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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Opinion

Osun election: Àtàọ́ja should stop running joro-jara-joro

Published

7 days ago

July 24, 2026

Trends Admin

The Àtàọ́ja of Osogboland, Oba Jimoh Olanipekun

Osun election: Àtàọ́ja should stop running joro-jara-joro

Tunde Odesola

(Published in the PUNCH, on Friday, July 24, 2026)

It’s midmorning in Àtàọ́ja’s palace. The sun beamed a friendly smile, quite different from the furious furnace it was preparing for the afternoon. As gently as the breeze caressed the trees in the palace, two pigeons landed on silent feet in the courtyard. They were on a joint mission. To scavenge. Looking right and left, up and down, beaks at work, wings at the ready, the bouncy birds pecked food in the palace soil. For the male and female pigeons, danger lies not in flying; it lies in walking. Sycophancy walks naked on the palace grounds.

Even the king’s kààakí was caught unawares. It couldn’t herald what was about to happen because everything occurred at a dizzying speed. The Àtàọ́ja, Oba Jimoh Olanipekun, ran out from the inner recess of the palace, his agbada òfì billowing in the Osogbo wind; kira-kita, kira-kita, the king bolted like Usain Bolt. Where is the king running to?

In his breakneck flight, Àtàọ́ja Osogbo forgot to wear his neck beads! I-m-a-g-i-n-e! But he luckily remembered to wear his cap. I suspect it was ancestral forefathers known as ‘àwọn alálẹ̀’ who reminded him to wear his shoes. Otherwise, the king might have appeared out of sorts at the state government event he was fleeing to.

Thankfully, when Àtàọ́ja Olanipekun reached his destination, he still had some breath in his lungs. He sat down, resplendent in white and blue agbada, clenched the microphone and confessed in Yoruba, “Ẹ̀ ri pé ń ò kólẹ̀kẹ̀ ọ́rùn? Mo sáré dé hin ni. Tí a bà á wá, wọ́n á ní, ‘Háà, kò mọ̀ le bọ́ta mọ́!’ Gbogbo ohun tí wọ́n ń sọ là ń gbọ́.”

I’ll translate the king’s speech in English: “Can’t you see that I am not wearing my royal beads? (It is because) I ran to this event. Because if I did not come, they would say, ‘Ha! He cannot come out again!’ We hear everything that they (opposition) are saying. I will not stop eulogising Adeleke Jackson Nurudeen for his excellent performance in Osun State.”

Unfortunately, Olanipekun thinks that by singing himself hoarse on the praise of ebullient Governor Ademola Adeleke, he is giving the re-election bid of the Asiwaju of Ede a boost. No, he is not. If he was, the apex socio-cultural association of Osogbo sons and daughters, the Osogbo Progressive Union, would not openly criticise him for publicly canvassing support for Adeleke and attacking the opposition on many occasions.

The penis of the bird does not dangle outside; it is tucked inside the bird, says a Yoruba proverb. This proverb preaches decorum. If the king had been decorous like other Osun kings, who, though, have their favourites among the governorship candidates, but who have kept their support within the ambit of decency, the OPU wouldn’t have embarrassed him with a public disclaimer.

The Timi of Ede, Oba Muniru Adesola Lawal, had been an exemplar in his support for Adeleke, who hails from his domain. The Timi had been regal: zero aggression, zero hate words, zero campaign against other parties. Oba Timi has shown emotional intelligence while fully supporting Adeleke, his son. That is how to be a father to all subjects. Of course, if Timi was blindfolded at the polling booth on election day, his royal thumb would still locate Accord Party on the ballot, whereas some carricachop from another land is claiming to know Ọ̀ṣọ́ more than Ọ̀ṣọ́’s mother.

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It’s undignifying for the elderly to run helter-skelter, says a Yoruba proverb distilled in these words, “Gbàmí, gbàmí ò ye àgbà.” Another proverb that cautions against kùrùkẹrẹ movement says, “Ẹní wọ bàtà ẹsẹ̀ òsì méjì, ó níbití ó ń lọ.”

The importance of royal objects such as crown, beads and staff is interrogated in the seminal work, “Yoruba: Nine Centuries of African Art and Thought,” written by Henry J. Drewal et al, and published by The Centre for African Art, New York, in 1989. Similarly, the royal totems – crown, beads and staff – are also a subject of scholarship in Rowland Abiodun’s “Yoruba Art and Language: Seeking the African in African Art,” published by Cambridge University Press in 2014.

Drewal and Abiodun aver that in Yoruba thought, the crown, beads and staff are sacred totems that signify divine authority, spiritual protection, leadership, ancestral continuity, and the king’s covenant with the people and the gods.

In both books, the crown is regarded as a sacred emblem containing the spiritual essence that connects the present with the past. Royal beads signify dignity and prestige, abundance and prosperity, and spiritual energy. The staff is an instrument of authority, justice, fairness, and protection.

Joro-jara-joro is an onomatopoeic word that means helter-skelter. Onomatopoeic words are words that sound like their meanings. Examples: buzz, hiss, slap, sleep, twinkle, jab, splash, tear, bang, etc. Joro-jara-joro was amplified by Afrobeat creator Fela Anikulapo-Kuti in his 1976 song, “Zombie”, which mocks Nigerian soldiers’ blind allegiance to dictatorship.

In “Zombie”, Fela caricatures Nigerian soldiers as unthinking brutes whose sole skill is to chaotically rove joro-jara-joro against the masses, like zombies on the mission to “go and kill, go and quench, go and die”. Fela sings, “Zombie way na one way; joro-jara-joro/No break no jam, no sense; Na joro-jara-joro….”

There would have been no reason to write this article because I had made my intention clear enough in an earlier article entitled, “Governor Adeleke and a tale of three Àtàọ́jas,” published in The PUNCH on Friday, July 17, 2026. My preoccupation in the article was to call the attention of the monarch to some of his unkingly utterances. My intention wasn’t political. But an insinuation, especially from some irritating ‘e-rats’ and ‘data boys’, who attempted to paint my intervention in political colours, made this sequel inevitable.

In line with their zombie mentality, a particular ‘e-rat’ along with his fellow ‘data boys’ accused me of meddlesomeness and maintained that it lies within the rights of the Àtàọ́ja to express support for any candidate of his choice.

Clearly, the accusation of meddlesomeness was borne out of dripping ignorance. If not, an enlightened mind would see that the actions of the Àtàọ́ja diminish his traditional stool that represents the Yoruba worldview of unity, morality, justice, fairness and equity. The allegation that the Àtàọ́ja had the right to support any candidate of his choice is valid to the extent that such a right must not violate the principles of fair play, rule of law and decency.

By openly calling the opposition names in a viral video, did the Àtàọ́ja adhere to the principles of fairness and tolerance? By his vitriolic speeches, was he not stoking the embers of strife? If I could be provided with the evidence of one Osun traditional ruler who had been as politically intolerant as the Àtàọ́ja, against the ruling party, I shall tender an apology in my next article.

In one of the bad-taste videos, the Àtàọ́ja arrogantly disclosed how he rejected wise counsel by a concerned citizen, who told him the danger in his public support for Adeleke over other candidates. His words, “One of my people asked me why I am so audacious to the extent of overly supporting one candidate (Adeleke) over others; what if he doesn’t win?”

The king answered the worried citizen. Àtàọ́ja opened his mouth and played god, declaring with finality: “He will win.” Olanipekun’s divisive posture is most unbecoming of an ọba, whose palace should be an abode to seek conflict resolution by his subjects, including politicians. Àtàọ́ja should not be the epicentre of conflict.

In the recent past, I have ventilated my views on the actions of the Ooni of Ife, Oba of Lagos, Apetu of Ipetumodu, Alapomu of Apomu, Oluwo of Iwo, and Emir of Ilorin, among other traditional rulers. I strongly believe that it behoves the citizen to hold traditional rulers to the highest standards because the traditional institution embodies the ethos and pathos of a race.

For ‘e-rats’ and ‘data boys’, whose stock-in-trade is abuse, there is a lesson in the conduct of a member of the House of Representatives, Bamidele Salam. Salam is my friend of over 20 years. Though we have had moments of sharp disagreement, emotions never boiled over to name-calling.

One day, BS, that’s Salam’s nickname, saw my Facebook post on Governor Adeleke. In the post, I advised the governor against excessive dancing and to shear off some personalities who were following him about like houseflies following the wound on a dog’s ears. In the Facebook post about three years ago, I cautioned that the image of the governor dancing to the faintest of drumbeats amid a retinue of hangers-on was not good.

As soon as BS saw the post, he reached out to me on the phone and said, “Ọ̀rẹ́, ọ̀rọ̀ ò rí bẹ́yẹn o. Your post does not reflect the great work Adeleke is doing in Osun…” I smiled from the other end of the phone because Bamidele was pushing Adeleke’s narrative while ignoring the kernel of my Facebook post. When I insisted on the need for the governor to do better in regard to dancing, Bamidele said every man was a work in progress, including me. Bamidele’s example is how to engage intelligently; a lesson government and opposition ‘e-rats’ and ‘data boys’ should learn.

The demarcation between a ruling party and an opposition party is nebulous. Practically speaking, ideological philosophies among Nigeria’s political parties are nonexistent. This is why Àtàọ́ja should be careful in his untraditional support for Adeleke. The Adeleke he sees in the Accord Party today could be in the All Progressives Congress tomorrow. Olanipekun should not burn the bridge of friendship today because he might need to use the bridge tomorrow.

This is the lesson Àtàọ́ja Olanipekun should see in his recent visit to President Bola Tinubu in Abuja. When politicians do their thing, a respectable ọba should maintain a dignified distance. He should not be in the fray.

Are you shocked that Kabiyesi Olanipekun was in Aso Rock a few days ago? Yes, he was. As a guest of President Bola Tinubu. This is the story of how the monarch used one stone to kill two birds. Àtàọ́ja’s daughter was graduating from the Law School in Abuja. An influential Osun State indigene, worried by the king’s intolerant posture against the Osun All Progressives Congress, had arranged for the king to meet with the President. It took some time for the king to meet the President.

During their meeting, the President expressed worry over Àtàọ́ja’s political remarks against the APC in Osun, urging him to allow for a level playing field. I gathered that Àtàọ́ja told the President that he was sold on the Adeleke ticket. Personally, I do not fault Àtàọ́ja’s position – supporting a candidate of his choice; it’s his brickbat approach that is reproachable.

If Tinubu could open his doors to Olanipekun and sit down to dialogue with him, who says there cannot be a dialogue between Tinubu and Adeleke? And if a dialogue occurs between the two and an agreement is struck, would the king not feel uneasy relating with his ‘enemies’ in the APC? The king should always spare a thought for the flip side of things. That is what the wise do.

“Àgbàlagbà kìí ṣe lángbá, lángbá,” is a cautionary proverb for reckless elders. The pit of animosity must not be dug too deep because the digger might fall into it. A word is enough for the wise.

Kabiyesi Àtàọ́ja, kara o le o.

///

Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com

Facebook: @Tunde Odesola

X: @Tunde_Odesola

Osun election: Àtàọ́ja should stop running joro-jara-joro

Opinion

UI, UCH and the Question of Inclusive Leadership

Published

1 week ago

July 23, 2026

Trends Admin

Saudi-based Nigerian Islamic scholar, Mallam Ibrahim Agunbiade

UI, UCH and the Question of Inclusive Leadership

By Mallam Ibrahim Agunbiade
agunbiadeib@gmail.com

July 23, 2026

The appointment of Professor Peter Olamakinde Olapegba as the 14th substantive Vice-Chancellor of the University of Ibadan (UI), effective November 1, 2026, is deserving of congratulations. I wish him a successful tenure as he takes on the responsibility of leading Nigeria’s premier university.

The reported competitive process through which he emerged—following the assessment of eight candidates and the shortlisting of five for the final stage—is commendable, provided it was conducted transparently and strictly on merit.

However, this development also raises an important question that deserves honest and constructive discussion: When will a qualified Muslim have the opportunity to emerge as Vice-Chancellor of the University of Ibadan?

This question is not directed at Professor Olapegba or his Christian faith. If he emerged as the best candidate through a fair and transparent process, then he deserves the support of all Nigerians. My concern is whether qualified Nigerians of different faiths enjoy equal opportunities to compete for the highest leadership positions in our national institutions.

The same question applies to the University College Hospital (UCH), Ibadan, where a change in leadership is expected in the coming months. It is therefore time for stakeholders to begin constructive conversations about the appointment of the next Chief Medical Director (CMD).

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I believe that qualified and competent Muslim professionals should be encouraged and given a fair opportunity to compete for the position. If the best candidate happens to be a Muslim, there should be no hesitation in appointing that individual. Equally, if the best candidate is a Christian or belongs to another faith, the same principle of merit should apply.

This is not a call for religious quotas or preferential treatment. Rather, it is a call for a level playing field.

A Muslim should not be appointed simply because he is a Muslim, just as a Christian should not be appointed simply because he is a Christian. Leadership must be based on competence, integrity, experience, and the capacity to deliver.

However, merit can only be meaningful when every qualified candidate has a genuine opportunity to compete without bias or discrimination.

The University of Ibadan and UCH are national institutions that belong to all Nigerians. Their leadership should therefore reflect the principles of fairness, inclusiveness, equal opportunity, and merit.

As Professor Olapegba prepares to assume office, I congratulate him once again and wish him a successful tenure. At the same time, I believe this is the right moment to ask whether our leadership selection processes truly provide equal opportunities for all qualified Nigerians.

As the succession process at UCH approaches, I urge stakeholders to ensure that no qualified candidate is excluded—consciously or unconsciously—because of religious identity. Let the process be transparent, competitive, and firmly anchored on merit.

I am not asking for a Muslim to be appointed simply because he is a Muslim. I am asking that no qualified Muslim should be denied the opportunity to lead simply because of his religious identity.

The same principle should apply to every Nigerian, regardless of faith or background.

Let merit prevail. Let competence prevail. Let fairness prevail.

UI, UCH and the Question of Inclusive Leadership

Opinion

Case for replicating the Oyo kidnap-rescue template nationwide, By Farooq Kperogi

Published

2 weeks ago

July 18, 2026

Trends Admin

Farooq Kperogi

Case for replicating the Oyo kidnap-rescue template nationwide, By Farooq Kperogi

Because human beings are prone to perceive nonexistent patterns, connections and intentional design even in random or unrelated events, a cognitive tendency called apophenia, and because Nigerians have an enduring and justified mistrust of government, I have seen many people question whether the abduction and rescue of pupils and teachers from three schools in the Yawota and Ahoro-Esinele communities of Oriire Local Government Area in Oyo State really happened.

The mistrust is legitimate, but I find the apophenic leap from mistrust to the conclusion that the entire episode was staged a little unsettling.

I am convinced by the available evidence that pupils and teachers were indeed abducted by despicably homicidal terrorists. I have seen no credible evidence that any government paid criminals to stage the spectacle of an abduction and rescue.

Contemporary reporting documented the May 15 attacks, identified abducted children and teachers, interviewed their relatives and recorded the killing of two teachers before the surviving captives regained their freedom.

Terrorist groups have been abducting and killing innocent students for more than a decade and have never needed prompting from politicians to do so. Attributing their heinous crimes to sponsorship by rival factions within the Nigerian political class unintentionally exculpates these scoundrels and converts murderers into mere instruments of political intrigue.

That said, there is no complete clarity about how the pupils and teachers regained their freedom. Government critics have alleged, without evidence, that a huge ransom was paid as a precondition for their release. As I will show later, I doubt this.

But the government’s version of how the pupils and teachers were rescued is not entirely coherent, either.

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The Presidency initially described the rescue as the outcome of a successful joint military, police and intelligence operation. It said eight suspected kidnappers were arrested, other members of the group were killed and neither ransom nor a prisoner exchange was involved. The abductors had allegedly demanded the release of a detained terrorist leader, but the government said he remained in custody and was being prosecuted.

The Army’s subsequent account was less dramatic than the Presidency’s early language suggested. It did not say troops stormed the camp and physically extracted the hostages during a firefight. Instead, it said a month-long intelligence operation identified the group’s leaders, informants, logistical networks and hideouts. According to the Army, arrests disrupted the group and exerted pressure that “ultimately led the terrorist group to unconditionally release the pupils and teachers.”

In a July 10 interview with Tinubu-owned TVC News, former DSS operative Seyi Adetayo offered a more specific but as yet uncorroborated explanation of the operational modalities of the rescue. He claimed that government security operatives identified and detained some kidnappers’ mothers, wives, children and other associates, sent recordings of those arrests to the abductors and combined coercive pressure with intelligence operations. He also claimed that the terrorists were warned that harm to their captives would bring harm to their relatives.

Based on the available evidence, the most defensible interpretation of what happened is that this was an unusually collaborative, intelligence-driven and coercively negotiated release. It was probably not a conventional battlefield rescue. Nor does it appear to have been a ransom-propelled release.

This actually fills me with hope. It means the government may have found a potentially effective template for disrupting terrorist networks and rescuing their victims without exposing abductees to the indiscriminate violence of a frontal military assault.

But the part of the template worth replicating is its lawful core: interagency cooperation, careful intelligence gathering, the identification of terrorist networks, the disruption of their supply routes and the arrest of culpable collaborators.

There would be no greater evidence for the truth of the government’s account of the Oriire rescue than the successful replication of its methods in unresolved mass-abduction cases nationwide.

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The February 3-4 terrorist assault on Woro and neighboring Nuku communities in Kaiama Local Government Area of Kwara State not only killed scores of people but also led to a mass abduction. UNICEF reported that around 176 women, including pregnant women, and children were kidnapped from Woro.

More than five months later, the victims have not been released, according to the latest public reports. The terrorists have released videos showing women and small children appealing desperately for intervention. They, too, need the collaborative intelligence-gathering energies that security agencies deployed in Oyo.

On May 15, suspected militants abducted 42 children from Mussa Primary and Junior Secondary School and surrounding homes in Askira-Uba Local Government Area of Borno State. Some of the abductees were extremely young. According to the latest available reporting, all 42 remain missing.

There was a separate school attack in Lassa town in the same local government area in Borno on June 29. Gunmen attacked Government Day Secondary School while students were taking examinations. Eight people were rescued, but 36 students and one staff member remain captive. The students comprised 25 girls and 11 boys.

On June 7, in Magamin Diddi village in Maradun Local Government Area of Zamfara State, bandits reportedly invited villagers to what was presented as a peace meeting and then abducted them. The police confirmed that 39 people were taken, although community estimates were as high as 50. The kidnappers reportedly demanded ₦125 million and released some captives to communicate the demand. There has been no authoritative public account of the remaining captives’ release.

Nor should the passage of time cause older victims to disappear from the national conscience. Eighty-nine of the Chibok schoolgirls abducted in 2014 remain officially unaccounted for. Their families have endured more than a decade of promises, occasional discoveries and prolonged uncertainty.

There are many more cases than I have the space to chronicle in this column. Security forces presumably have records of mass abductions, including many that never made the national news. Yet Nigeria has developed a disturbing ritual in which outrage follows an abduction, officials promise decisive action and public attention eventually moves elsewhere while families remain imprisoned in terrifyingly crippling uncertainty.

The true test of the Oyo operation is not the applause it generated after one dramatic success but the number of forgotten captives its methods can bring home. If its intelligence model worked as the government says it did, it should become a national operational doctrine rather than a self-contained public-relations trophy.

Replicating it in Woro, Mussa, Lassa, Magamin Diddi and other communities would simultaneously rescue imperiled citizens, restore public faith in the capacity of the government to perform its primary duty and begin to extirpate a kidnapping economy that has destroyed communal peace and individual peace of mind across Nigeria. Until that happens, Oyo remains an encouraging breakthrough, but not yet a proven national template.