The first attack on the Mai Ido, a small settlement in Kachia, Kaduna State, northwestern Nigeria, started around 11 a.m. in April 2022. That morning, Rahmatu Aliyu and some relatives had travelled to a neighbouring village to pay a condolence visit to some friends who had lost loved ones to the wave of terror that engulfed many parts of Kachia. On their way back, they met a similar fate.
“We were lucky they just collected our phones and valuables and let us go that day,” she recounted.
It was the first time in her 50 years that Rahmatu had witnessed such an attack. But it was only the beginning. The violence returned again and again, haunting Mai Ido’s ten families, leaving them anxious and terrified.
Recently, the Kaduna State Governor, Uba Sani, claimed that some conflict-ridden areas, including Kachia, were “enjoying relative peace.” Still, Rahmatu and many other residents said the attacks persist. “After the first attack, we were so anxious and scared that we couldn’t eat or sleep in our houses,” she told HumAngle. “We went to the top of the nearest hill and stayed there till the next day when we were sure they were gone.”
It was Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, when Muslims observe a month-long fast. That night, however, no one in the village could bring themselves to break their fast.
According to research, survivors of armed conflict frequently suffer from traumatic stress, depression, anxiety, panic, and insecurity. The impact extends beyond mental distress—violence increases disability and mortality rates and raises the risk of mental disorders in affected regions.
The fear in Mai Ido was justified. That same evening, the terrorists returned to rustle their livestock. Rahmatu and her neighbours watched helplessly from their hiding place as their animals were carted away.
‘They were also recklessly shooting,” she recalled. “Their faces were unmasked, but we did not recognise any of them. The only thing I remember clearly is that each motorcycle carried at least three people, and most of them wore military khakis.”
Most men in Mai Ido were herders, and the women were milkmaids. However, the repeated attacks, especially cattle rustling, stripped them of their livelihoods, forcing families to flee. Many, including Rahmatu’s family, relocated to another settlement, only for the attackers to strike again, killing five people. In 2024, she and others moved to Kachia, which is about 30 km away from Mai Ido.
The lingering trauma
“Since that day, any loud noise makes me panic, especially if it wakes me up from sleep. I feel like they are coming back to attack us again,” Rahmatu said.
The repeated attacks and constant displacement have left her in a state of chronic anxiety and fear. What she is experiencing aligns with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), a mental health condition triggered by witnessing or experiencing life-threatening events. According to the U.S. National Library of Medicine, PTSD affects 4% of the global population, with 227 million adult war survivors worldwide suffering from it.
For Rahmatu, leaving her home did not end the war. It only deepened her distress.
“A few people stayed behind, but the terrorist murdered someone last Friday and also today,” she said. “There is no peace or happiness left for us; we are just struggling to survive.”
Before fleeing, Rahmatu’s life was very comfortable. She sold nono (a locally fermented yoghurt) and fura (millet balls), while her husband traded cattle, travelling across the country for business. Having lived in a small settlement like Mai Ido all her life, adjusting to Kachia—a much larger town—has been overwhelming.
The attacks have also severely impacted the dairy trade in northern Nigeria, with insecurity and climate change causing a decline in milk production. For Rahmatu, the effect has been deeply personal.
“My life feels suffocating where I am now. I am unable to continue with my business, and my husband struggles to find work. When he gets a little money, he orders and resells charcoal,” she said.
Rahmatu’s husband sells a bag of charcoal for ₦2500, far from enough to sustain the family.
Studies have shown that lower income is associated with poorer mental health. Research from ScienceDirect indicates that people with financial instability experience higher levels of anxiety and depression due to their inability to afford basic needs or feel in control of their lives.
“I wish someone could help, even if it’s with proper capital to start our businesses since we have already lost our homes and everything we owned,” she said.
Neglected
Like many displaced people in Nigeria, Rahmatu has received no mental or financial support from the government or aid organisations. Research shows that forcibly displaced people experience higher rates of anxiety, depression, PTSD, and other mental conditions than others. Yet, despite making up about 1% of the world’s population, they remain underrepresented in mental health research.
In 2020, the International Organization for Migration (IOM), a United Nations’ organisation working towards humane and orderly migration, reportedly provided mental health support for 713,000 displaced people across northeastern Nigeria, ranging from psychological first aid, counselling and specialised mental health services. However, by December 2023, Nigeria had 3,397,531 internally displaced persons—and many, like Rahmatu, had received no support at all.
Efforts have been made in some areas. In 2019, the World Health Organization and the Borno State Government created a programme covering 41 health facilities in 10 accessible local government areas to provide mental health support. The United Nations Development Programme, in collaboration with the Peacebuilding Fund, are also trying to offer similar solutions for victims of conflict in some parts of Kaduna.
However, for those in crisis, these efforts have barely scratched the surface in the northwestern state. Rahmatu remains unfamiliar with the concept of mental health, and nobody ever asked her how the experiences affected her.
“We have just been left on our own. Life feels pointless and hard, and we are just trying our best to keep living,” she told HumAngle.
A village lost to terror
The remaining residents of Mai Ido have now fled. After repeated attacks, the terrorists turned to arson, burning down homes and food supplies.
“They were not really burning things before,” Rahmatu said. “But later, when people ran away, they started setting houses on fire—out of spite.”
Even before she left, the violence had already reached devastating levels. A neighbour and her father-in-law were kidnapped, with the attackers demanding a motorbike and ₦5 million for their release. Such ransom demands were common, straining families who could barely afford to feed themselves.
Even farming became a dangerous endeavour. Farmers feared being robbed or kidnapped, forcing them to abandon their fields. The economic devastation has led to an even bigger mental health crisis.
The closest thing to help that Rahmatu has ever seen is the occasional appearance of military personnel after an attack. But their presence is temporary and does little to prevent further violence—or ease the suffering of those left behind.
In April 2022, Mai Ido, a settlement in Kachia, Kaduna State, Nigeria, was first attacked by terrorists, marking the beginning of repeated violence that led to anxiety and terror among its residents, including Rahmatu Aliyu.
These attacks, particularly cattle rustling, devastated the livelihoods of the herders and milkmaids, forcing families to flee repeatedly. Despite claims of peace in conflict-ridden areas by the Kaduna State Governor, residents like Rahmatu experienced ongoing violence, including livestock theft and arson, which worsened their mental distress.
Rahmatu’s family, once comfortable in Mai Ido, is now struggling in Kachia due to continuous displacement and loss of income, emphasizing her financial and emotional toll. Like many displaced Nigerians, Rahmatu received no government or aid support, and the lack of mental health services compounds her PTSD symptoms, leaving her feeling neglected and trapped. While initiatives exist to support victims of conflict, the residents of northwestern Nigeria, including those of Mai Ido, still face significant gaps.
The village of Mai Ido is now deserted, its residents having fled due to ongoing ransom demands, burning of homes, and food shortages.