Nigeria's children are being kidnapped from classrooms while politicians fight over power. If Security Votes are working, why are the kidnappers winning? In plain terms, while state governors secure political alliances, kidnappers secure hostages. One side keeps delivering results.
If Jesus had been around and taking questions from
concerned Nigerians, I know exactly what I would have asked Him.
“Lord, what do You think about the governors of Nigeria’s
states and their lack of interest in stopping kidnapping and the general
insecurity destroying their states? What do You think about leaders who seem
better at protecting Security Votes than protecting schoolchildren?”
I suspect that question would make many governors shift
uneasily in their seats.
Children’s Day came on May 27, 2026. It should have been
a day of joy. Instead, it felt like a nation was celebrating with one hand
while wiping away tears with the other. Across Nigeria, children marched, sang
songs, and listened to speeches about being the leaders of tomorrow. Yet 88
children and teachers abducted on May 15 in Oyo and Borno states remained in
captivity. Their tomorrow had been replaced by terror.
In Borno State, Boko Haram terrorists stormed Mussa
Primary and Junior Secondary School in Askira/Uba and abducted 42 pupils and
students. In Oyo State, gunmen attacked schools in Oriire Local Government Area
and abducted 46 children and teachers, including toddlers. Assistant headmaster
Joel Adesiyan was killed. Mathematics teacher Michael Oyedokun was kidnapped
and later beheaded.
Beheaded.
That single word should have stopped political activities
across Nigeria. It should have triggered emergency meetings in every governor’s
office. It should have produced sleepless nights among public officials whose
first responsibility is the protection of life.
Instead, many politicians continued exactly where they
left off: fighting over party structures, plotting defections, calculating
election strategies, boasting at political gatherings, and engaging in the
endless soap opera that passes for politics in Nigeria.
A child disappears into a forest. A politician
disappears into a political meeting. One disappearance is a tragedy. The other
is a routine expense charged to the taxpayer.
That is the bitter reality.
The most painful part is that governors cannot claim
ignorance. They know what is happening. Parents know what is happening.
Teachers know what is happening. Terrorists certainly know what is happening.
The only thing that seems missing is urgency.
For years, governors have received what are known as
Security Votes. These are public funds allocated for security-related purposes.
Unlike many government expenditures, these funds often operate with limited
public scrutiny and limited transparency. Nigerians are repeatedly told that
these funds are necessary because governors need flexibility to respond quickly
to security threats.
Fair enough.
But if Security Votes exist to improve security, then
ordinary Nigerians have every right to ask a simple question. Where are the
results? If billions of naira have been spent on security while terrorists
continue kidnapping children from schools, attacking villages, collecting
ransom, and controlling forests, then something is seriously wrong. Either the
money is not being looted by the state governors, or the entire system is
failing spectacularly.
Parents do not measure security through budget
allocations. Parents measure security by whether their children return home
from school alive.
Since the Chibok abduction of 276 schoolgirls in April
2014, Nigeria has been trapped in a recurring nightmare. According to estimates
from Amnesty International and Save the Children, about 1,700 schoolchildren
have been abducted in mass school kidnappings since Chibok. Leah Sharibu,
abducted during the Dapchi school attack in February 2018, remains in captivity
years later.
Think about that. An entire generation of Nigerian
children has grown up knowing that schools can become hunting grounds. In many
countries, parents worry about grades. In Nigeria, parents increasingly worry
about whether their children will return home. That is not merely a security
problem.
That is a collapse of confidence.
The tragedy grows even larger when one examines the
broader condition of Nigerian children. The country has about 18.3 million
out-of-school children, one of the highest figures anywhere in the world. Many
parents simply do not trust the system enough to risk sending their children
into danger. Others cannot afford education because economic hardship has
crushed family finances.
Many public schools look like abandoned relics.
Classrooms are crumbling. Teachers are poorly paid. Learning materials are
scarce. Some children still sit on bare floors. Others study under trees. Yet
politicians continue behaving as though the greatest emergency facing Nigeria
is who controls a political party headquarters.
A roof is collapsing, but the landlords are arguing
over who owns the key.
The health situation is no less disturbing. Nigeria's
under-five mortality rate remains among the highest globally. Millions of
children face malnutrition. UNICEF estimates that about 2 million Nigerian
children suffer from Severe Acute Malnutrition, while roughly 32 percent of
children under five are stunted.
Meanwhile, food inflation is punishing families daily. A
crate of eggs that sold for about ₦900 in 2023 now sells for around ₦6,000.
Many children who should be reading books are selling goods on highways and
street corners to help their families survive.
Yet Nigeria's political elite continue to live in a
different country from the one experienced by ordinary citizens. Their children
rarely attend the vulnerable public schools that terrorists target. They rarely
travel along dangerous rural roads where kidnappers operate. They rarely go to
bed fearing abduction. Many study abroad or attend expensive private schools
protected by armed guards, high walls, surveillance systems, and layers of
security. The contrast is impossible to miss. One Nigeria moves in bulletproof
convoys while another moves in fear. One Nigeria spends its days discussing
political alliances and succession plans while another searches forests for
kidnapped children. One Nigeria enjoys government protection as a birthright,
while another wakes up each morning praying not to become the next victim
splashed across newspaper headlines. For the powerful, insecurity is often a
topic of discussion; for the poor, it is a daily visitor at the door.
Even more disturbing is the impression that some
politicians appear more passionate about securing political power than securing
human lives. Political meetings are attended. Political strategies are drafted.
Political rivalries are pursued with remarkable energy. Yet when children
disappear into forests, government responses often seem painfully slow.
The message ordinary Nigerians receive is both
devastating and infuriating: the political class often treats insecurity as a
public relations problem to be managed with speeches rather than a national
emergency demanding relentless action. History has a cruel habit of stripping
away political noise and exposing what truly mattered. It will not remember how
many party congresses a governor controlled, how many defections he engineered,
or how many rivals he outmaneuvered. It will remember whether children could
attend school without being kidnapped, whether teachers could do their jobs
without fear of execution, and whether those entrusted with power acted
decisively when innocent lives hung in the balance. When the final scorecard
is written, security—not political scheming—is what separates leadership from
failure.
That is why Children’s Day 2026 felt less like a
celebration and more like an indictment. While politicians traded speeches, 88
kidnapped children and teachers remained in captivity. While officials spoke
about the future, terrorists were holding the future at gunpoint.
If Jesus were answering questions today, I would ask Him
whether leaders who cannot protect children have fulfilled their most basic
duty. I would ask Him whether governments that spend billions on security but
cannot secure schools are truly serving their people. And I would ask Him what
He thinks about a political system in which Security Votes often seem more
secure than the children they are supposed to protect.
Because at the end of the day, roads, airports, party
primaries, political coalitions, and campaign speeches mean very little to a
mother whose child has been dragged into a forest by terrorists. For her, there
is only one issue that matters.
Bring the children home.
Until that happens, every Children’s Day speech risks
sounding like a cruel joke, and every Nigerian governor claiming success must
answer a question that grows louder with every kidnapping: If the children
are not safe, exactly what has been secured?
For readers interested
in a separate line of thought, the titles in my “Brief Book Series” are
available on Barnes & Noble and in Google Play. Read them here on Google
Play: Brief Book Series.
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