full-scale national security crisis. From mass kidnappings and village raids to school abductions and forced displacement, insecurity has become a daily reality for millions of Nigerians. This opinion piece is written from a deeply personal perspective, reflecting the fear, anger, and frustration of citizens who feel abandoned as banditry continues to spread across the country.
For more than a decade now, armed bandit gangs have swept through Nigeria’s rural northwestern and north-central states, leaving fear, death and displacement in their wake. By late 2025 the picture was harrowing: according to one analysis, over 1,900 attacks by criminal gangs had occurred that year alone, killing more than 3,000 people . These are not faceless numbers to me; they are mothers, fathers, children and neighbors. Every morning on the radio or TV I brace for reports of another massacre or mass kidnapping. Nigerians across Kaduna, Zamfara, Niger, Katsina and other states live under the constant shadow of bandits on motorcycles, and our agony has become too much to bear in silence.
Widespread Violence Across the Northwest
In towns and villages from Kaduna to Zamfara, and from Niger to Katsina, bandit gangs strike with alarming frequency. Police and communities report that armed men on motorcycles loot villages, shoot at civilians, steal livestock and seize people for ransom. In January 2025, for example, local sources in Katsina State reported that gunmen ambushed a convoy of volunteer fighters returning from talks in Safana, killing at least 21 men and wounding others . The attackers struck deep in an isolated area, shooting villagers on sight. This ambush was one of many: dozens of similar raids have been reported across Katsina since 2023.
In Kaduna State to the south, almost weekly reports describe gunmen kidnapping villagers or storming schools. In March 2024, for instance, at least 87 people – including women and children – were snatched overnight from rural communities in the Kajuru local government area . Five days earlier, more than 250 students were abducted from a school in Kuriga, Kaduna by similar attackers. Every such raid shatters a community’s sense of safety. Local residents say bandits come from forest camps that straddle Kaduna, Zamfara, Niger and Katsina, descending unpredictably on settlements. As one victimized community head in Kaduna lamented, “this attack makes it five times that these bandits have attacked this community” – a grim testament to the relentlessness of the threat.
In Zamfara State, the situation is equally dire. Its vast forests and porous borders with Niger and Mali have made it a notorious hideout for criminal gangs. In late August 2025, gunmen rode into the village of Gamdum Mallam (Bukkuyum LGA), killing at least two people and abducting over 100 women and children . One resident described how the attackers “were shooting anyone on sight,” turning the area into “a death zone” . Aid workers say bandits in Zamfara regularly loot fields, rape women, and force huge displacement: a January 2022 report described mass graves of 200 victims and 10,000 people fleeing after a wave of raids . As one community leader there said, “We were being treated like slaves in our own land, as if there is no government” .
Niger State, which borders Kaduna and Zamfara, has also seen high-profile attacks. The worst was in November 2025 when more than 300 students (and 12 teachers) were abducted from St. Mary’s Catholic School in Papiri . That incident alone surpassed Nigeria’s infamous Chibok kidnapping of 2014 . And on the same week, two Catholic men’s colleges were attacked and scores of students kidnapped elsewhere in Niger State. Rural highways in Niger are often unsafe at night, and farmers live in terror of raids on their fields. In July 2024, for example, gunmen killed 50 villagers in Yargoje (Katsina) during a harvest celebration and carted off many more – victims of a bandit ambush that echoed through the countryside.
All told, the scale of banditry in Nigeria is staggering. Monitors report that in the first half of 2025 alone, at least 2,266 people were killed nationwide by insurgents and bandits – more than the total for all of 2024 . Between July 2024 and June 2025, one risk consultancy recorded over 4,700 people abducted nationwide . These crimes are increasingly common: a recent estimate says nearly 5,000 Nigerians have been abducted since President Tinubu took office in May 2023 . Over 1,900 attacks against civilians were recorded in 2025, resulting in over 3,000 deaths . In short, large swaths of northern Nigeria resemble warzones rather than peaceful farms: villagers live in dread of gunfire in the night, and mothers keep children at home from school for fear of abduction.
The Human Toll: Lives Lost, Homes Destroyed, Families Shattered
These attacks are not abstract statistics – they are personal tragedies. Entire communities have been uprooted. The United Nations estimates that roughly one million Nigerians have been driven from their homes by bandit and insurgent violence in the northwest and north-central regions . Tens of thousands have poured over the border into Niger Republic, creating one of the fastest-growing displacement crises in West Africa. By early 2021, 77,000 Nigerians had fled into Niger’s Maradi region ; by 2025 that number was far higher as violence intensified. Pregnant women like 21-year-old Aisha, shot in the leg by gunfire, describe running for miles through the bush with her children to escape . “They were firing in all directions, people were fleeing for their lives. Everyone was panicking,” she recalled. Another refugee, Abdoulaye, fled child in arms, saying he has “no option but to leave” everything behind to survive .
For those who remain, the scars are deep. Thousands have been killed – shot dead or slaughtered while tending crops or sleeping in huts. Mass graves in Zamfara and Katsina mark the sites of brutal attacks . In the chaos of kidnapping and firefights, many bodies are never recovered; one resident in Zamfara said rescuers were still searching for missing people, warning “many are unaccounted for” . Even innocent days turn deadly: church congregations and weddings have been ambushed. On November 19, 2025, gunmen stormed a Catholic church in Eruku (Kwara State), killing two worshippers and abducting 38 more . Villagers describe hiding indoors, unwilling to venture out after prayers or sunset, as rumors of raids swirl.
The emotional trauma is perhaps even harder to quantify. Parents live in terror every morning that their children may not come home from school. In Niger State, a father whose daughter Khadija was among the kidnapped girls in Kebbi state broke down telling journalists, “I will stay here at the school until my daughter returns. If I go home without her, what will I tell my family?” . Mothers hold back tears remembering their loved ones torn from family compounds by masked gunmen. Survivors speak of being “like slaves in our own land” , stripped of dignity as villagers are loaded onto trucks at gunpoint. Widows and orphans are common, and young men live with the guilt of surviving while friends did not. Farmers who worked their land since childhood now watch fields lie fallow, too afraid to plant.
Even when victims are freed, the costs are ruinous. Families often must pay huge ransoms to get back abducted relatives – a practice the law officially bans but that continues in practice. Parents told Reuters they had to sell prized possessions, like land, cattle or grain, to raise cash for bandits . Entire harvests have been spent on “blood money” to liberate children. The financial strain is crippling in poor rural areas. One economist lamented that these kidnappings are a lucrative “enterprise” for criminals , and the people pay the price with ruined lives and livelihoods.
School Kidnappings: The Most Heartbreaking Attacks
If there is any horror that galvanizes Nigerians, it is the kidnap-for-ransom phenomenon, especially when it involves schoolchildren. Our country still bears the psychological scars of the 2014 Chibok abductions, but the attacks have only grown more widespread. In 2025, multiple mass abductions shocked the nation in quick succession. On the night of November 15, 2025, more than 300 pupils were taken from St. Mary’s Catholic School in Papiri, Niger State – the largest school kidnapping Nigeria has ever seen, surpassing Chibok . Just days before that, on November 18, gunmen stormed a boarding school in Maga, Kebbi State and abducted 25 girls . A week earlier a Muslim girls’ school in Sokoto had 42 students snatched. Often the attackers come in large numbers on motorcycles, overwhelming unarmed guards. As one father said, no police arrived when the school was invaded; only volunteer parents hurried to send their children away when they heard gunfire .
The impact of school abductions is uniquely devastating. They generate international headlines and outrage, stirring painful memories. Human Rights Watch noted in November 2025 that “these mass school kidnappings once again lay bare the deliberate targeting of students, teachers, and schools” in Nigeria . The group quoted one distraught parent who said he “will stay here at the school until my daughter returns. If I go home without her, what will I tell my family?” . Schools have closed or gone to double sessions out of fear: by late 2025, at least six states had shuttered schools due to looming threats . In rural towns, the children who survived these attacks often refuse to return to class, too traumatized to face the empty halls.
Beyond schools, entire rural communities, mosque prayer groups and church congregations have been targeted. The kidnapping spree in November 2025 also hit a church in Kwara State (38 worshippers abducted) and a girls’ school in Katsina (68 abducted, of whom most later escaped) . Each attack leaves families in despair: parents forced to scrape together money, sell valuables, or live on charity just to attempt ransom negotiations. Many hostage families despair as months pass with no sign of their children; Nigerians across social media now post photos and names of missing schoolkids, desperately hoping someone will come forward.
The human stories are harrowing. Eyewitnesses describe chaos and terror. A villager in Kaduna explained how when the kidnappers arrived, “they started shooting. One of the youths was hit and he died” – not from the bandits’ bullets but from security forces who opened fire on protesters later demanding protection . A mother in Niger state said she saw bandits take her child and felt “extreme worry” each passing hour he remained captive . An analysis firm notes that these kidnappings are “money to be made” and schools are “easy targets” because families will pay ransom . It is worth repeating that no family should ever be in the position of having to pay kidnappers to see their child alive again – yet we face that brutal reality.
The Government’s Response: Words, Promises and Criticism
Against this backdrop of bloodshed, Nigerians watch nervously for any sign of effective action from their leaders. President Bola Tinubu’s administration is under enormous pressure. Shortly after the November 2025 school kidnappings, Tinubu canceled international trips and directed security agencies to hunt down the abductors . He announced plans to redeploy thousands of police officers away from guarding VIPs and toward community protection, and vowed to recruit 30,000 more policemen to fight the bandits . As he put it during a July 2025 visit to Katsina State, “We must protect our children, our people, our livelihood, our places of worship… We will defeat insecurity” . He also publicly affirmed that creating a state police force – long championed by northern governors as a way to localize security – is now “inevitable” . The Federal Government has convened committees and meetings, and at times promised advanced military hardware and drones to surveil forests .
Governors, lawmakers and other officials have chimed in as well. Some northern governors signed shaky peace accords with bandit groups in hopes of reducing violence, though few of those truces have held . Others created local vigilante (yam and security) groups. Lawmakers have debated security budgets and proposals; one think-tank report notes that roughly a quarter of Nigeria’s police force is actually assigned to protect VIPs, a sign of how under-resourced real crimefighting is . The Defence Minister and top generals make pep talks – telling troops to “confront them together” and “remain vigilant” – but Nigerians impatiently await actual rescue of missing people and arrest of attackers.
Despite the rhetoric, many Nigerians feel let down. Even after grand announcements, civilians see the same chaos continue. Human Rights Watch and local groups point out that the November 2025 abductions revealed a yawning gap between promises and reality: a report noted that “no group has claimed responsibility” for the kidnappings (they are usually criminal gangs, not ideological insurgents) and that “violent attacks and kidnappings by criminal gangs” have become routine . On the ground, villagers complain that patrols are scarce and security forces arrive too late. As one Niger state villager said after a raid, “we waited… and no one came” until the bandits were long gone .
International observers are likewise alarmed. The UN High Commissioner for Human Rights publicly begged Nigerian leaders to act, noting that by mid-November 2025 at least 402 people (mostly schoolchildren) had been abducted in a recent spate of attacks, and urging “all lawful measures” to halt these “vile attacks” . Human Rights Watch also urged Nigeria to “act urgently” and criticized the government for failing to safeguard schools and communities . In Washington, the U.S. State Department publicly warned that it was considering sanctions and military cooperation pressures to compel Nigeria to protect religious freedom amid these kidnappings . (Notably, even former U.S. President Donald Trump – in his final months in office – had threatened unspecified military action over Nigeria’s failure to stop violence against Christians , a sign of how stark the crisis appears abroad.)
Nigerians themselves react with a mix of anger and despair. Vigils and small protests have broken out in towns like Malumfashi in Katsina, where youths blocked a highway and demanded protection . When soldiers tried to disperse the crowds, tragically one protester was killed , underscoring the depth of frustration: people are not only afraid of the bandits, but sometimes of the very authorities meant to protect them. Social media seethes with demands for action and accountability; ordinary Nigerians sharing news of kidnapping victims often lament, “We are watching – do something!” (One user mocked leadership: “They are decorating generals while some are dying in the forest.”)
Societal Impact: Fear, Displacement and Distrust
The societal fallout of this insecurity is profound. Entire communities have torn themselves apart in desperation. Tens of thousands of Nigerians have become internally displaced. Families pack up and leave ancestral homes for rough makeshift camps or seek refuge in towns. Streets once filled with commerce now run empty at dusk. In markets, farmers won’t sell produce at night. Trust between neighbors frays: accusations fly about people paying protection money to bandits or collaborating out of fear. Ethnic and religious tensions – already simmering in some areas – rise when certain communities are blamed or scapegoated for the violence.
I feel this dread every day. As I travel between family in Abuja and relatives in the north, I carry my own anxiety about ambush points and unpredictable raids. I know many friends who have changed routines – sleeping in groups, avoiding travel – because “the bandits might be anywhere.” We joke bitterly that even the cows seem safer than us, because they usually roam at will while we are locked inside fearing motorbike gunmen.
Healthcare and education services crumble under strain. Clinics in border villages cut hours to avoid night attacks. Teachers and nurses often refuse to work in remote outposts; one report said dozens of medical workers and faith leaders have been kidnapped in recent months. Clinics are closed or under-visited, so treatable illnesses can become fatal. Parents withdraw children from school or send them to cities; the generation growing up under this siege risks losing the only escape that education could offer.
And perhaps worst of all is the erosion of faith in institutions. Every time another kidnapping or massacre occurs despite the army’s promises of operations, people grow more cynical. We hear statistics from Abuja and meetings in high offices, but villages know their own story: the “impossible” ambush happened, the promised airstrike came – and often wounded civilians instead . In December 2023, for instance, a mistaken military drone attack killed at least 88 villagers at a church service in Kaduna State . The government later expressed regret and vowed investigations, but in the hard-hit communities that incident has become a symbol of how even the army can turn deadly. A Zamfara elder noted gloomily that the security forces appear “struggling to deal with the problem” while he and others hide in terror .
This distrust extends to local authorities and traditional leaders as well. Some communities feel abandoned after brokering truces that governments promised to enforce. As Dr. John Wudilawa, a Southern Kaduna activist, put it, people question why any deal with killers will work “when previous agreements were not enforced” . The sense of betrayal is palpable: even if bullets don’t hit you directly, the uncertainty gnaws on you every waking hour.
Members of a civilian vigilante group (the Civilian Joint Task Force, or CJTF) take part in drills in Niger State on November 29, 2025. Volunteers like these have stepped in to try to protect villages amid the bandit onslaught .
Yet amidst the horror, courageous Nigerians have tried to resist. In many threatened areas, local youth have organized vigilante patrols and guards. In cities, activists flood social media with appeals and crowdfunding for victims’ families. Some churches and mosques sponsor community watches. The image above shows members of the Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF) – originally formed to fight Boko Haram in the northeast – now drilling in Niger State to head off bandit raids . They carry homemade weapons and walk in civilian clothes, but their very presence shows the vacuum that police leave: if the government can’t protect us, we must try to protect each other. Similarly, in Zamfara and Katsina, groups of farmers and traders have banded together into informal “sunrise” watches, often with tragic casualties, to defend their families.
These community efforts underscore how dire the situation has become: ordinary Nigerians are pushed to police their own villages. But vigilantes cannot replace trained forces. They lack radios, vehicles and intelligence. Worse, without proper oversight, such groups can become predatory themselves. Observers warn that without broader reforms, community militias may weaken rule of law. Still, in the fog of violence and neglect, many see no choice but to organize. As one displaced mother put it to relief workers, better to have some protection than none at all .
Media Coverage and Public Reactions
The bandit crisis has been widely covered in Nigerian and international media – but many locals feel coverage still misses parts of the story. National outlets like Premium Times and TruthNigeria have published harrowing reports on recent attacks. They cite villagers accusing authorities of inaction and note that even in peaceful areas, the gunfire never seems far away. In one Katsina report, Premium Times described youths blocking roads to protest daily abductions, only to be met with gunfire from soldiers – a scene replayed across different states.
Social media in Nigeria is awash with horror stories, pleas and outrage. Hashtags like #EndBanditry and #BringOurChildrenHome trend whenever a new kidnapping occurs. Even foreign media have taken notice: Al Jazeera ran multiple pieces on Nigeria’s bandit crisis, Reuters has churned dozens of field reports, and BBC/NBC showed special segments. International NGOs and think-tanks also speak out. But coverage is sometimes criticized as episodic: outlets focus intensely when scores are killed or a school is struck, but these tragedies recur so often that some survivors feel world attention moves on too quickly. That said, each news story can help pressure the government. For example, after the November 2025 school abductions made headlines globally, President Tinubu’s trip cancellations and new orders received unusually detailed reporting – something that might not happen without media scrutiny.
Public reaction in Nigeria, from common citizens to activists, has been intense. Civil society groups, opposition politicians and religious leaders regularly denounce the security failures. “Our people are bleeding, yet our leaders seem content with platitudes,” said one imam on a national radio panel. In churches and mosques, sermons decry the violence and accuse governments of negligence. In rural areas, people whisper about corruption: how might police fail to intercept dozens of motorbikes descending on a village? In cities, people voice hopelessness: working parents refuse to send kids to boarding school, and citizens lament that there seems “no safe place in the North anymore.” I personally have had friends retreat from public life, afraid to speak too openly on social media, because even protesting can draw danger.
Beyond Nigeria’s borders, governments and diaspora groups have expressed alarm. Nigerian embassies in the U.S., EU and African capitals issued statements of concern; human rights organizations and faith groups worldwide called for action. The U.S. State Department, as noted, hinted at possible sanctions if Nigeria did not act (a highly unusual step that drew wide attention ). Several African countries offered training or intelligence support to Nigeria. The combined message was clear: bandit violence in Nigeria is now an international concern – partly because mass abductions evoke memories of past global crises, and partly because the breakdown of order in a major regional power can spill across borders.
Voices of the Affected
I want to share some of the real voices behind the headlines. These are people I’ve listened to on the radio or seen quoted in reports, and they sound like us – farmers, parents, youths – but caught in hell. For instance, when we think of those killed by bandits, remember Tony Ojukwu of the Nigerian Human Rights Commission, who said of the casualties: “These were not mere figures on a page. They were fathers, mothers, children, breadwinners; families torn apart, livelihoods destroyed” . These words hit home because I have seen entire families vanish overnight.
Aisha, the young woman who fled with her children to Niger (mentioned above), spoke for thousands when she described running through the darkness: “They were firing in all directions, people were fleeing for their lives. Everyone was panicking” . You can hear the terror in that sentence, the helplessness of a mother who just wants her children alive. Khadija’s father put it another way: “My wife is in tears…I will stay here at the school until my daughter returns,” he said – an image I can’t stop picturing: a grieving man sitting alone under a tree, refusing to leave until his child is back.
Local politicians and analysts also express urgency. Abuja-based thinkers like Waziri Adio warn that this wave of attacks should prompt “root-and-branch reforms” of our security system . I agree: I feel deep frustration that decades of recommendations – better pay for police, more technology, community policing – have not been implemented. A retired security officer, Mike Kebonkwu, captured how I feel on behalf of many: our army is trying its best, but facing “an enemy that is nimble and better adapted to the terrain, with bandits hiding in dense forests” . In other words, our current forces are overwhelmed.
Even victims’ families sometimes confront officials. After one raid in southern Kaduna, dozens of angry protesters marched to a government office, carrying banners saying “Send help or we die!” as the media watched. A coalition of local leaders in Katsina bluntly told politicians: “Why forge new peace deals with killers, when old ones left people vulnerable?” . These voices underscore a national outcry: Nigerians want real solutions, not empty words.
Efforts at Reform and Solutions
Despite the despair, there have been some attempts at reform. President Tinubu’s talks of a state police force have offered hope to many who long for local accountability. He revived discussions in 2025 that had stalled in 2023; more than twenty state governments have formally backed the idea . If state or community-level forces were properly trained and paid, many experts believe that could help secure rural areas more effectively than a distant federal police.
The government has also promised funding boosts and new equipment. In late 2025, the Defense Minister announced plans to strengthen the army with better resources . Drones, helicopters and forest rangers have been deployed to hot spots. Some states have disbursed emergency relief to victims and families (though often it is far too little and too late). On the preventative side, a few northern governors have experimented with dialogue committees involving clan leaders to negotiate temporary ceasefires – with mixed results .
Civil society and international partners are pitching in too. NGOs and churches organize trauma counseling, temporary shelters, and school security patrols. Nigerian diaspora groups donate to kidnap-victim funds or organize demonstrations abroad to keep pressure on Abuja. In collaboration with UN agencies, some programs aim to rebuild villages and support displaced farmers after raids. Media coalitions have sprung up to document these abuses more thoroughly.
Nevertheless, far more is needed. The most urgent reforms often mentioned include:
- Security Sector Overhaul: Recruit and train more officers from local communities, improve pay and living conditions, and end the practice of posting police as permanent bodyguards to politicians (currently a quarter of officers are in such assignments ). Nigeria could learn from reforms in other countries: decentralize intelligence sharing, invest in equipment suited for rough terrains (drones, radios, armored vehicles).
- State and Community Policing: Formalize the numerous volunteer vigilantes under tight regulation and provide them basic gear (reflective vests, radios) and training to work with official forces. At the very least, recognize these community guards and integrate them into early warning networks.
- Judicial Accountability: Ensuring those arrested for banditry are prosecuted swiftly could serve as a deterrent. Too often suspects are caught and inexplicably released. Restoring faith in justice – so families feel bandits will go to jail, not just be killed or ransomed – is essential.
- Economic and Social Programs: Address underlying drivers. This means development aid to rural areas: jobs for youth so they aren’t lured by bandit gangs, fencing or cattle corridors to reduce farmer-herder clashes (a factor in recruitment), and reconciliation efforts in ethnically mixed regions. The government’s security-only approach will not hold if communities feel abandoned by economic neglect.
- School and Community Protection: Rushing funds to make schools safer (better fences, trained guards, funds for rapid response units) would help restore trust that children can learn without dying. Publicizing and perhaps militarizing some convoys or check-points on major kidnap routes could also dissuade at least some kidnappers.
As an average Nigerian watching these debates, I want to see these steps started now. Time is running out, and every day children are kept in bandit camps is unforgivable.
Looking Forward with Hope (and Resolve)
I write this not just to catalogue misery, but also out of a fierce hope for change. I have hope because I know the resilience of ordinary Nigerians. We have survived multiple crises – military coups, ethnic clashes, Boko Haram and now COVID-19 – and we have not lost faith in ourselves. I have hope because some leaders do seem to feel the heat of public anger; Tinubu’s shifts on policy (like revisiting the state police) did not happen in a vacuum. I have hope because each story of suffering that gets told can build momentum: the more we refuse to forget these crimes, the harder it will be for anyone to sweep them under the rug.
That said, frustration and anger are understandable. I cannot deny that a part of me is enraged every time I learn of another innocent life lost – and another leadership conference that seems distracted by other matters. I share the frustration of parents who sit by the phone at night waiting for news of their missing children. I, too, have demanded how many more must die before something truly changes.
But in this crisis, despair is exactly what the bandits want. They seek to break our spirit. We must not let that happen. I am inspired when I see communities in Zamfara refusing to be displaced, or when vigilante youths take on bandits to protect their neighbors. I believe that if Nigeria’s government listens and implements smart reforms, these same brave citizens can reclaim their land. For every one person who dies, dozens more witness it and remember it – if we channel that memory into action, we stand a chance to stop the next attack.
Nigerians have a proverb: “The child who asks questions doesn’t get lost.” By questioning, by demanding answers and accountability from our leaders, we chart a path out of ignorance and passivity. I urge all Nigerians – and their leaders – not to look away. We must demand transparent investigations, we must support victims, and we must hold authorities accountable for every unprotected village. We must also help each other: fund local patrols, keep open lines of communication, and give displaced families a hand in rebuilding.
In closing, I think of the words of Anietie Ewang of Human Rights Watch, lamenting that these kidnapping crises “lay bare the government’s failure to protect vulnerable communities” . That failure is acute and shameful. We Nigerians rightly expect better. We expect a government that uses every tool at its disposal to end this nightmare. We expect a society that cares for its own and refuses to normalize mass violence. And most of all, as one despairing villager asked rhetorically, we expect to sleep without hearing gunfire outside our windows.
I write this piece because I, too, hurt and worry – not just for myself, but for my countrymen who live each day under siege. Let our leaders hear that personal anguish. Let the world see that ordinary Nigerians are furious and determined. We will not relent in our hope and pressure until one day soon, these words – kidnapped, displaced, bereaved – no longer define our mornings.
Summary of Major Recent Incidents
|
Date |
Location (State) |
Casualties |
Group Involved |
|
Dec 10, 2024 |
Kakin Dawa (Zamfara) |
50+ women & children abducted |
Motorcycle bandits |
|
Mar 18, 2024 |
Kajuru area (Kaduna) |
87 people abducted |
Gunmen (bandits) |
|
Jun 9, 2024 |
Yargoje village (Katsina) |
50+ villagers killed |
Bandits on motorcycles |
|
Aug 24, 2025 |
Gamdum Mallam (Zamfara) |
2 villagers killed, 100+ abducted |
Armed bandits |
|
Nov 17, 2025 |
Kebbi State (boarding school) |
25 schoolgirls abducted |
Gunmen (bandits) |
|
Nov 19, 2025 |
Papiri (Niger) |
303 students + 12 teachers abducted |
Suspected bandits |
|
Nov 19, 2025 |
Eruku (Kwara) |
2 worshippers killed, 38 abducted |
Gunmen (bandits) |
|
Jan 7, 2025 |
Baure (Katsina) |
21 volunteer fighters killed |
Armed bandits |
|
Jul 8, 2025 |
Kukawa/Bunyun (Plateau) |
~70 security volunteers killed |
Bandits ambushing patrol |
Post a Comment