Opinion

Farooq Kperogi : Identity questions in IBB’s autobiography

Published

1 year ago

March 1, 2025

Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida

Farooq Kperogi : Identity questions in IBB’s autobiography

The autobiography of former self-styled “President” Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida has already been parsed for its self-serving mendacity, moral spinelessness, maddening insensitivity, self-glorification, and cowardly posthumous smears of dead colleagues.

I won’t revisit those points here. As someone who has a scholarly interest in—and is actually working on a book on—the rhetoric of collective identity construction in Nigeria, I was drawn to IBB’s self-definition of his identity in his autobiography.

It was Gimba Kakanda, SA to the Vice President and former newspaper columnist, who first quickened my appetite about this in his February 19 Facebook update.

Kakanda had read an advance copy of IBB’s autobiography and wrote this intriguing summation of it: “It’s a journey that begins with his origins, as the son of a Gbagyi woman, and leads up to the June 12 questions—the answers to which you’ll have to read to discover for yourself.”

In a February 15, 2020, column titled “True Ethnic Origins of Nigeria’s Past Presidents and Heads of State,” I had observed that “IBB’s ethnic identity is surprisingly a magnet for controversy and speculation. He has been called Gbagyi (whom Hausa people call Gwari), Nupe, and even Yoruba from Ogbomoso or Osogbo. But he told journalists and his biographers at different times that his immediate ancestors were Hausas from Kano who migrated to what is now Niger State.”

I was curious if IBB admitted that his maternal filiation was Gbagyi (or Gwari). He actually did. But while he is very specific about his maternal line of descent, he was vague about the ethnic identity of his paternal ancestry.

This is how he describes his paternal ancestry, beginning from his grandfather: “Snippets of details I heard suggested that earlier on, he was a bit of a wanderer, migrating from Sokoto to Kano and Kontagora and settling in Wushishi.”

Contrast this with the specificity with which he describes his maternal heritage: “Apparently, [my grandfather] met his future wife, a young Gwari girl called Halima, in Wushishi, and since his future parents-in-law would only allow him to marry daughter if he agreed to make his home in Wushishi, he readily complied with their condition before settling down in Wushishi and marrying his pretty wife, Halima.”

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In yet another description of his Gwari maternal descent, he is informatively direct and specific: “But before he left, my father met and married a beautiful light-skinned Gwari girl, Inna Aishatu, who would become my mother.”

His paternal grandmother was a pretty Gwari woman, and his own mother was a “beautiful light-skinned Gwari girl.” Why did he have a need to call attention to their pulchritude and complexion?

Why did he withhold such details about his grandfather and his father? Sokoto, which he says is the apparent root of his paternal ancestry, was populated by both the Fulani and the Hausa in the “later part of the 19th century” when his grandfather left it for Kano and later Wushishi.

Although interethnic marriage between the Hausa and the Fulani began to intensify at this time, people still identified their heritage through their fathers. Ethnic identities or labels weren’t hyphenated. Was his father Hausa or Fulani?

Did he, perhaps, obliquely answer that question by gratuitously calling attention to the light skin of his Gwari mother in order to let it be known that his own light complexion is inherited from his mother since the Fulani are stereotypically light-skinned?

Well, IBB told a biographer that his great grandfather hailed from the village of Kumuria [Kumurya?] in Kano State from where he went to Sokoto. But in his autobiography, he only mentions his grandfather migrating from Sokoto to Kano and later to Wushishi. Is this intentional, strategic paternal ancestral ambiguity?

We see evidence of identitarian anxieties in IBB’s life after he left his Niger cultural cocoon. Up until age 23 when he returned from India as a Second Lieutenant, his name was Ibrahim Badamasi, Badamasi being his father’s first name.

“However,” he writes, “before I settled down to work at the First Brigade, a particular incident led me to add ‘Babangida’ to my name. During official engagements that led to my deployment to Kaduna, officers who confused the Yoruba name, Gbadamosi, with my last name, ‘Badamasi,’ repeatedly asked me whether I was Yoruba. That question had come up a few times during my enlisting interview for the military. Since that question persisted (and since I knew I wasn’t Yoruba!), I decided to take on my father’s other name as my last name.”

Three things jumped out at me after reading this part of the book. First, I find it intriguing that he had no hesitation telling us about his mother’s and paternal grandmother’s ethnic identity and even disclaiming a Yoruba identity that he knew would constrain him but chose to conceal his paternal ethnic identity.

Second, IBB didn’t mention Babangida as his father’s other name when the reader first encounters him in the book. He identifies his father as Muhammad Badamasi, not Babangida Badamasi. Maybe this oversight is attributable to sloppy (ghost) writing.

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Third, Gbadamosi is not, strictly speaking, a Yoruba name. It’s the Yoruba domestication of Badamasi, which is understood to be a Muslim name in Nigeria. Many people in northwest Nigeria, where he says his paternal roots sprouted from, bear the name.

When I wrote about unusual Muslim names in Nigeria that don’t seem to have any links with the rest of the Muslim world, among which is “Badamasi,” readers who are familiar with the etymology of Badamasi told me that the name (which was probably originally some variant of Badmasi) belongs to an Arabic poet whose book advanced students in traditional Arabic schools, called makarantun soro in Hausa land, study.

The book, a Sufi poem, is used as a resource for Arabic vocabulary lessons. Over time, it became popularly known as Badamasi, named after its author.

I haven’t found any scholarly corroboration for the claim that Badamasi is the name of an Arab poet, but there is a late nineteenth-century Ilorin Muslim scholar and poet by the name of Badamasi whose poems are often utilized to enhance Arabic vocabulary and are a staple in the curriculum of traditional Islamic schools. But it’s not clear if he is the original bearer of the name.

Badamasi was Yorubized to Gbadamosi and later anglicized to Badmus in Yoruba land.

Curiously, Muslim names, which should transcend, even neutralize, ethnicity, at least on the surface, can become the carriers of the weight of ethnicity in Nigeria. There are notions of “Yoruba Muslim names” not just because of their peculiar Yoruba domestication but because of their higher than usual frequency among Yoruba Muslims.

For example, many northern Muslims and Yoruba Muslims have concluded, without a shred of evidence, that House of Representatives Speaker Tajudeen Abbas is a Zaria man of Yoruba ancestry because “Tajudeen” occurs more frequently among Yoruba Muslims than it does among Hausa-speaking Muslims.

But Tajudeen Abbas is a Zaria prince. A Yoruba editor friend of mine pushed back when I said the Speaker was at least paternally Fulani by asking which Fulani or Hausa man I knew who bore the name Tajudeen.

I mentioned Tajudeen Dantata. I then asked if he thought the Dantata family was Yoruba because they named one of their progenies Tajudeen. That ended the conversation.

Dr. Raji Bello, a Fulani man from Yola, also talks about how he is often mistaken for a Yoruba man because people assume that Raji is an exclusively Yoruba Muslim name even though it’s a Muslim name commonly born by South Asian and West African Muslims.

Dr. Bello resisted the type of urge that IBB succumbed to. He once said he was advised by an elder in Zaria to change his name to Rabiu. But he was named after one of his ancestors, a prominent nineteenth-century Muslim scholar in what is now Adamawa by the name of Modibbo Raji.

Finally, IBB described his father as a “messenger/interpreter” in the colonial district office but didn’t say what he interpreted. Since he had no Western education and didn’t speak English, did he translate Gbagyi, his mother’s language, to Hausa or vice versa?

Well, I am not done reading the book.

Farooq Kperogi : Identity questions in IBB’s autobiography

Farooq Kperogi is a renowned columnist and United States-based Professor of journalism.

Related Topics:autobiography Babangida IBB

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Death of Retired General in Captivity Sparks Fresh Concerns Over Nigeria’s Security Crisis

Published

2 days ago

June 13, 2026

Trends Admin

Mallam Ibrahim Agunbiade

Death of Retired General in Captivity Sparks Fresh Concerns Over Nigeria’s Security Crisis

The death of retired Major General Rabe Abubakar while in the custody of bandits has reignited concerns over the worsening security situation in Nigeria, with stakeholders calling for urgent and decisive measures to address the growing threat posed by criminal groups across the country.

In a commentary released on Friday, public affairs analyst Mallam Ibrahim Agunbiade described the late military officer’s death as a troubling reflection of the country’s deepening insecurity, stressing that the incident should serve as a wake-up call for government authorities and security agencies.

Major General Abubakar, who reportedly dedicated decades of service to the Nigerian military and contributed to counterinsurgency efforts, was abducted alongside his wife while travelling in Katsina State. He later died while in captivity, according to information released by the state government.

The analyst noted that the incident raises serious concerns about the safety of citizens, arguing that if a retired senior military officer could fall victim to banditry, ordinary Nigerians remain even more vulnerable.

The Katsina State Government had described the development as a dark moment and reiterated the need for stronger collective action against criminal elements operating in various parts of the country.

Agunbiade emphasized that beyond official statements, the tragedy underscores the suffering experienced by victims’ families, many of whom endure prolonged periods of uncertainty, fear and grief while awaiting the release of abducted loved ones.

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He also referenced the reported death of Islamic scholar Alhaji Muhammad Maibarga in bandits’ captivity in Kebbi State, saying the incidents demonstrate that insecurity affects people across all social, religious and professional backgrounds.

According to him, farmers, traders, students, traditional rulers, religious leaders, security personnel and other citizens have all become targets of criminal attacks in recent years.

The Defence Headquarters had earlier explained that it refrained from making public comments on the abduction of the retired General because rescue efforts were ongoing. Military authorities also pledged that those responsible for the crime would be brought to justice.

However, Agunbiade maintained that the latest tragedy highlights the urgent need for a more effective and coordinated national response to insecurity.

He stressed that tackling banditry, kidnapping and terrorism requires more than military action alone, advocating improved intelligence gathering, stronger inter-agency collaboration, enhanced protection for vulnerable communities and sustained efforts to dismantle criminal networks.

The commentator further urged Nigerians to view insecurity as a national challenge rather than a regional or ethnic issue, noting that victims cut across all religious, ethnic and social divides.

He called on government at all levels to prioritize the protection of lives and property, insisting that the death of Major General Abubakar should not be treated as just another headline but as a reminder of the urgent need to restore security and public confidence across the country.

Death of Retired General in Captivity Sparks Fresh Concerns Over Nigeria’s Security Crisis

Opinion

Driving 756km to watch soccer god, Messi

Published

3 days ago

June 12, 2026

Trends Admin

Tunde Odesola

Driving 756km to watch soccer god, Messi

Tunde Odesola

(Published in The PUNCH, on Friday, June 12, 2026)

Cool fire emits from the potted plant in the backyard at night; it is the glowworm. A yawn, roll on the back, with four powerful paws playfully punching the air; it is the lion, king of the jungle. Water gently hits the shore, sings a splash-splosh song, and rolls back silently into the night; it is the ocean. Formally called Aurea, an eagle, America’s symbol of strength, freedom and resilience, soars up above the 88,000 heads gathered at the Jordan-Hare Stadium in Auburn, Alabama, gliding in and out of sight repeatedly, to the wild ecstacy of the crowd, before finally perching right on the kick-off spot in the centre-circle. Fireworks disappeared into the sky. The four natural elements – fire, land, air and water – are complete. They combine in equal proportions to forge the extraordinary spectacle fans are about to witness as they scream for the football messiah, the magic, the Messi.

About a month ago, when I learned that the god of soccer was leading Argentina to Auburn University for a friendly against Iceland national team on Tuesday, June 9, 2026, I knew none of the four elements could stop me from watching the match. I had long looked forward to an opportunity to pay yet another glowing tribute to the little man who climbed to football’s Olympus without exhibiting the arrogance of gods. Messi, the king who lives in his people, not among his people – like Nigerian leaders who live in abundance among the poor.

So, I got tickets for my soccer-loving children and me. How many are they? Ssshhhh! The Yoruba say: “Aí kọmọ fún ọlọ́mọ.” It’s a taboo to mention the number of one’s children publicly. Hahaha! Maybe that’s why population control is a big issue in Africa. So, I took two days off work. The 756-kilometre journey to and from Auburn is approximately eight hours. When citizens are happy, they gladly obey the laws of the land. Messi fans from far and near stopped at nothing to behold their king.

Messi earned the hero-worship of his fans, who saw him over the years dedicate his entire being to football, from age four when he joined his first local club, Albanderado Grandoli, in his hometown of Rosario, where his father was the coach. Commitment, consistency and dedication earn trust, love and loyalty. Nigeria teaches the opposite lesson daily.

Therefore, if I describe Messi as: “The extra drop of sweat on the farmer’s brow. The extra stroke of the sculptor’s chisel. The extra mile walked by the determined soul. Indeed, the little excess of effort poured into the chores of everyday life, crowning the ordinary with the diadem of the extraordinary,” I am not wrong. That is Messi, the leader who worked his way into the hearts of his people. The king who stopped to conquer.

The king is coming to town! The news caught fire. Leo, the son of Messi, is coming to town!! Everywhere is buzzing!!! Everyone waits with bated breath to see “the little man from Rosario, Sante Fe, who pitched up in heaven, climbed into a galaxy of his own, and shook hands with paradise, as he lifted his heart’s dearest desire, the World Cup, four years ago”.

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The journey to Auburn was on a smooth black road. Driving was a pleasure; no potholes, no police tollgates, or army arm-twisting checkpoints, no dirt, no fear of bandits or terrorists or armed robbers. My car ate up kilometres upon kilometres of tar, and suddenly I saw a little object drop from the open truck in front of me. It was a metal that looked like a padlock. The vehicle sped ahead, but its dropping sped towards me. In that arresting moment when all there was to do was to simply look, I heard a thud on my windshield, less than an inch above the wiper on the passenger side. The hit left an impact that looked like a bullet was trying to get in. It was an impact without an opening, like congealed blood covering a stab, leaving some lines of cracks.

The driver in the offending vehicle did not know a thing. It wasn’t his fault. It was an accident. My car had no camera. I can’t put it on him, though I saw the metal drop from his vehicle. If he denies the metal, I lose. How do I even begin to look for the metal? What if he owns up and says sorry? I won’t be able to bring myself to have him repair my car. I pondered all these thoughts. I let them slide and came to the conclusion that God was the ultimate protector, no matter what man does. Remember, I told you nothing was going to stop me from watching Messi, even if the whole of my windscreen shattered.

So, I journeyed on. My children did not drive with me. They drove in another car because we took off from different points. We talked intermittently along the way. They asked me for my Estimated Time of Arrival (ETA). I was six minutes ahead of them. Then my fuel signal went up. I veered into the next exit, thinking it led to a town. Behold, it was a link to another highway, with no gas station in sight. Quickly, I traced my way back to the Auburn highway and continued my journey. Shortly, I sighted a filling station. I drove in, relieved to find fuel and a place to take a leak. In less than two minutes, my children pulled up into the gas station as though they were monitoring me. Hugs. Pleasantries. Fuel. We all headed towards the temple to see Messi.

Auburn had never witnessed a mammoth crowd in its existence. It was like a pilgrimage. All the parks were filled. Federal cops, state cops, county cops and Auburn University security officials were on hand. All matted into the crowd in an unintimidating, but friendly way that exuded safety and service. The police matted into the crowd like ushers in a carnival, not bouncers in a concert.

Auburn University brimmed. Car parks were filled up, fans parked along the road in a single file, leaving a portion of the road for police, emergency services, etc. Thousands, including yours truly, parked far away from the stadium and embarked on an inevitable trek on the sidewalk. The last time I had a road walk in Nigeria was for one protest or another. But this walk was for pleasure, not pain. There was joy in the air. Vendors made quick money selling only one jersey, the Number 10 jersey of Messi. There was food, soda and beer for sale.

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Though I am a Jerusalem pilgrim, JP for short, it was Auburn that gave me a glimpse of the massive crowd that followed Jesus Christ when he preached during his 33 years of existence in a mortal body. Curiosity didn’t kill my cat, but being a journalist, I looked out for a squabble, altercation, or fight among the crowd; I found none. Everything seemed choreographed. Perfect. I trekked along with the crowd to Gate 16, where my children were waiting for me.

The game was billed to start by 7:30 pm, but, America being the summit of razzmatazz, there was so much fun lined up before the kick-off, with the crowd yelling and yelling nonstop. From outside the stadium, I thought the game had begun, only to discover that the players had not even filed out when I got into the stadium. America for show!

Soon, each team filed out; Argentina, without their little god. Nicolas Otamendi led Argentina out. The centre referee had a word with both captains, and the match got underway. For those expecting a drubbing, Iceland were third behind France and Ukraine in their World Cup qualifying group. And against the run of play, the first big chance of the game fell to Iceland, whose striker fluffed his lines in the fifth minute.

Argentina soon pegged Iceland back and took dominance, resulting in a ninth-minute left volley by Valentín Barco to score the opening goal from just outside the box. Then the song ‘Olé, Olé, Olé,’ rent the air. What is ‘Olè’? ‘Olè’ is a thief in the Yoruba language. In Spanish, however, ‘Olé’ means bravo or encore. La Albiceleste were dominating, and the partisan crowd were enjoying it. Before the half-hour mark, the crowd began to chant, “We want Messi.” Then the camera zoomed in on the small but mighty god on the bench, chatting with teammates. Fans went mad and started chanting “Messi, Messi, Messi”.

Argentina continued their dominance in the second half, but the Icelanders made up for their blunt attack by exhibiting tactical discipline in the midfield and defence. When Coach Scaloni made a couple of changes after the hour mark, the “We want Messi” chant boomed in the stadium. But Scaloni wasn’t going to bring on the GOAT simply because the fans were calling on him to do so. Messi had suffered muscle fatigue in his last match for Inter Miami, his club team in the MLS, and was subbed off.

So, Scaloni was going to introduce his most prized jewel with utmost caution, measuring the minutes and seconds Messi was going to play, because on Messi’s shoulders rests the hope of the Argentinian team to the FIFA World Cup, starting the next day. At the 67th minute, Argentina had a free kick right outside of Iceland’s 18-yard box. The free kick was in an area of the pitch fans worldwide call the ‘Messi area’. The spectators yelled for Messi, who was already warming up. They wanted him to come and do his thing.

But Scaloni was not to be hurried. He brought Messi on in the 70th minute, and the match came alive immediately. The attack became sharp and penetrating. Five minutes after he came on, Messi, crowded outside the centre-circle, gave a defence-splitting pass to Lautaro Martinez, who was brought down by goalkeeper Elías Rafn Ólafsson. Penalty!

Messi placed the ball on the spot, stood back, looked Ólafsson in the eye, and sent the ball through the middle, as the keeper went the wrong way. 2-0. Aside from the “Messi” chants, fans also performed ‘The Wave’ for their soccer idol. To perform this iconic crowd movement, adjacent groups of fans stand, raise their arms, and sit back down in quick succession, creating a visual effect of a rolling wave travelling continuously through the stands.

‘The Wave’ first emerged in North American sports arenas, such as at U.S. baseball and American football games in the late 1970s and 1980s, gaining global popularity during the 1986 World Cup in Mexico.

The fans were not done yet. As if on a cue, they switched on the lights of their phones, jumping and singing and chanting the name of the GOAT.

I’m sure Messi won thousands of converts that day. I mean spectators who were not primarily soccer-loving, but who came in company with soccer-loving fans. My children were formerly Ronaldo fans, but they couldn’t help jumping and yelling for the king when they saw him in his majesty.

In all the merriment, there was no ‘bigmanism’, no VIPs. Asians, blacks, whites, Latinos, Arabs, Jews, etc dissolved into one humanity. There was no siren, no pushing or shoving, everyone was equal. No unemployed youths were stamping their feet on the ground, hands up in the air, in total submission, for a few crispy currencies from the rich.

Everyone knows that if they misbehave, they won’t be sleeping at home later in the night. A young white man in the row in front of me came to the stadium with his two beautiful daughters. He heard my accent as I spoke with my children, and he asked where I was from in Africa. I said Nigeria. He said he had worked in Uganda, Zambia and Ghana, and that he gave birth to his younger daughter in Ghana. I asked him if he enjoyed Africa. He said yes, but that the sun was too much. “It’s like the Texas sun. Too hot!” he said, laughing. He asked me where I was from in Nigeria, and I told him the South-West. “Oh, that’s close to Ghana,” he said, revealing his familiarity with Africa.

People behave themselves in public because parents can call the police on you if you utter profanities in front of their children. Though the stadium was brimming with reckless abandon, the crowd knew the law and the limits of their freedom. You don’t say the ‘f’, ‘n’, and other prohibited words in public because parents and individuals can call the police.

In all of these, I looked at the effect one man could have on his country’s image. I looked at the effect of sport as a unifying tool for global harmony. I’m sure police officers, who witnessed the Messi spectacle in Auburn, would have a place of admiration for Argentina in their hearts and are more likely to treat Argentinians with respect.

Messi, the greatest, yet the humblest. Combining greatness with humility is what sets Messi apart from any sportsperson, dead or alive. He has never publicly uttered a word of pride all his life. This virtue cements his legacy, apart from his unparalleled creativity, vision, and genius. The accomplishments of Messi are the dreams of some of his rivals, like Ronaldo.

Messi, the Ultimate.

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

X: @Tunde_Odesola

Driving 756km to watch soccer god, Messi

Health

Don’t add lies to the terrorist horror in Oyo, By Farooq Kperogi

Published

1 week ago

June 6, 2026

Trends Admin

Farooq Kperogi

Don’t add lies to the terrorist horror in Oyo, By Farooq Kperogi

The kidnapping of schoolchildren and teachers in Oyo State is horrifying enough by itself. It does not need the embellishment of lies, half-truths, conjectures and opportunistic propaganda to make it more horrifying than it already is.

But that is precisely what appears to be happening with the viral, social-media-amplified list of “demands” allegedly made by the terrorist bandits who kidnapped schoolchildren and teachers in Oyo State.

According to the social media version of the story, the bandits have demanded four things as preconditions for releasing the innocent people in their captivity: one billion naira to be paid into an account in the Republic of Benin, the release of bandits supposedly being held in Agodi and Abolongo prisons, two Hilux vehicles and the amendment of Oyo State laws to introduce Sharia.

This list has travelled far and wide because it has all the elements that make rumors combustible in Nigeria. It involves money, foreign conspiracy, terrorism, prisons, Sharia and the implicit insinuation that some local Muslims must know more than they are saying. It is almost a perfect specimen of panic engineering.

The problem is that it has no firm evidentiary foundation. The abduction is, of course, real. So are the communal grief and the horrors people in Oyo and the Southwest are contending with now. But the four-point demand list that is now being hawked across social media as fact is not supported by any credible reporting.

The source of the social media-fueled four-point demand list appears to be a vague statement attributed to the Speaker of the Oyo State House of Assembly, Debo Ogundoyin. He was reported to have asked whether anyone would negotiate with terrorists if they asked for weapons, money or concessions on future laws of the land as part of their ransom.

That is a general, hypothetical-sounding formulation. But some people somewhere with a predetermined agenda sat down and chose to stretch this conjectural formulation from the Speaker as evidence of disclosure of a precise list of specific demands.

There is a world of difference between saying terrorists asked for “weapons, money or concessions on future laws” and saying they demanded “one billion naira into a Benin Republic account, two Hilux vehicles, release of detainees in Agodi and Abolongo prisons and the introduction of Sharia in Oyo State.” One is vague, perhaps even rhetorical. The other is specific, explosive and politically loaded. You cannot responsibly move from the first to the second without foolproof evidence.

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Even the few newspaper reports that published the more sensational version were cautious and guarded in their language. They said, “reports indicate,” “reportedly attributed” and “according to the report” without once mentioning any “report.” That is lazy journalism’s way of saying, “We have no facts for this story.”

But certain people on social media have laundered the uncertainty into certainty, the allegation into fact, the list as a means to attract and monetize eyeballs, and the rumor into a psychological weapon.

The Sharia claim is the most suspicious part of the whole thing. Where will the Sharia be implemented? In the classrooms from which the children were abducted? In the Old Oyo National Park where the homicidal, blood-stained criminals are believed to be hiding? In the kidnappers’ forest camps? Or across Oyo State through a ransom note from bandits? The absurdity should detain us before outrage overtakes our capacity for critical thought.

The demand is also historically and empirically incoherent. Bandits and terrorists (who, in my dictionary, are indistinct) have murdered Muslims in states where Sharia already exists. They have attacked mosques. They have killed imams while they are leading prayers in mosques during Ramadan, Islam’s holiest month. They have kidnapped Muslim women, Muslim children, Muslim clerics and Muslim farmers.

They have devastated Zamfara, Katsina, Sokoto, Kebbi, Niger, Kaduna and other Muslim-majority communities such as Kwara North. Just last week, these insensate beasts abducted the wives and children of the Emir of Yasikiru in my natal local government of Baruten. Not done, they also burned the emir’s palace. This happened only a few months after murdering nearly 300 people and abducting nearly 300 women and children, most of whom are Muslims, in neighboring Kaiama Local Government.

To suddenly believe that the same species of criminals has discovered the virtues of Sharia and are championing its enshrinement in Oyo State’s laws is to suspend judgment in the service of prejudice.

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The Benin Republic bank account story is also suspicious. Of course, no banking system is immune to criminal manipulation. Criminals use “mule accounts,” stolen identities and corrupt intermediaries everywhere. So, the existence of KYC and anti-money-laundering rules does not make the claim impossible. But it does make it evidentially demanding. If anyone claims that kidnappers asked for one billion naira to be paid into a named or unnamed Benin Republic account, the burden of proof should be higher than “according to reports.”

The danger of this rumor is not merely that it is false or unverified. It is that it has already acquired a social function. It is being used to suggest that Yoruba Muslims, especially those who have advocated the introduction of the civil aspects of Sharia to adjudicate issues like marriage and inheritance among Muslims, are somehow complicit in the crimes of these bandits.

It is also being used to imply that the abduction of Yoruba schoolchildren is part of an Islamic plot that local Muslims either endorse or secretly facilitate. This is how societies descend into self-sabotaging moral idiocy. Criminals commit crimes and innocent people who share a religion, ethnicity or language with the imagined identity of the criminals are made to bear the brunt of unjustified transferred aggression.

It bears stressing that Yoruba Muslims are not responsible for the abduction of schoolchildren in Oyo State. Muslim communities in Yorubaland are not accessories to banditry merely because a rumor says kidnappers demanded Sharia. The mere mention of Sharia in a viral post does not convert every Muslim in Oyo, Osun, Ogun or Lagos into a suspect. To argue otherwise is to accept the same collective guilt logic that has poisoned Nigeria’s intergroup relations for decades.

Terrorists murder Muslims, Christians, traditional worshippers and non-religious people. They murder Hausa, Fulani, Yoruba, Igbo, Tiv, Berom, Nupe, Baatonu and everyone else when doing so advances their greed, sadistic urges, murderous impulses or tactical objectives. They are not equal-opportunity humanists, of course. They often manipulate religion and ethnicity. They sometimes speak the language of faith while practicing the ethics of beasts. But their victims are not drawn from one religious community alone.

The fight against terrorism is weakened when we isolate innocent groups for demonization. It dissipates much-needed moral energy and produces enemies where allies are needed. It also encourages communities to hide behind siege mentalities instead of cooperating across religious and ethnic lines to expose criminals. The people who should be angry together are made to be angry at one another.

The people who kidnapped children in Oyo State are reprehensible, homicidal outlaws. The state must rescue the victims, punish the perpetrators, expose their collaborators and secure schools and forests. That is the task, and it is immense, urgent, ever-present and already morally overwhelming. It should not be complicated by people who are eager to graft their pre-existing animus onto other people’s pain.

Someone I discussed this issue with yesterday told me that the rumors of the list of demands are activated by an unusually heightened sense of vigilance. I get that. There is nothing wrong with vigilance. In fact, vigilance is now a condition for survival in Nigeria. But vigilance without verification can provoke self-annihilating hysteria and mob psychology.

The children and teachers in captivity deserve our full attention. Their families deserve empathy unpolluted by propaganda. Oyo State deserves security, not rumor-fed religious suspicion. Nigeria deserves a serious conversation about the collapse of state protection, the spread of kidnapping economies, the mass helplessness in the face of terror and the ungoverned spaces that have become refuge for terrorists and bandits.

What Nigeria does not need is another lie added to an already unbearable tragedy.