Where Jesus Wouldn’t Go: A Nation Watching Its People Die on Stage

 

If Jesus came to Africa, one place he wouldn’t go is Nigeria—because Nigeria is the only country where state governors, local government chairpersons, security agents, and the establishment in general basically sit as the “audience” in a concert, watching the very citizens they swore to protect being kidnapped and maimed by terrorists and local gangs on “the stage.”

On July 25, 2025, as the early morning light began to break across Imo State in southeast Nigeria, three peaceful communities—Umualoma, Ndiakunwanta, and Ndiejezie in Arondizogu, Ideato North Local Government Area—became scenes of horror. Gunmen, riding motorcycles, stormed into the villages and opened fire on residents, killing seven people and critically injuring many more. The attackers targeted people gathered in bars, shopkeepers, customers, and even villagers quietly passing time playing draft games. One witness revealed that people died while simply enjoying a drink or selling goods. As gunfire rang through the air, chaos erupted, and some victims were injured while trying to escape.

According to the Imo State Police Command, the attackers are suspected members of the proscribed Indigenous People of Biafra (IPOB) and its armed wing, the Eastern Security Network (ESN). The state’s Commissioner of Police, Aboki Danjuma, described the incident as “barbaric, inhumane, and totally unacceptable.” Danjuma led tactical police units into the affected villages and assured the public that the area was now under control. Yet for many Nigerians, those words felt like a well-rehearsed chorus in a tragic opera that keeps playing, even as more lives fall like dry leaves in a harmattan wind.

If Jesus visited Africa today, he might stroll through the hills of Rwanda or the plains of Kenya, but one place he would likely avoid is Nigeria. Not because of the people, but because of the leaders—who often act less like shepherds and more like spectators, watching as wolves devour the flock they swore to protect. In Nigeria, the government—state, local, and even security forces—sits like an audience at a concert, watching its citizens get kidnapped, slaughtered, and buried, often without justice or closure. What happened in Imo is only one stanza in a longer, bloodstained song of sorrow.

Up north in Zamfara State, the lyrics take on an even darker tone. In March 2025, criminal gangs known as “bandits” abducted 56 villagers from Banga village in the Kauran Namoda local government area. These gangs are not strangers to terror; they have built an entire economy on human ransom. In this case, they demanded one million naira (about $655) for each hostage. Families, desperate and hopeless, scraped together the money and paid. After several negotiations, the gunmen released only 18 captives—17 women and one boy—on Saturday, months after the abduction.

But even after receiving payment, the bandits went ahead and killed at least 35 of the remaining hostages. Local chairman Manniru Haidara Kaura described the killings in haunting terms: the victims were “slaughtered like rams.” He expressed deep sorrow, questioning how men could murder their own brothers, knowing they would all stand before God one day. Survivors, broken and traumatized, told stories of watching fellow captives butchered before their eyes. Among the hostages were three pregnant women who gave birth in captivity. Tragically, all the newborns died from lack of medical care.

Today, 16 of the survivors are hospitalized. But the fate of the 38 victims murdered by the gang is final—there will be no burials, no graveside tears, because in such cases, bodies are rarely returned. The government of Zamfara called the killings “barbaric and cowardly,” promising justice and urging residents to stay vigilant. They even encouraged citizens to report suspicious activities. But such statements, though polished, feel hollow. As one proverb says, a shepherd who sleeps while the lion prowls cannot blame the sheep for running.

A law passed in 2022 aimed to stop the booming kidnapping business. It criminalizes ransom payments, threatening anyone who pays with a minimum of 15 years in prison. It also allows for the death penalty if a kidnapped victim is killed. But since that law was passed, not a single person has been arrested for ransom payments. And who would blame the victims' families? They pay not because they want to support criminals, but because the state, with all its security agencies, seems unable or unwilling to protect them. When your loved one is in the jaws of a lion and the guards are sleeping, you will throw meat if it will save a life.

This is why Jesus wouldn’t go to Nigeria. It’s the only place where leaders wear the uniform of authority but act as observers in the theater of death. In most countries, leaders cry out when their people are hurt. In Nigeria, they offer statements, lead processions, and move on. The blood of the innocent flows like a river that no dam can hold. In a land where kidnappers set the laws, where terrorists drive motorcycles freely through towns, and where police only arrive after the bullets have stopped flying, justice has become a ghost.

On the surface, the response may seem organized. The police commissioner in Imo says the area is under control, and the Zamfara government says they are determined to wipe out terrorism. But words cannot shield a community from bullets. Nor can they replace the mothers who lost sons, the fathers who buried daughters, or the children who will grow up with nightmares carved by machetes and gunshots.

It’s been said that when the fence is weak, the goats wander. In Nigeria, the fences—its governors, police chiefs, and elected officials—are crumbling. Citizens, left to fend for themselves, pay ransoms, run into forests, or die trying. Nigeria is the only place where people live like castaways in their own nation, watched not by protectors, but by power-holders playing political chess while lives disappear like smoke.

So on July 25, 2025, as people in Imo picked up bodies from blood-stained ground, and as villagers in Zamfara mourned the slaughter of ransomed hostages, one truth became clearer than ever: you cannot stop a fire by watching it burn. But in Nigeria, that’s exactly what the state seems to do. And in such a land, even the Prince of Peace might say, “I will pass.”