Three weeks after 42 pupils were snatched from their classrooms in Mussa, a remote town in Borno State’s Askira-Uba Local Government Area, I asked a friend if she had heard about it. She stared blankly. She had no idea. Among the abducted were toddlers, some as young as two and four years old. The same day, armed men stormed schools in Oyo State’s Oriire Local Government Area, kidnapping children and beheading a teacher and one student. The nation erupted in outrage. Social media exploded. The President dispatched a high-level delegation. But for the children of Borno? Near silence.
This is not about ranking tragedies. Every stolen child is a wound that should never heal. But when two abductions happen on the same day, and one vanishes from public consciousness while the other dominates headlines, we must ask why. The answer is uncomfortable, layered, and deeply Nigerian.
Geography plays a cruel role. Oyo is a two-hour drive from Lagos, the nerve center of Nigeria’s media and influence. Reporters, cameras, and Twitter voices are concentrated in the South-West. Askira-Uba lies in southern Borno, a day’s journey from Maiduguri on roads that are often impassable, with patchy network coverage and the constant threat of ambush. When journalists cannot reach a story, the story dies. It fades into the static of a region already numbed by years of violence.
Borno has seen this before. Since 2014, over 1,000 students have been abducted in the North-East. Chibok, Damasak, Gwoza, Buni Yadi – the names blur into a grim litany. Some newsrooms may have made a brutal calculation: another school abduction in Borno? It barely registers as news. In Oyo, the novelty of insecurity striking the South-West triggered middle-class anxiety and immediate political pressure. In Borno, it was just another entry in a decade-long war.
The government’s response underscored the disparity. President Tinubu sent his Chief of Staff, the Defence Minister, and the National Security Adviser to Oyo. For Askira-Uba, there was no presidential delegation. Governor Babagana Zulum visited, ordered the school closed and relocated, but the federal machinery remained silent. This was not a deliberate media blackout, but a reflection of how proximity and political pressure shape official attention. When violence hits the President’s home region, kinsmen and governors reach Aso Rock faster. In Borno, the response is managed through military briefings and familiar refrains about ongoing operations.
Nigeria operates two media realities. Lagos-Ibadan-Abuja sets the national agenda. Maiduguri-Damaturu-Yola reports, but rarely drives it. Northern digital voices are fragmented by language, more active on Facebook and Hausa radio than on Twitter. They are often drowned out. So while OyoAbduction trended globally, Askira-Uba became just another headline: “Gunmen abduct pupils in Borno.”
Editors will not say it openly, but scale, symbolism, and novelty dictate coverage. Five children in Oyo means insecurity has reached the South-West. Five children in Borno means insecurity continues in the North-East. One threatens a new frontier; the other confirms an old war. It is not that northern lives matter less, but that their loss has been normalized. After Chibok, some girls are still missing. After Dapchi, Leah Sharibu remains captive. Communities have learned that noise sometimes gets hostages killed. They choose quiet negotiation over public advocacy.
But silence has consequences. When the country forgets, the government feels less pressure. It becomes easier to look the other way. The disparity in official response is not just about politics or media bias. It is about a nation so fractured along multiple fault lines that even grief cannot unite us. In Nigeria, some lives appear more important than others.
In a separate development, police rescued the sister of former Power Minister Adegoke Adelabu after 72 hours in captivity. The swift operation raises uncomfortable questions: Would the response have been as thorough if the family were not influential? The abduction appeared to be an urban affair, but the police have not profiled the abductors. The public deserves to know who they are.
For the children of Askira-Uba, the silence continues. They remain in the bush, exposed to the elements, while the nation debates. It is a silence that speaks volumes about who we are.
