This is the first part of a three-part series chronicling my abduction by armed terrorists along the Kogi–Okene highway on November 30, 2023. In this installment, I recount the events that led up to our capture and the first hours in captivity.

On November 30, 2023, I became one of the countless Nigerians caught in the tightening grip of terror and lawlessness when I was kidnapped by armed men along the Kogi–Okene highway. What began as an ordinary inter-state journey quickly turned into a nightmare that has since become all too familiar for travellers across the country. My experience is not an isolated incident, but part of a disturbing national pattern of rising insecurity marked by kidnappings, killings, and mass abductions, particularly on highways once considered safe.

From the Abuja–Kaduna expressway to the Birnin Gwari–Funtua road, and the Benin–Ore highway to the Enugu–Onitsha route, these arteries of movement have become hunting grounds for terrorists, bandits, and criminal gangs. The Kogi–Okene axis, strategically located and frequently travelled, has joined this grim list of hotspots, exposing the vulnerability of Nigerians to violence even in transit. My story is just one thread in the broader tapestry of fear that now defines life in many parts of Nigeria.

We were happily sharing our reasons for traveling to Abuja, Nigeria’s capital city as we journeyed from Uyo, having made acquaintances on the bus; I was eagerly looking forward to delivering on two investigative reports for the Wole Soyinka Centre for Investigative Journalism, Chidinma was her friend’s chief bridesmaid for a wedding that weekend, engineer was heading to a conference of the Nigerian Society of Engineers; this newly certified chef was heading to the FCT in search of a job. So was every other person. Little did we know that our lives were about to take an entirely different turn. In a moment no one prepared for, we heard the screeching sounds of tires, followed by gunshots in the air. Two armed men standing in the middle of the road were pointing guns at our bus from a distance. In that terrifying moment, the driver applied full breaks, did a dangerous U-turn to the direction we were coming from, but two other gun-wielding men had blocked us from behind too. So, the car drove to a halt. Two other men surfaced from the nearby bush, ordered us out, and marched us into the forest. We had been kidnapped.

Background

Since the Boko Haram Insurgency gained prominence in northern Nigeria, the country has witnessed an unprecedented surge in the level of insecurity bedevilling the nation. From attacks on communities, to rampaging killings, to secessionist agitations and most recently kidnappings for ransom, Nigeria has become one of the most dangerous countries to live in. A 2019 research by InterNations placed Nigeria as the third most dangerous place to be born in, while the World Bank in that same year, rated Nigeria as the poverty capital of the world. With the Tinubu administration which took over In May 2023 implementing the subsidy removal on petrol, leading to an all-time high in prices of commodities, crime was set to increase as jobs were lost and money became hard to come by, while the little people had continued to devalue due to the fall of the naira to the dollar and the persistent hike in prices of food. All these made kidnapping-for-ransom, a viable business for many, with reports of kidnappings dotting the pages of newspapers almost on a daily basis. With every passing day, kidnappers have become more audacious, buoyed by the complicity or perhaps complacency of those in the outside world and security agencies. That is why dealing with it has become almost out of hand because it has become a very lucrative industry. According to StatiSense Report as per Ripples Nigeria, a  total of 2,149 kidnapping incidents were reported across Nigeria in 2023. A breakdown by region showed that the North-West had 759, North-Central 476, North-East 408, South-South 216, South-East 191, and South-West 99 kidnappings. Also in the same period, Armed Conflict Location & Event Data Project (ACLED) reported that nearly 4,000 people were abducted in 2023, the highest level observed in five years. It was at the peak of this kidnapping saga that this author was kidnapped alongside ten others in Kogi, while travelling from Akwa Ibom state, to Abuja, Nigeria’s federal capital territory.

The Capture  

It was a bright and sunny day in Nigeria’s South-south region, specifically in Uyo, the capital of Akwa Ibom State, nick-named ‘The Land Of Promise’. We had travelled as a family from Abuja to Uyo, so that my wife could rest after the delivery of our third child. She was not privileged to have the traditional assistance of her mother nor that of my mother after birth, in what we Nigerians call “Omuguo”, a three to six months period when either the bride or groom’s mum comes to assist their daughter or daughter-in-law with grooming the newborn and helping the new mother heal properly and get back on her feet. So, this deserved rest is what took us to Uyo. Having dropped my family and spent two days with them, I set off to return to Abuja. It was the first of November 2023. “Happy New Month” wishes were flying everywhere as is typical of Nigerians to do every month, wishing you the best the month had to offer. After a quick shower, I knelt at my in-law’s family altar and said my prayers, specifically asking God for a safe trip back to Abuja. Moments later, I called my three kids, hugged them tightly and also prayed for them. That done, I grabbed my backpack, kissed my wife, and set sail for the Akwa Ibom Transport Company Park at Itam. It is usually a buzzing park with hundreds of buses conveying passengers to almost all corners of Nigeria. While at the park, I quickly rushed to the booking point and offered to pay via transfer as I did not have cash nor an ATM. With that “you are not serious” kind of look, the booking officer, a lady in her 40s told me “we no de collect transfer, bring cash or use your ATM pay”. At this time, she was not even looking at me. They always have this look and attitude of “I’m doing you a favour”. Pissed and angry, I stormed out to a Point-of-Sale operator, quickly withdrew the money and returned. Would I say luckily, or rather unlucky, I was the very last to book that ill-fated bus. Maybe I should have waited five more minutes at home; maybe I should have prayed longer; maybe the autorickshaw that brought me to the park should have been delayed by traffic, just maybe…. but I was destined to be on that bus. As I rushed back to the booking point, and said I’m booking for Abuja, the lady looked at me, with that smile from a typical Nigerian who wants you to wet their hands before, during or after rendering a service to you, and quipped, “you see, I specially reserved this last seat for you, abeg do me happy New month o”. We all know what that means. So, I had to add an extra one thousand Naira, albeit reluctantly, but happy I made the bus. I later found out the lady begged almost every Abuja-bound passenger for money. It is a very common phenomenon even when it is embarrassing to the company and demeaning to the beggars, but who cares when your take-home pay can’t even take you home at the end of the month? It is everywhere; banks, airports, parks, offices, you name it. You got to find ways of augmenting your meagre salary. Moments later, I was directed to the bus and made my way to grab a seat. I was the last to board so my seat was just by the door. While the driver was sorting out the manifest with other officials after we had finished writing our names, I felt the urge to take pictures of the bus and send to my wife’s family WhatsApp Group for safe journey prayers. I still haven’t figured out why I felt that strong urge, but something kept telling me, snap this bus and send to them. So, I finally gave in. I took like three or four pictures that captured the name of the transport company and the number plate and asked them to cover it with the blood of Jesus. Moments later we set sail. We left the park at about half past eight that morning. It was a smooth journey with occasional stops at security checkpoints especially at communities that border two states. They were so stressful, that at those spots the driver would stop the bus and every passenger would disembark and trek from the end of state A to the beginning of state B. Funnily enough, the security operatives would just be sitting and watching the entire episode. No searching of cars nor passenger, and I tried to figure out the sense in it, but it made no sense to me. Although someone tried to make sense of it to me, I was just too pissed to grab the sense. I was just in a hurry to get back to Abuja, unknown to me, the story was about to take a different turn altogether. At one of those checkpoints, one of our passengers, a certain chef guy who plated his hair, wore shorts and looked like a gangster, was singled out by the police for questioning, while we all waited. Almost a quarter of an hour or more later, he returned smiling into the bus. That was not before the intervention of one of the passengers, a Senior lecturer at the Akwa Ibom State polytechnic and father figure. But as we found out later, the young man had squeezed a thousand Naira note to the police man to hasten his release. As we returned to the bus, the lecturer man reminded the gangster-like chef guy that as a lecturer, he cannot supervise the project of such a student because he considers him indecent. That comment divided the passengers into two opposing sides. Yours truly who likes to wear his fez cap to the back sometimes, defended the guy with every fibre of my being. “It is his choice”, I roared with my sonorous voice, “and no one should punish him for that”. “Exactly”, one of the young ladies heading to NYSC Camp in Abuja echoed. “Na the insecurity wey them suppose fight be that”? She queried. So, we all doled out a certain amount of blame to the police, the government and even our lecturer, accusing him of *overdo”. It turned out we had a bunch of us who saw no wrong in it. Then we turned to the guy; “oboy you sef na wa o, you de travel, you go wear “short nicker” and you plait hair, see as you come delay us now”. We all laughed and moved on. While at the park, a transaction that got us into the kidnappers’ den had taken place without the knowledge of some of us. One of the ladies was heading to the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) Camp in Kogi. So, she was meant to get to Abuja first before boarding another vehicle to Kogi. However, as we got to find out later, she and her brother who came to see her off to the park in Uyo had tipped the driver, and appealed that the driver, who was originally not meant to take the Okene road that led us to the kidnappers, rather takes that road, even when the driver knows that side of Kogi state is not safe. Few passengers mentioned that the driver had on two occasions acknowledged while he was driving that the road he is going to take is not too safe, but because he had committed to pass there because of a small tip, he did not mind risking the lives of the rest of us. I did not hear him say so the first two times as reported by other passengers. However, when we stopped at Enugu for lunch, he repeated his reservations about passing that road and I heard him that time. I waved it aside because at the time, there was nothing we could do. After the meal, we all boarded again and continued the journey and few minutes later, we were right at the road he was wary of passing. His gut feelings were right because moments later the attack happened. It was a Jack Bauer-like operation. While we were driving, there was a little turn to the right, so the driver did not see too far ahead and so did not know that two armed men were already stationed at the centre of the road. As he drove towards them, the two men shot in the air, and pointed the guns at the bus. In that instant, the driver applied the brakes rigorously, halted the bus and reversed to head back to where we were coming from, only to see that two other armed men had blocked the back also, so he had to stop. Immediately he stopped, two others came from the side and ordered all of us out of the bus. This happened between the hours of 4 and 5 pm Nigerian time. Because it is usually a lonely road with a few cars passing through, no vehicle drove past during the entire period of the operation.

That first night, lying on the cold, damp forest floor under a canopy of stars, I stared into the darkness and asked myself if I would ever see my family again. I had no idea the real torment — hunger, beatings, and psychological warfare — was still to come.

Journey to the Jungle

“Come down, come down fast fast”, the gun-bearing daredevils screamed, forcing us out of the bus. Startled and terrified, we began obeying as sheep being led to the slaughterhouse. As we disembarked from the bus after the capture, we were all forced to lay face down on the road momentarily, guns pointing at us, so close you could smell gunpowder from the last few shots fired, while the other men ransacked the bus for possible food, clothes, purses with cash etc. They also took all the backpacks of those of us who travelled light. Done with picking the items they could lay hands on; they marched the rest of us across the road into the forest, while still firing into the air to scare any incoming vehicles. Sadly, no vehicle passed because that axis is notorious for such incidents.

While making our way into the forest, two of the terrorists were in front leading the way and two behind to ensure no one runs away, while the last two were still by the roadside to ensure that the driver drove the car away to avoid suspicion. They spared the driver, two elderly people, a man and woman, and a third person that a few of us later felt was the informant in the bus because, he never spoke to anybody, was constantly on phone and spoke a language no one understood. We were convinced he was the informant because the operation was too smooth and as a young person why was he spared? Done with ransacking the bus, they freed the driver who later drove the remaining luggage to Abuja, specifically at Jabi Park, pending when we would be released to pick them. They then hurriedly joined the ones who were leading us to the forest. After trekking for about 45mins into the forest, we were ordered to lay on the floor again. This time, they took away all our phones, cash and other valuables. That done, we continued again until we were well inside the forest and out of earshot. When we got to where they wanted us to stay, we were ordered to sit on the bare floor, while they too took their positions, a little away from us, but not out of sight.

Settling at the Kidnappers’ Den

As we settled down, it was already dark. That alone tells you the distance we trekked from about 4:45pm till almost 7pm. Where we were asked to sit, we discovered that five other people were already there: four men and a woman; the men chained in pairs to avoid escape. We were further terrified. Moments later, a young man who we later found out was the leader of the gang came forth. ‘’All of una listen to me’’, he yelled in front of us. Frightened, we kept mute immediately. ‘’Una sabi wetin happen to una’’? He asked. ‘’Yes sir’’, we chorused like kindergartens. ‘’wetin happen to una’’? ‘’Na kidnap’’, we replied. ‘’very good’’, he said and continued. Una know wetin we want? He asked, ‘’yes sir’’, we responded. ‘’wetin we want’’? he asked, ‘’ na money’’, we responded. ‘’Very good’’, he said with satisfaction. After that exchange, he went ahead to apportion ransom sums for us according to how the spirit led him. Some thirty million, some 25, others 20, 15, and 10, which was the least. I was lucky to be fined ten million. After that, he announced that by the next day, we will start calling our families for ransom, but that night, we were all allowed to call just one family member to report that we had been kidnapped. To do that, they brought out their phone and took a sim card from one of our phones, inserted it into the phone and began giving it to us. So, one after the other, we started calling to notify our relatives of the incident. I called my wife and notified her. They won’t allow you say more than, ‘I have been kidnapped, please start looking for money’’. That’s all they needed our families to know. After we had all done that, they asked us to sleep. I laid there gaping into oblivion, counting stars, afraid of the nocturnal birds and their chirping, as well as the scary thought of a snake crawling over you. That first night, lying on the cold, damp forest floor under a canopy of stars, I stared into the darkness and asked myself if I would ever see my family again. I had no idea the real torment — hunger, beatings, and psychological warfare — was still to come.

End of Part One

Illustrations by Bulama Cartoons