We must recue our girls

The abduction of 25 schoolgirls in Kebbi State is not just another security failure—it is a national heartbreak, an unforgivable betrayal of the Nigerian child. These girls were not caught in crossfire, not roaming dangerous paths, not doing anything reckless. They were asleep in their dormitory. They were under the care of their country. And […]

We must recue our girls

The abduction of 25 schoolgirls in Kebbi State is not just another security failure—it is a national heartbreak, an unforgivable betrayal of the Nigerian child. These girls were not caught in crossfire, not roaming dangerous paths, not doing anything reckless. They were asleep in their dormitory. They were under the care of their country. And their country failed them.

In the homes of Maga today, the sound of a mother crying is louder than any gunshot that rang out that night. It is the kind of cry that shatters the soul—a cry no parent should ever have to release. Some fathers sit outside their houses staring into the empty distance, unable to form words, because how do you describe the agony of a child stolen in the dead of night? How do you breathe when you don’t know where your daughter is?

These parents trusted us—trusted the system, the government, the promises, the huge budgets allocated every year for “security” and “safe schools.” What do we tell them now? That their daughters were taken by men who walked through a broken fence as though walking through our collective negligence? That the vice principal who protected them died because his courage stood where our institutions failed?

How many more times must we, as a nation, write statements that begin with “We condemn this attack”? How many more committees, condolence delegations, and press briefings will we endure while girls are traded like cattle in forests? The truth is bitter: Nigeria has normalised the abduction of its children. We have allowed it to become a chapter that keeps rewriting itself because those with the power to end it have learned to live with it.

But we, the people, cannot and must not accept this as normal. Not anymore.

Every Nigerian child has the right to education without fear. Every classroom should be a sanctuary, not a hunting ground. We must demand more than symbolic outrage. We must demand accountability—from local security structures to federal authorities. Who allowed this school to remain vulnerable? Why were security measures inadequate? Where is the Safe Schools Initiative in practice, not paperwork?

This is not the time for leaders to read scripts written by aides. This is the time to stand with grieving families, not in front of cameras. It is the time to put resources into intelligence gathering, border control, community policing, and rapid response systems—not into political ceremonies.

And to those who say “We are doing our best,” let this be said clearly: if armed men can walk into a girls’ school at dawn and leave with 25 children, then your best is not enough.

These girls are not statistics. They are human beings with dreams—girls who wanted to become doctors, teachers, pilots, mothers, women who would one day contribute to the nation we keep claiming we want to build. Right now, they are somewhere in fear, maybe cold, maybe hungry, maybe injured, whispering prayers for rescue. And while they wait, their parents live through a torture that words cannot hold.

Nigeria owes these families more than sympathy. It owes them results. It owes them action. It owes them the safe return of their daughters.

This must be the last time we watch our girls taken away while we respond with routine statements. This must be the moment we draw a line and say loudly, with one voice: Never again. Not to our daughters. Not to our students. Not to the future of this country.

The abduction in Kebbi is a national shame—but it can also be a national awakening. If we choose courage. If we choose accountability. If we choose to finally mean it when we say, “Bring Back Our Girls.”

Not just as a slogan. But as a mandate.

 

Zainab Nasir Ahmedis the Executive Director of YOSPIS and resides in Kano