It was almost 6 p.m. on the evening of Wednesday, Dec. 24.
Makinta Bukar had finished attending to a customer when he heard the Islamic call for prayer from a nearby mosque, signalling the closure of business for the day. He performed ablution, picked up the food items he had bought earlier, locked his shop, and headed to the Al-Adum Jummat Mosque in Gamboru Market, Maiduguri, northeastern Nigeria.
It was a routine he had followed for years.
A few shops away, Suleiman Zakariya was also closing up. Alongside a friend known simply as Manager, he walked towards the same mosque.
The three men met outside the mosque and chatted briefly. Makinta and Suleiman went in through the front door and occupied the front row, while Manager followed through the back door and stayed a few rows behind them.
Then prayer began.
Moments later, a sudden loud sound exploded in the middle of the mosque.
“I thought it was an electric spark,” Makinta recalled. “I ran out immediately as I was close to the exit.” After a few steps, he collapsed. “That was when I noticed the blood on my trousers. I tried standing up but felt a sharp pain.”
Suleiman, standing just behind the Imam, could not escape as quickly.
“The blast threw me forward,” he recalled. “I sustained injuries on my legs and waist. The debris pierced through my two legs. There was dust everywhere. You could not see anything. The sound was so loud that it deafened my right ear. I still cannot hear with it.”
Manager, who was praying close to the centre of the mosque where the explosion occurred, did not survive.
“He was blown apart,” Suleiman said. “It was only his right arm that was identified this morning through his wristwatch.”
A familiar violence returns
The explosion triggered panic across the area and people ran in all directions.
As the confusion spread and the sound of the blast quietened, residents rushed towards the scene. Some tried to help the wounded; others searched desperately for friends and relatives. Security operatives and ambulances soon arrived.
“They put me and other victims into their vehicle and drove us to the hospital,” Makinta recalled. Some were taken to the Maiduguri Specialist Hospital, others to the University of Maiduguri Teaching Hospital.
Police authorities later said five people were killed and at least 35 were injured. But survivors dispute that number.
“None of those praying in the middle survived,” Salisu Tahir, another survivor, who prayed in the last row, said. He had prayed regularly at the mosque for nearly two years. “The mosque can take more than 100 people,” he added. “That day, it was full,” Salisu noted that about 15 worshippers could make up a row.
Others who were praying outside, on the verandah and in the open air, were also struck by debris. “The blast reached them, too,” Suleiman noted.
When HumAngle visited the mosque, blood stains still marked the walls. Footwear and caps, left behind in the rush to escape, lay scattered across the floor.
The explosion reopened old wounds in a city still trying to heal.
At press time, no terrorist organisation operating in the region has claimed responsibility, and authorities say investigations are ongoing. However, the pattern resembles previous attacks attributed to the Jama’atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda’awati wal-Jihad (JAS) faction of the Boko Haram terror group.
For more than a decade, Maiduguri stood at the centre of Boko Haram’s insurgency. What began in 2009 as an uprising against the state evolved into a brutal campaign targeting civilians, markets, schools, and places of worship. Tens of thousands were killed, and millions displaced across Borno State and neighbouring regions.
At the height of the violence, bombings were frequent. In 2015, coordinated suicide attacks tore through parts of Maiduguri, including markets and busy roads. Two years later, explosions struck the University of Maiduguri, claiming several lives and heightening fear among residents.
The violence devastated livelihoods. Farming collapsed in many areas. Trade slowed as roads became unsafe. Markets emptied, and families who once relied on daily commerce slipped deeper into poverty.
Gradually, the attacks receded. Counterterrorism and community-led efforts, particularly the rise of the Civilian Joint Task Force, helped push terror groups out of the city. Checkpoints became less visible. Shops reopened. Life, cautiously, began to return.
For years, Maiduguri experienced a fragile calm.
Until now.
Lives interrupted
Wednesday’s bombing has put many lives on hold.
Makinta now lies on a hospital bed, his legs wrapped in bandages. A maize flour trader, he earns his living selling goods that belong to his employer. “I make at least ₦7,000 daily,” he said. “I have a wife and two daughters. I provide for them from what I make at the market.”
Now, he worries about survival.
“With this injury, I cannot go out.” Shrapnel tore into both his legs, damaging the bone in his left leg.
As he spoke, a relative came to visit. Before leaving, she handed him ₦1,000, which he immediately passed on to his wife.
“I had just finished ablution and was preparing to pray when I heard the news,” said Yagana Bukar, Makinta’s wife. “I had already made stew and put water on the fire. I was waiting for him to return with rice so I could cook.” When she learnt about her husband, she rushed to the hospital, leaving her children with her sister.
Unlike Makinta, Suleiman owns his shop, where he sells provisions supplied on credit. “I collect items from wholesalers at Monday Market, sell them, and then return their money,” he explained. “What remains is my profit. I make about ₦20,000 daily. That is my only source of income.”
He also buys food for his household daily. “This incident will affect me badly,” he said. “I cannot go to the market until I recover. I worry about how my family will survive during this time. I am the sole breadwinner.”
At the entrance of the ward, Abatcha Mohammed waited anxiously. His younger brother was among the injured. “My shop is next to his,” he said. “I also pray in that mosque. But that day, I had gone home early because my son was sick. When the explosion happened, I rushed back. My uncle and some friends were also affected.”
The market falls quiet
At Gamboru Market, HumAngle observed a scene far removed from its usual bustle. Many shops, especially those closest to the mosque, were locked. Stalls stood empty. The area was unusually quiet, with security operatives patrolling the streets.
Gamboru Market is one of Maiduguri’s busiest commercial centres, drawing traders and buyers from across Borno State and neighbouring countries, including Chad, Cameroon, and Niger. It hosts a wide range of businesses, from fresh produce and clothing to household goods, and supports countless small-scale traders, tailors, and food vendors. Activity often continues into the night, sometimes until 9 p.m., long after the main market closes.
Now, that routine has been broken.
Still, the survivors speak with resolve.
“I will be careful going forward,” Makinta said. “Nothing happens without the will of Allah.” Suleiman echoed him. “I will return to the mosque,” he said. “Crowded or not, I will pray again. Allah has already written what will happen. I survived this because it was not my time. Those who died, it was their appointed time.”