On The Crisis Room, we’re following insecurity trends across Nigeria.
Between 2014 and 2025, at least 1,880 students have been abducted across Nigeria.
It’s a staggering number on its own, but it becomes even heavier when you realise these are children whose dreams, confidence, and sense of safety have been repeatedly disrupted.
And this tragic pattern continues. Just this Monday, Nov. 17, in Kebbi State, terrorists abducted at least 25 students of the Government Girls’ Comprehensive Secondary School in Maga.
Today on The Crisis Room, we talk about the effect of this abduction on children.
Hosts: Salma
Guests: Hauwa Shaffii Nuhu and Professor Auwal Inuwa
Nigeria is in the news again due to recent attacks by armed groups, involving the kidnapping of many students from schools and an assault on a church service. These events have increased pressure on the Nigerian government, especially after U. S. President Donald Trump hinted at possible military action owing to the reported persecution of Christians in the country.
The attacks lack clear responsibility claims, but they resemble those by gangs seeking ransom. These armed groups, referred to as bandits, use intimidation and violence, abducting victims and escaping into forests. Recently, 25 students were taken from a Muslim girls’ school in Kebbi state, marking the first mass school kidnapping since a larger incident in March 2024. Additionally, another 64 individuals were kidnapped from Zamfara state, and two people were killed during an attack on a church in Kwara state, where 38 worshippers were also abducted with a ransom demand made. On Friday, more students were kidnapped from St. Mary’s Catholic school in Niger state, with reports indicating 52 students taken.
Experts believe these attacks are financially motivated, particularly targeting schools due to weak security. Kidnappers find it easier to demand ransoms from parents willing to pay to get their children back. The northwest of Nigeria is especially plagued by insecurity, with armed groups operating in remote areas. Meanwhile, in the northeast, extremist groups like Boko Haram and ISWAP have caused significant humanitarian crises, resulting in over 2 million displaced persons and many deaths.
Tension in Nigeria also arises from ethnic and religious conflicts, especially in the central regions where the Christian and Muslim populations clash over various issues. Despite claims of specific persecution against Christians, some argue that the situation is more complex and that Muslims also suffer violence. The Nigerian government rejects assertions of complicity in religious violence by security forces.
The U. S. is considering actions to pressure Nigeria into better protecting religious freedoms. Nigeria’s military leads the counter-efforts against these armed groups, with traditional leaders also engaging in peace negotiations. However, attacks continue amid reports of increasing violence, with thousands of civilian deaths this year alone. President Tinubu has dispatched officials to oversee rescue efforts for kidnapped schoolgirls.
Nigeria remains one of the most dangerous countries in the world for students.
Being a student in Nigeria is like life on the shifting sand. One of the victims of the famous Chibok abduction of 2014, Amina Ali, still recalls that shift: “One minute we were students, the next we were running, unsure of where safety was. What stays with me most is the fear in everyone’s eyes … that feeling that life had just taken a turn I could never prepare for.”
A decade after Amina and 275 other schoolgirls were abducted from their hostels in the country’s North East, sparking the global #BringBackOurGirls campaign, the violence that began as an extremist campaign against Western education has transformed into a multi-million-naira kidnapping industry affecting both public and private schools.
This tragic pattern repeated itself in Kebbi State on Monday, Nov. 17, where terrorists abducted at least 25 students of Government Girls’ Comprehensive Secondary School in Maga, Danko/Wasagu Local Government Area. The school’s Security Master, Hassan Yakubu, and Aliyu Shehu, a night watchguard, were killed in the attack. One of the students escaped during the abduction.
The Chief of Army Staff has since directed troops to intensify rescue efforts — a move that highlights, yet again, how overstretched security forces currently are in responding to the surge in school-targeted abductions and other forms of criminality.
But even as the search continues, the wider picture remains grim. A HumAngle review of verified media reports and investigations by human rights organisations shows that at least 1,880 students have been abducted or killed across Nigeria between 2014 and 2025.
A glimpse into Nigeria’s school abduction crisis. Infographics: Damilola Lawal/HumAngle
These attacks have devastated communities across the country, especially in the North, and symbolise the collapse of security in spaces that should nurture the country’s future. From the ideological terror of Boko Haram in Yobe and Borno to the ransom-driven criminality of terrorist groups in Zamfara, Kaduna, and Niger, schools have become soft targets in a nation that has failed to learn from each tragedy.
The forgotten beginning
Yet before the Chibok abduction shocked the world, there was Buni Yadi — a quiet town in Yobe State that witnessed one of the most gruesome assaults on education in Nigeria’s recent history. On the night of February 25, 2014, Boko Haram stormed the Federal Government College, Buni Yadi, killing 29 male students as they slept.
HumAngle’s earlier reporting reconstructed the night through survivor accounts: dormitories set ablaze, gunmen shouting “Allahu Akbar”, and teenagers trapped in locked hostels consumed by fire and bullets.
It was a deliberate massacre — not for ransom, not for negotiation — but to send a message that “Western education is forbidden”. The world barely noticed. Two months later, Boko Haram struck again, this time abducting 276 schoolgirls from Chibok.
Buni Yadi, therefore, stands as the forgotten beginning of Nigeria’s school-terror era — an early signal of what would follow when ideological war met state neglect. One of the boys who survived, Mohammed Ibrahim, would eventually graduate from Abubakar Tafawa Balewa University in Bauchi State. His journey underscores how survival is not an end but the start of a long struggle to reclaim education and self. Mohammed did not have an easy time going back to school after his experience of the massacre.
“Honestly, after the incidents, I hated school,” he said. “Many things contributed to the attack. Firstly, there was a lack of security. Before the incident, there was no single security personnel in the area; they said they would provide, but none were around. They took away the ones operating in the area; people were saying that it means there was no safety since they took away the security personnel in the area.”
From ideology to industry
Six years after the Buni Yadi and Chibok incident, armed groups and terrorists in Nigeria’s North West realised that abducting students brought instant ransom, political leverage, and media attention. What began as religious fundamentalism had by then morphed into an extortionist criminal enterprise.
In December 2020, the first large-scale operation of this kind happened at Government Science Secondary School Kankara, where 344 boys were abducted from their school dormitories by terrorists. Within days, video footage surfaced showing the terrified boys surrounded by their abductors, who pledged allegiance to Boko Haram — a claim later linked to a loosely affiliated terrorist faction.
That single event inspired copycat kidnappings across the region: Jangebe (Zamfara, 2021), Kagara (Niger, 2021), Tegina (Niger, 2021), and Birnin Yauri (Kebbi, 2021).
In Birnin Yauri, the day began like any other exam morning. Rebecca James, one of the abducted students, said she was 30 minutes into writing her paper for the day, Financial Accounting, when the first sounds came — distant gunshots, shouts, and the sudden rush of feet. “I was confused because it sounded strange,” she recalled.
As the students scrambled for safety, Rebecca tried to find her sisters in the chaos, but a teacher ordered everyone back into the hall so they could be “in one place”. The gunshots, however, grew closer, and students hid in the side rooms until the main door was forced open. “They continued shooting guns — ceilings, everywhere — helter-skelter,” she said. The terrorists kicked down doors, dragged terrified students from hiding, and fired into windows, injuring at least one student in the leg before marching a group towards the gate and loading them into a white car. “Last last, we were kidnapped,” she summed up.
Unlike the ideological attacks of Boko Haram, many of these more recent operations are driven by ransom and carried out by local militia networks with deep knowledge of their terrain and communities. Yet for the children at the centre, the distinction between ideology and crass greed is irrelevant; in both cases, the classroom becomes a trap. And this trap is often sprung most brutally on girls.
Girls as primary targets
In school abduction incidents where gender data is available, girls accounted for nearly two-thirds of all abducted students. This imbalance stems mainly from the targeting of all-female schools — a pattern rooted in both ideological and exploitative motives. Key examples include:
Jangebe (2021) – 279 girls kidnapped, later released after government negotiation.
For girls like Rebecca, gender was explicitly weaponised. During her captivity, she remembers being told that their abductors would hold onto the girls because they were “more important than the male” — more valuable for ransom and more painful for families to lose. “They were saying we are the female ones … they said that the female ones, if they stayed long in a place, parents will feel more,” she said.
Rebecca and other girls were also forcefully married off during captivity. They suffered repeated sexual abuse that led to some of them, one as young as 14, getting pregnant and giving birth. Even after their release, the terror group reached out, wanting the babies returned to them.
In contrast, the Kankara and Birnin Yauri abductions targeted boys’ or mixed schools, indicating that while both genders are vulnerable, female students face compounded risks — sexual violence, forced marriage, and sex trafficking.
The gendered nature of these attacks has left deep scars on communities, where parents now weigh the risks of educating daughters against the supposed safety of keeping them at home.
For some survivors, the experience has hardened their resolve to fight back through education itself. Rebecca, who was once an accounting student, has switched to the arts with a clear goal: “I changed … just to study law,” she explained, adding that it will enable her to defend the vulnerable, especially girls.
Timeline of mass school abductions in Nigeria. Infographic: Damilola Lawal/HumAngle
Geographical spread and shifting threats
In 2014, attacks on schools were primarily confined to the North East — Borno and Yobe — under the shadow of Boko Haram. By 2020, they had shifted westward to the North West and North Central regions, reflecting the fragmentation of armed groups and the spread of insecurity.
This expansion reshaped the threat landscape:
North East (Boko Haram and ISWAP): Attacks driven by ideology, targeting state education systems and female students.
North West (terrorists and armed groups): Abductions motivated by ransom, tribal vendettas, and power projection.
North Central, especially in Niger and Kaduna: Mixed motives — ransom, political signalling, and territorial assertion.
This diffusion of violence has complicated response strategies. Each zone now faces a different kind of threat, with varying ideological, economic, and criminal drivers — all converging on the same target: students.
For many pupils in rural areas, this unpredictability shapes daily life, as rumours of an impending attack now spread as fast as exam timetables.
“Anytime students hear about terrorists, they should not doubt whether they are coming or not,” Rebecca advised. “They should immediately leave such areas and go back to their homes for safety, not waiting until they see the terrorists with their own eyes.”
The human cost
Every figure in the tally masks a story of trauma. Survivors of Buni Yadi, Chibok, Dapchi, Birnin Yauri, and Kuriga describe recurring nightmares, social stigma, and broken dreams. For some, school can no longer be taken for granted.
“Education used to feel simple — just books, teachers, friends,” Amina said. “But, after the attack, I now see my future as something I must fight for … I want to prove that what happened will not destroy the dreams I still carry inside me.”
Rebecca echoes that determination, but channels it into a specific ambition. Her anger is directed at what she sees as terrorists who wield more firepower than the state. “These terrorists have guns more powerful than military personnel here in Nigeria, which makes it the government’s fault,” she said. Her response was to lean harder into school, not away from it: “The incident made me more eager to read and learn about my country.”
Many who returned found their schools destroyed or abandoned. Some struggle with reintegration, unable to sit in classrooms without flashbacks. Others, particularly girls who bore children in captivity, face rejection from their families and communities.
Hafsat Bello, a counsellor working with young students in northern Nigeria, said: “The school, which was once seen as a means to a brighter future, is now viewed to be the most dangerous place for students. Children with dreams so beautiful now fear the very garden where their dreams would bloom. The biggest gap is that the Safe Schools Initiative is still largely theoretical in many communities. Policies exist on paper, but implementation is weak and inconsistent.”
In many of these communities, enrolment has dropped dramatically. UNICEF estimates that over 10.5 million Nigerian children are out of school, with the majority concentrated in the North, where insecurity is a leading driver.
In 2014, the Safe Schools Initiative (SSI) was launched to prevent the collapse of schools. More than $20 million was pledged by donors and had all been received as of 2o20. The initiative was managed through the Nigeria Safe Schools Initiative Multi-Donor Trust Fund, which was overseen by the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) for contributions, disbursements, and project implementation.
The funds were used for various projects, including the construction of fences, classrooms, and the provision of emergency communication tools.
However, the implementation of these projects was uneven. While some urban and semi-urban schools benefited, many rural schools still lacked basic safety infrastructure, according to a 2021 report by the National Institute for Legislative and Democratic Studies (NILDS) and the Development Research and Projects Centre (dRPC).
The report noted that many schools were still without perimeter fencing, trained guards, and emergency response systems. A steering committee, which included representatives from both donor organisations and the government, audited the SSI project to determine its efficacy. Although financial statements were made available, the NILDS-dRPC report revealed notable deficiencies in monitoring and accountability. The report shows that many projects did not undergo independent audits and that there was a lack of transparency regarding the allocation of funds at the state and local levels.
“For this initiative to truly work, every school must have real physical protection, early-warning and rapid-alert systems, continuous emergency-response training, and a transparent accountability system that tracks how safety funds are used,” said Hafsat.
For Nura Suleiman, the Vice Principal (Academic) at Government Girls Secondary School (GGSS) Jangebe, Zamfara State, the scars of abduction and violence against schoolchildren are beyond emotional trauma, as it has dampened the morale of pupils towards education.
“From my experience, abduction and attacks affected students’ willingness to return to classrooms negatively,” Suleiman told HumAngle. “Especially in the rural northern communities where most of the students ran out of the school.”
The 2021 mass abduction of schoolgirls from Jangebe remains a haunting reminder of the vulnerability of Nigeria’s educational institutions. Despite the launch of the Safe Schools Initiative, Suleman believes the gaps remain vivid due to poor implementation.
“The practical steps which could make schools genuinely safer are to stop insurgency in the country by any means,” he said. “I mean either by fighting or negotiation.”
Suleiman emphasised that school safety encompasses more than just physical infrastructure. He explained that proper safety can only be achieved when students, teachers, and communities feel secure in their environment.
The principal noted that his school has made efforts to boost students’ morale and encourage their return to the classrooms. In collaboration with the NEEM Foundation, a leading crisis response organisation working with individuals and communities affected by violence, GGSS Jangebe’s Guidance and Counselling department provides mental health support to students who have survived abduction.
Yet the Jangebe experience also underscores a broader pattern: the support offered to survivors varies sharply from one case to another, leaving many children without the continuity of care they need.
Uneven support, unequal recovery
What happens after rescue reflects this inconsistency. For some, like Rebecca, there has been a rare attempt at comprehensive care.
On her return from captivity, she and other released students were taken to the hospital for medical treatment and meals, then eventually placed in placements in what she calls “the best and most expensive school in Nigeria”. She describes feeling “special every day because of what they have done for us,” noting that the authorities provide a pocketful of stuff and check in on their health.
Crucially, she says, they were encouraged to believe it was not too late to restart school after two lost years. Counsellors and guardians stressed that “age is just a number” and that education remained open to them if they chose it. She repeatedly cites the role of a mentor she calls ‘Brother Celine’, who helped them return to the classroom. “I cannot stop thanking the government for everything they have done for us,” she said.
Amina’s post-rescue experience tells a different story. For her, life after returning has been, in her words, “a mix of hope and struggle”. Some organisations offered counselling, tuition, or basic supplies, but she and many other Chibok survivors still feel like they are rebuilding essentially on their own: “The emotional healing, the financial challenges, the need for real protection — these things are still not fully met. We are grateful for any help, but there is still a long road ahead.”
The contrast between these two trajectories — one shaped by sustained, structured support, the other by patchy assistance and lingering vulnerability — mirrors the broader inconsistency of Nigeria’s approach. Where you were abducted from, which government was in power, which NGO took an interest, and how much media attention your case drew can determine how fully you are allowed to rebuild your life.
Lessons from a decade of failure
The testimonies of survivors sharpen the picture that the statistics already suggest.
The Buni Yadi massacre, for example, was an early alarm that signalled a war on education, yet the failure to strengthen school protections afterwards allowed abductions to spread with little resistance. As the crisis deepened, a ransom economy took root. Kidnappings became a lucrative enterprise in which armed groups in Zamfara and Kaduna negotiated openly, collecting payments that financed further attacks and entrenched the cycle.
These dynamics have been worsened by persistent security gaps. Response times remain slow, intelligence sharing between states and federal forces is inconsistent, and rural policing is largely absent. Former hostages notice that their captors often carry superior firepower. “How will a terrorist have a more powerful gun and bullets than soldiers in the military?” Rebecca asked rhetorically—a question that has agitated many Nigerians.
At the policy level, the gaps are just as stark. Nigeria endorsed the Safe Schools Declaration in 2015, yet implementation in the states most affected remains minimal, leaving the lessons of Chibok and Birnin Yauri largely unheeded.
Gender adds another layer of vulnerability: female students are singled out both ideologically and practically. Rebecca’s recollection that girls were kept because parents “feel more for females” exposes the calculated use of daughters as leverage.
All of this feeds into a profound erosion of trust. Each attack deepens scepticism about the state’s ability—or willingness—to protect its citizens, weakening the community cooperation that early-warning signals depend on.
Even where authorities appear to have learnt some operational lessons, such as closing schools pre-emptively when threats arise, the underlying issues of rural insecurity, corruption, and impunity remain largely untouched.
Satellite imagery showing the calm, destruction, and reconstruction efforts in Buni Yadi in Yobe State. Analysis: Mansir Muhammed/HumAngle
And the consequences of those unresolved failures are visible not only in testimonies and statistics, but also from above. Satellite imagery shows that these classrooms were stolen. It captures a timeline of destruction, militarisation, and neglect that follow these school attacks.
FGC Buni Yadi remains a shadow of its former self. In 2010, it appeared as a modest rural school; by March 2015, the satellite pass captured the aftermath of the massacre — burnt buildings and scorched earth where children once learned. Reconstruction began around late 2018, yet the compound stands today as a restored shell, a reminder that almost everything was set ablaze.
Although GGSS Chibok was not torched, it lost its educational purpose to humanitarian needs after the incident. Over the decade, the school became a shelter for survivors rather than students. The surrounding town is militarised with defensive trenches, and the school vicinity is filled with tents
A similar fate met GSC Kagara. Satellite views show the school ringed by trenches, turning an academic environment into a militarised space.
The warning visible at FGC Birnin Yauriremains unsettling. Unlike other locations where defences appeared after the tragedy, imagery shows this landscape was encircled by trenches long before the abduction. This proves, as reported, that the community lived under the threat well before the attack happened.
For LGEA Kuriga, the view from space captures the slow impact of neglect. There are no burnt structures, but the gradual decay of roofing sheets and fading paint testify to fear-induced neglect. GGSS Jangebe reflects the same pattern: from above, the compound looks orderly, yet ground-level footage — including scenes from a BBC Africa Eye documentary — shows shattered windows, damaged doors, and stripped classrooms. It appears intact only from a distance.
A few affected schools, such as Greenfield University, GSSS Kankara, and Dapchi, bear no visible scars from space. No scorched earth or defensive trenches. Their normal appearance is misleading, showing that the most profound scars of Nigeria’s mass school abductions often lie beyond what satellites can record.
A nation still unprepared
Despite years of promises, Nigeria remains reactive rather than proactive in matters of insecurity. Officials still rush to the scenes of abductions, issue statements of condemnation, and announce task forces — only for the cycle to repeat months later.
In communities like Buni Yadi, buildings have been reconstructed, but the psychological wounds remain. Survivors grow into adulthood carrying invisible wounds, while new students study under the same shadow of fear.
The Kuriga abduction of March 2024, in which 227 pupils were taken, shows that little has changed. Although 137 were eventually rescued, the incident underscores how unprotected rural schools remain — and how quickly armed groups can strike, even with military presence nearby.
For survivors such as Mohammed Ibrahim, simply graduating from university is an act of quiet defiance. For Amina and Rebecca, returning to the classroom and choosing careers in law or public service is a way of pushing back against those who tried to silence them.
But their determination does not diminish the responsibility of the state; it underscores it. Amina offers a clear warning to those in power: “Do not wait until it happens again … protect those schools like your own children are inside them.”
She believes Nigeria has learnt “some lessons, but not enough”. Continued reports of attacks and abductions, like the recent incident in Kebbi, reinforce this for her. “Until schools in every region are safe, until security becomes a priority and not a reaction, the risks will continue,” she said.
Na’empere Daniel, who survived the Birnin Yauri abduction alongside Rebecca after years in captivity, has similar thoughts. “Sometimes, it feels like Nigeria hasn’t fully learned from what happened to us,” she said. “Our pain should have changed things, but many students are still living through the same fear. No one deserves to experience what we went through.”
The violence has evolved, but the state’s response has barely shifted. Until education is treated as a security priority rather than a social service, the classrooms of northern Nigeria will remain haunted by ghosts of unprotected children.
The question now is not whether it will happen again, but when and to whom it will happen. Survivors like Rebecca and Amina have done their part: they remember the gunshots in the exam hall, the fear in their classmates’ eyes, the long nights of captivity — and they have turned those memories into vocal demands for justice and protection.
Whether Nigeria listens — and acts — will determine if the next generation can learn without fear, or if more of its classrooms will be stolen.
To make learning more resilient, Hafsat Bello, the counsellor who works with young students, stresses the need to adapt education to current realities. She highlights the importance of flexible learning models, noting that “in conflict zones, learning should not stop simply because the physical school is unsafe,” suggesting mobile classrooms, community hubs, radio lessons, or temporary safe spaces to keep children engaged.
Hafsat also underscores trauma-informed teaching, explaining that teachers need training to recognise signs of trauma and adjust their approach, because “a child who has witnessed violence will not learn the same way as a child who feels safe.” She emphasises that every school, particularly in high-risk areas, must have clear emergency response plans in addition to standard timetables.
Teachers themselves require protection and support, including emotional care, hazard allowances, and a sense of security, as their stability directly impacts students’ learning. She further calls for strong collaboration between schools, security agencies, and communities, stressing that education cannot operate in isolation and must be supported consistently, not only after attacks.
“Education must evolve to meet the reality of the children we serve. If we want to protect their futures, then resilience must be built into the system, not as an afterthought, but as a priority,” the counsellor added.
Bola Tinubu says he suspended the trip in light of the abductions and a separate church attack in which armed men killed two people.
Published On 20 Nov 202520 Nov 2025
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Nigeria’s President Bola Tinubu has postponed his trip to South Africa for the Group of 20 summit, promising to intensify efforts to rescue 24 schoolgirls abducted by armed men earlier this week.
The president’s spokesperson, Bayo Onanuga, said in a statement on Wednesday that Tinubu suspended his departure in light of the girls’ abduction and a separate church attack in which gunmen killed two people.
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Tinubu had been set to leave on Wednesday, days before the two-day summit of the world’s leading rich and developing nations was due to begin on Saturday.
“Disturbed by the security breaches in Kebbi State and Tuesday’s attack by bandits against worshippers at Christ Apostolic Church, Eruku, President Tinubu decided to suspend his departure” to the G20 summit, Onanuga said.
It was not clear immediately if or when Tinubu would leave for the weekend summit in Johannesburg.
Search for abducted girls ongoing
The schoolgirls were abducted by unidentified armed men from a secondary school in the northwestern town of Maga in Kebbi State late on Sunday night.
The attackers exchanged gunfire with police before scaling the perimeter fence and abducting the students.
One of the girls managed to escape, authorities said, but the school’s vice principal was killed. No group immediately claimed responsibility for abducting the girls, and their motivation was unclear.
Authorities say the gunmen are mostly former herders who have taken up arms against farming communities after clashes between them over strained resources.
In a separate attack on a church in western Nigeria on Tuesday, armed men killed two people during a service that was recorded and broadcast online.
Supporters of United States President Donald Trump have seized on the violence to embolden their claim that Christians are under attack in Nigeria.
Trump has threatened to invade Nigeria “guns-a-blazing” over what right-wing lawmakers in the US allege is a “Christian genocide“.
Nigeria has rejected the US president’s statements, saying more Muslims have been killed in the country’s various security crises.
No one really expects to be defrauded by someone dressed like an army officer. Ikanyi Stephen certainly didn’t. But last year, at his small point-of-sale (POS) stand in Nyanya Park, Abuja, in North Central Nigeria, a man in military uniform approached him, seemingly with an innocent intention of withdrawing cash. Unknown to Stephen, the uniformed customer had foul play.
“He wanted ₦300,000,” Stephen recalled. “And the day he came, there were two other customers. My [sales assistant] was trying to attend to him, and since I was with another customer, I couldn’t monitor them. Some customers like to hold the device to see if their transaction is successful, and that’s what I assumed the officer was doing. He slotted his card, entered his PIN, and after returning the machine to her, he urged her to hurry and give him his money so he could leave quickly.”
Stephen initially thought the man was simply in a rush, perhaps due to official duties. But it was only after he had left that the POS agent realised the real reason for his hurried departure. “I checked the transactions, but noticed nothing had come through. He had put the wrong PIN and hadn’t paid one naira, but by the time I noticed, I could not trace where he had gone,” he said.
The incident cost Stephen more than he could have imagined — a quick trick pulled off by someone who knew how to exploit trust. Though the deceit seemed simple, many POS agents in Nigeria are increasingly falling victim to similar digital scams.
The POS agent crisis
While scammers have long targeted these agents, the issue became more widespread with the rapid growth of the POS business in early 2023. That was the year the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) implemented a cashless policy, which limited the amount of cash that individuals and corporate bodies could withdraw at a time. As the queues in the banking halls grew and ATMs quickly emptied, millions turned to their neighbourhood POS agents for transactions.
By the end of that year, the Nigerian Inter-Bank Settlement System (NIBSS) reported that POS transactions had reached record heights, with a 27.85 per cent increase from 2022 and approximately ₦10.73 trillion transacted. The transactions have continued to rise since then, and as of 2025, NIBSS reported that POS transfers reached a record-breaking ₦10.75 trillion in the first quarter of the year.
There are thousands of POS agents per square kilometre in the country, who process approximately ₦4.87 billion per hour. These agents are responsible for essential financial services, especially in rural areas where banks are scarce. The POS business provides steady, flexible employment that doesn’t require workers to possess intricate skills.
As favourable as the line of work is to the country, however, fraud, like what Stephen encountered, taints the endeavour. Although what happened to him appears straightforward, more sophisticated means of defrauding POS agents have raised growing concerns among the community, all of which is spurred on by the growing digital age.
Sunday Ohoji, an investigator at the Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC), told HumAngle that far more digital POS scams have occurred in recent years than physical thefts. “The increase in digital trends and information technology has led to an increase in the vices attached to them. POS scams are one such vice,” he said.
A common scam related to POS transactions is reversal fraud. In this scheme, a POS agent receives a transfer via a card or phone transaction. However, the money that initially appears to be deposited in their account is later reversed, leading to a bounce-back of the funds hours after the customer has left. Several agents believe there are malicious intentions behind these reversals. For instance, a union of POS agents at Jabi Park in Abuja recently warned over 100 of its members to stop permitting phone transactions, as this method is suspected to be the most common way for scams to occur, according to a member of the union.
Fake alerts
Yunusa Adamu, a member of the union, explained the reason for their suspicion after a personal experience left him wary.
“I was sitting at my POS machine, three or four people just came to me, wearing good clothes that would make you think they are reasonable people, even though they aren’t. One of them said he needed about ₦30,000 and asked me to transfer it to him so he could receive the cash. It didn’t go through, so his friend quickly stepped in and did the transfer,” he recounted.
“Without even pressing my phone too much, I received an alert stating that the money had entered my account, but it was a fake alert. The men quickly said they wanted ₦20,000 of their money to go and buy something, but that they would come back for the rest. When they left, I checked my bank account and realised the money had never actually entered, as the alert had reversed. I sat there till evening, but the men never returned.”
Yunusa said he had no clue how such a scam was possible. He now knows better, especially after another agent, Munkaila Mohammed, spoke bitterly of a similar experience.
“My daughter, Aminatu, gave ₦120,000 to one customer who had made a digital transfer. As he got his money, the man rushed away. Later, when we checked her transactions, we saw that the money had reversed. Till today, nobody knows how scammers are doing it, but we know it’s not a mistake or network error,” Munkaila narrated.
Munkaila was right in his detection of foul play. The rise of digital hacking has led to scammers creating complex systems to defraud unsuspecting POS agents.
After years of working as an ICPC’s investigations official, Sunday Ohoji has the mechanics of this scheme laid out: “The people who do these scams already have a cloned system that makes it look like they are actually sending money out to the agents,” he explained.
“So what happens is that they give the agent their card to do a transaction, and because the platform the POS operates on is also internet based, it’s very, very easy for the scammers to reroute whatever transaction they do on that account and card to a dummy account, which automatically generates an alert sent to the POS agent as if a transaction has occurred, but it is not actually tied to the financial system.”
Many customers don’t wait to take such a complicated route. Some swindlers quickly cancel their PIN to avoid paying; others hold the machine and lower the initial cost inputted by the operators. One POS agent, Alice Omenene, recounted how a customer attempted to pay only 1 per cent of what he had promised through this nefarious method.
“One time, one man requested ₦40,000, and I put that price for him in my POS. But little did I know he secretly changed the amount to ₦400 when he got hold of the machine,” she said. “I’ve been defrauded in the past, but this time I caught him. All he kept saying was, ‘I’m a Muslim, I can’t cheat you,’ but I didn’t hear that one. How would I let him go with my money?”
The cost of scams
The cases of POS fraud continue, with a 31.12 per cent increase in 2024, according to the Report of Fraud and Forgeries in Nigerian Banks. However, this problem doesn’t just appear negative on paper. POS agents typically bear the long-term consequences of one-time thefts.
“When I lost ₦300,000, I was so depressed during that period,” said Stephen, “I really planned the money for something special, but when the theft happened, I was stuck. I tried to go through diabolical means to get it back, but I couldn’t dare to do that.”
The negative effects reach beyond just one person. Many of these agents either work for others or buy back the cash they can no longer track, leading to a ripple effect where the consequences of the theft impact other relationships and businesses.
Somalia Nwadiugwu, whose mother was swindled out of ₦30,000 with a fake alert, told HumAngle that the loss impacted their supplier, the one who had given them the cash. “We needed that money to meet up with payments, budgets, and stuff. The man who sold my mum cash needed some of his profit. It’s just because he was nice that he gave us time to pay it back, but he complained that he also had children to feed, and this was seriously limiting him.”
No way out?
Despite the extensive challenges they face, many POS agents are reluctant to pursue other employment opportunities, claiming that no alternative jobs are available to them. With a striking 86 per cent of Nigeria’s working population engaging in self-employment and non-paid jobs, according to the Nigerian Economic Summit Group, it is evident that the lack of formal job opportunities is a significant issue for many individuals in the country.
David Aliyu*, a POS agent at Kabusa, who regularly loses between ₦5,000 and ₦10,000, sees no viable way to leave the business that has caused him so much financial loss. “No man can stay without doing something,” he told HumAngle. “That’s why some people keep on pushing with this business the way it is. In any business, there is loss, even Dangote [referring to the richest Black man] loses daily, more than POS people, I’m sure.”
Alice expressed a similar sentiment, saying, “This is where I’ve found myself, and it’s all that God has given me to do. Every morning, I pray not to fall for any 419 scam and that no scammer will see me. In this POS business, it’s not about being too wise; this scamming thing is an experience. You bring your head down, calm down, and pray.”
Prayer appears to be a common form of self-protection among those who have been scammed, as many POS agents refuse to seek external help, not trusting the Nigerian system to provide them with adequate assistance.
When Stephen lost ₦300,000, it seemed natural that his next course of action would be to seek official intervention, but when he tallied the cost of processing it, he decided it was wiser to keep the matter to himself.
“If you have a loss and you want to seek help from the court, they’ll ask you to provide an affidavit. And sometimes, in processing the case, you spend more money. With those two things, you’ll still be spending more money than you lost. So the money you spend on getting help, along with the time lost trying to get that help, is almost equivalent to what you lost. So you just let it go,” he said.
Some members don’t even get to court. The cost of travelling to get help often halts them in their search for aid. Charity Eze*, a POS agent in Kabusa, who lost ₦50,000 after a customer changed the price on her POS from ₦55,000 to ₦ 5,000, explains why she had to make the painful decision to let it go.
“We didn’t go to court, but because we had the customer’s name, my boss went to the bank. They froze his account and then told my boss he needed to come back again, but the banks are far from us, and the cost of transport is now high. When he calculated everything, he knew he would be at a loss. My boss let it go, but if not for the fact that he was a nice man, I would have had my salary taken away for God knows how long.”
Even without the cost of transport, legal justice still incurs a fee. The Virtual Affidavit Registration System (VARS) allows people to print various Affidavits online. It prices the affidavit of Loss of Documents/Items at ₦5,245.
This is without going through any other court processes or the issue of extortion with the affidavit system that many complain about. Whether in person or online, expenditures rise higher than many of the losses POS personnel face at once. While some, like Stephen, are unfortunate enough to lose ₦300,000 at a time, most of the POS agents reported petty thefts, ranging from ₦2,000 to ₦10,000.
While these smaller scams may seem inconsequential enough to let go, over time, these thefts add up, and without proper aid, POS agents may lose more than what they expected, crippling their business in the long run.
The expensive solution
Ohoji, the ICPC investigator, sees a better way out, saying: “You can report to the police, you can report to the ICPC, you can report to the EFCC, all for free. A few agents have come forward with genuine reports, and more are expected to follow, as the government is there to support them.
“The government doesn’t just want to help them, but the whole nation, because if they do not handle it immediately, it might become cancerous to the system tomorrow. Therefore, they should address the issue now. So, at every point in time, they should report. When they report, something will be done, even if it’s slow, something will be done,” he said.
He advised POS agents to upgrade their machines to detect cards that are not registered in the financial system.
“It will go a long way to help curb the issue, because the truth is this: if someone comes and gives you a fake POS transaction and says they’re in a hurry to go, you wouldn’t have time to start checking if it’s genuine, but with an automatic detector, there will be no need to check manually.”
This is a simple solution in theory. In practice, however, few POS agents can afford to upgrade their machines due to their limited earnings. Many of them have reported that on a good day, they make up to ₦5,000, but these occasions are rare. More often than not, they typically make no more than ₦2,000 daily.
One of them, Charity, claimed that sometimes she sits down in the sweltering heat all day and earns only ₦500 for her efforts.
With an average profit of ₦60,000 monthly, where the market cost of a single POS terminal is ₦21,500, based on prices gotten from Moniepoint Microfinance Bank, a prominent POS terminal provider, as well as the added expense of buying the cash that will eventually be sold, squeezing in the cost of improvements may not be a viable option for many.
For now, survival in the minds of many POS agents is a matter of caution and faith, and that seems to be enough for them. With around three million POS terminals existing in Nigeria as of 2024, according to the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN), and many more popping up daily, it is clear that most POS agents remain unshaken in the face of mounting insecurity.
*Names marked with an asterisk have been changed to protect the identities of sources.
In December 2014, an incumbent president lost a re-election bid for the first time in Nigeria’s history.
It was a time characterised by widespread anguish and anger at how insecure the Nigerian life had become. Boko Haram, the extremist insurgent group fighting to establish what it calls an Islamic State, had intensified its violence, killing hundreds of thousands, displacing millions more, and abducting hundreds of teenage girls from school. Bombs were also being detonated in major cities at an alarming rate. For Nigerians, the incumbent President Goodluck Jonathan simply had to go. And so Muhammadu Buhari was voted in with unflinching hope that things would get better. That hope quickly turned into disillusionment and, in some cases, anger as things began to take a different turn than was hoped for.
Today, July 13, the former president, Muhammadu Buhari, passed away at 82, signalling the conclusion of a significant political chapter. As tributes from dignitaries continue to emerge and headlines reflect on his ascent and legacy, HumAngle analyses the impact of his presidency on the lives of Nigerians beyond the halls of power, in displacement camps, remote villages, and troubled areas.
An examination of the security legacy
During his time in office from 2015 to 2023, Nigeria faced increasing violence on various fronts: the Boko Haram insurgency in the North East, a resurgence of militants in the Niger Delta, and the rising threat of terrorism and conflicts between farmers and herders in the North West and Middle Belt.
Buhari’s administration initiated multiple military operations, including Operation Lafiya Dole, Operation Python Dance, Operation Safe Corridor, etc., yielding mixed outcomes and levels of responsibility. While some campaigns succeeded in pushing back armed groups, others faced criticism due to evidence of excessive force, extrajudicial killings, and displacements within communities. Non-kinetic counter-insurgency operations such as the Operation Safe Corridor, which was launched in 2016, also came under heavy criticism. Though the programme was designed for Boko Haram members or members of similar insurgent groups in the northeastern region to safely defect from the terror groups and return to society, HumAngle found that civilians were finding their way into these programmes, due to mass arbitrary arrests prompted by profiling and unfounded allegations. The International Crisis Group also found that, beyond innocent civilians being forced to undergo the programme, other kinds of irregularities were going on.
“The program has also been something of a catch-all for a wide range of other individuals, including minors suspected of being child soldiers, a few high-level jihadists and alleged insurgents whom the government tried and failed to prosecute and who say they have been moved into the program against their will,” the group said in a 2021 report. At the time, more than 800 people had graduated from the programme.
The programme also did not – and still does not – have space for women, and HumAngle reported the repercussions of this.
During Buhari’s reign, terrorists were also forced out of major towns but became more entrenched in rural communities. The former president launched aggressive military campaigns against them, reclaiming villages and cities. Boko Haram retreated into hard-to-reach areas with weaker government presence, operating in remote parts of Borno, Yobe, and Adamawa States. In these areas, the group imposed strict rules, conscripted fighters, and punished dissenters, often with brutal force.
A HumAngle geospatial investigation also showed how insurgency wrecked hundreds of towns and villages in Borno state. Many of the rural settlements were overrun after Boko Haram lost urban ground under Buhari’s watch.
Even with significant investment in security, a large portion of rural Nigeria remains ungoverned to date. As the former president failed to curb the forest exploits of Boko Haram, the terror group expanded control over ungoverned spaces, particularly in the North Central and North East regions. In Niger State alone, terrorists took over communities in Shiroro, Rafi, Paikoro, and Munya LGAs, uprooting thousands and launching multiple attacks. The lack of accessible roads and communication infrastructure made rapid response nearly impossible, allowing the terrorists to operate with impunity.
HumAngle found that, under Buhari, Nigeria lost many forest areas to terrorists, especially in Niger state. In areas like Galadima Kogo, terrorists imposed taxes, enforced laws, and ran parallel administrations. The withdrawal of soldiers from key bases emboldened the terrorists. This shift from urban insurgency to rural domination underscores the failure to secure Nigeria’s vast ungoverned spaces. Analysts who conducted a study on alternative sovereignties in Nigeria confirmed that Boko Haram and other non-state actors exploited the governance gaps under Buhari’s administration to expand their influence, threatening national security.
Perspectives from areas affected by conflict
For individuals beyond Abuja and Lagos, Buhari’s governance was characterised more by the state’s tangible influence than by formal policy declarations.
In Borno and Yobe, civilians faced military checkpoints and insurgent violence. School abductions like the Dapchi abduction and many others were recorded..
In Zamfara and Katsina, the president’s silence on mass abductions often resounded more than his condemnations. In Rivers and Bayelsa, the Amnesty Programme faltered, and pipeline protection frequently took precedence over human security.
What remained unaddressed
While some lauded his stance against corruption, numerous victims of violence and injustice during Buhari’s time in office did not receive restitution or formal acknowledgement of the wrongdoing. The former President remained silent during his tenure, as significant human rights violations were recorded. The investigations into military abuses, massacres, forced disappearances, and electoral violence either progressed slowly or ultimately came to an end.
Police brutality was a major problem during his tenure, leading to the EndSARS protests that swept through the entire nation in October 2020, with Lagos and Abuja being the major sites. The peaceful protests sought to demand an end to extrajudicial killings and extortion inflicted by the now-defunct Special Anti-Robbery Squad (SARS). For two weeks, Nigerians trooped into the streets with placards and speakers, memorialising the victims of police brutality and demanding an end to the menace. The protests came to a painful end on the night of October 20, when the Nigerian military arrived at the Lekki Toll Gate in Lagos and fired live rounds into the crowd of unarmed civilians as they sat on the floor, singing the national anthem. It is now known as the Lekki Massacre. Though the government denied that there was any violence, much less a massacre, a judicial panel of inquiry set up to investigate the incident confirmed that there had, in fact, been a massacre.
No arrests were made, and activitsts believe some protesters arrested then may still be in detention to date.
Five years before this, on December 13 and 14, the Nigerian military opened fire on a religious procession in Zaria, containing members of the Islamic Movement of Nigeria (IMN), killing many and leaving others wounded. The incident is now known as the Zaria Massacre. HumAngle spoke to families of some of the people who were killed and children who were brutalised during this time.
Though these massacres have all been well documented, there has been little to no accountability for the aggressors or compensation for victims and their families.
“My life became useless, losing three children and my husband to soldiers for committing no offence…I have never gone three days without my husband and all my children. This has affected my last-born, who is now in a psychiatric facility,” Sherifat Yakubu, 60, told HumAngle.
“I feel a great wrench of sadness anytime I remember the injustice against my people, and I don’t think the authorities are ready to dispense justice,” another victim told HumAngle in 2022, highlighting the gap and lack of trust in the system created by the absence of any accountability after the incident.
Key achievements
Beyond the headlines, Buhari played a crucial role in establishing a framework for centralised security authority. Choices regarding law enforcement, military presence, and national security circumvented local leaders and established institutions, exacerbating conflicts between the central government and regional entities. This centralisation continues to influence Nigeria’s democratic journey, disconnecting many experiences from those who are supposed to safeguard them.
Buhari rode into power on a widely hailed anti-corruption campaign, a promise honoured with the swift implementation of the already-proposed Single Treasury Account (TSA). By 2017, the programme, which consolidated up to 17,000 accounts, had saved the country up to ₦5.244 trillion. Buhari’s Presidential Initiative on Continuous Audit (PICA) eliminated over ₦54,000 ghost jobs, and Nigeria reclaimed ₦32 billion in assets in 2019. Under the same administration, Nigeria got back $300 million in Swiss-held Abacha loot.
From 2.5 million MT in 2015, rice production rose to four million MT in 2017. In an effort to deter rice, poultry and fertiliser smuggling, the former president closed Nigeria’s land borders on August 20, 2019, a move believed to have bolstered local food production significantly. His government’s Presidential Fertiliser Initiative also produced over 60 million 50 kg bags, saving about $200 million in forex and ₦60 million yearly.
Infrastructural achievements under the late president include the completion of the Abuja-Kaduna, Itakpe-Warri and Lagos-Ibadan railway projects, as well as the extension of the Lagos-Ibadan-Port Harcourt rail line. Notably, his government completed the Second Niger Bridge and the Lekki Deep Seaport.
Fatalities from Boko Haram reduced by 92 per cent, from 2,131 deaths in 2015 to 178 in 2021. Under the same administration, over a million Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) were resettled, and 13,000+ hostages, including some Chibok and Dapchi schoolgirls, regained freedom. The same government acquired 38 new aircraft and Nigeria’s first military satellite (Delsat-1).
In 2021, the Buhari government signed the Petroleum Industry Act (PIA), restructuring the Nigerian National Petroleum Commission (NNPC) into a commercial entity and setting the stage for significant transformation in the country’s oil and gas sector.
Confronting the past may be the path forward
The passing of a president demands more than mere remembrance or the crafting of political narratives. It should create an opportunity for national reflection. As Nigeria faces fresh challenges of insecurity, displacement, and regional strife, Buhari’s legacy presents both insights and cautions.
As official tributes accumulate, Nigerians reflect not only on what Buhari accomplished but also on what remains incomplete.
