The abduction of 276 girls from a Government Girls Secondary School in Chibok, Borno State, arrived as a fright on a school night. In Nigeria, various households observe different traditions, including the practice of watching the 9 p.m. NTA (Nigeria Television Authority) news broadcasts, which serve as a means of communicating information to Nigerian citizens. On that day, a woman wearing a blouse with a neatly tied knot spoke with such resounding clarity that it shocked the entire nation. April 15, 2014, became a monumental landmark in Nigerian history. The irony of the situation lies in its timing.
The students were abducted while sitting for their physics examinations, a pursuit for academic excellence that stood in direct opposition to the ideology of the Boko Haram insurgency. At the time, for those of us watching from the relative safety of our homes, the school walls were assumed to be impenetrable sanctuaries, as was the deep belief that students remain non-bargaining tools. As a result, the Chibok incident served as a representation of the violation of an unspoken contract between the Nigerian state and its citizens.
However, the ages of those girls contributed to the frightening urgency of the news. By the next day, people were buzzing with the news, particularly at the school I attended. A classmate had brought a newspaper where the headline was framed with a picture of weeping parents, and the hashtag #BringBackOurGirls was plainly displayed at the top. However, as we discussed it, I hadn’t realised that this ‘news’ was already old. I hadn’t even known that it required a concerted outcry from prominent women to force the administration of then President Goodluck Jonathan to acknowledge the gravity of the problem. The historical impact of this news doesn’t just lie in the tragedy itself. It revealed a precedent of state paralysis, a pattern of strategic denial on the part of the government that delayed the government's timely response.
Suddenly, I recalled that the initial report I heard about this incident was merely a recount of what had initially happened and a correction of the initial, smaller numbers they had first reported. The government was slow to respond, especially during a time when a quick response would have been better. The delay gave the insurgency an opportunity to escape, and by the time the fact-finding committee was established in May 2014, the trail had already grown cold. The report from the retired brigadier general, Mr. Sabo, noting the lingering doubts on how such a massive raid was possible, was a shocking reminder of the government’s negligence.
Hannatu Musawa stated in her article that this incident has a dangerous implication for every Nigerian, going further to explain that we are setting a dangerous precedent if we allow this incident to fade away. But it's too late for that. Emboldened by their success, the Boko Haram insurgency was able to capture Gwoza as well as raze Baga, a town in the northeastern part of Nigeria, leaving a trail of destruction that is visible even on satellite images.
They also mirrored Chibok’s haunting precision in the Dapchi incident, where 110 girls were kidnapped in Yobe state. These events suggest that the insurgency didn’t just operate with brute force; they exploited the vacuum left by a retreating administration. Governor Ibrahim Gaidam's allegation that the Nigerian Army had withdrawn from a military checkpoint just hours before the Dapchi raid emphasised this theme. This instilled a numbing fear in many citizens, especially those in the northern parts of Nigeria. I, for one, was led to believe this recurring incident was a statement from the Boko Haram insurgency, intended to remind us that they could target our education and our safety at will and the government would be unable to stop them.
The poignant moment was the global convergence of two vanishing acts: the abduction of the Chibok girls and the disappearance of the Malaysia Airlines flight MH370. I saw the scalding comparison on my dad’s phone and, in my naïve optimism, used the missing plane as a yardstick for finding the girls. Because if they could find such a massive plane in the vast ocean, the girls who were still in the country would be easily found. However, the failure to find either served as a catalyst for a profound end to my naïve optimism. The realisation settled in, recognising that certain people, specifically those of the marginalised and displaced, could indeed be erased without immediate consequences. From the public outcry to the compliant exhaustion of the citizen, the psychosocial response became a mechanism where the citizen shifts from an active protest to a numbing acceptance. Yet, the global eyes were on us; even Michelle Obama had posted a photograph holding a sign with the #BringBackOurGirls hashtag on her official X (Twitter).
As the years passed without full accountability, the tragedy was relegated from a national emergency to a historical footnote, particularly among those who were not personally affected. This erosion of public memory is probably the most damaging result of the decade. As Musawa pointed out, while fear is an understandable response to the terror, the normalisation of that fear is unacceptable for the health of a democracy. There is always courage and power in a voice that stands up to lead the people.
