Gunmen stormed three churches in Kaduna state's Kajuru Local Government Area on Sunday, abducting 177 worshippers during services—the latest mass kidnapping to expose the widening gap between official denials and communities forced to fend for themselves.
The youngest victim is Salvation Idris, five years old. The oldest is Augustina Matthew, 71. Entire families were taken: the Amos family lost 13 members, the Jonathan family 12, the Markus family nine.
When police denied it happened, the community published the names.
Muhammad Rabiu, Kaduna's police commissioner, dismissed the incident as "falsehood spread by conflict entrepreneurs," according to The Cable. He challenged anyone reporting the abductions to "provide names and details of the victims."
Three days later, Sebastine Barde, president of the Adara Development Association, did exactly that: he released all 177 names.
The pattern is grimly familiar. Weeks before this attack, the same community paid ₦2.6 million in ransom to secure the release of 20 residents. They negotiated, they paid, they documented. The state denied, delayed, obstructed.
Christian Solidarity Worldwide-Nigeria reported that security operatives blocked its fact-finding team from accessing the community—despite proper identification.
Former presidential candidate Peter Obi condemned the abduction as "yet another unfortunate consequence of a nation where insecurity has been allowed to grow, unchecked."
But the crisis in Kaduna and across Nigeria's Middle Belt is not about absence—it's about choice. Communities are left to self-organize security, negotiate ransoms, and bury their own. Meanwhile, officials deny what everyone knows to be true.
