For the people of Eruku, a small farming community tucked inside Kwara State’s Ekiti Local Government Area, Tuesday evening began like any other. Worshippers gathered at Christ Apostolic Church, Oke-Igan, for a midweek service that was supposed to end with prayers and hymns.
Instead, the sound that filled the sanctuary was panic.
According to worshippers, the gunmen moved with chilling confidence. They surrounded the building, burst in, and within minutes herded dozens of members into the night. The prayers halted. The screams started. And Eruku slipped into a nightmare.
By Friday, that nightmare had taken an even darker turn. A senior church official confirmed to journalist that the kidnappers had established contact and were demanding ₦100 million for each of the 38 worshippers they seized. If paid in full, that ransom would total nearly ₦4 billion an amount far beyond the reach of a rural community where most families live on subsistence farming.
Relatives say the bandits used the victims’ own phones to place the ransom calls. Many broke down before they could even recount the conversations. The Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN) described the incident as “a heartbreaking reminder of the growing insecurity facing Christian communities across Nigeria.”
Eruku’s traditional ruler, Oba Busari Olarewaju, also made a public appeal for urgent intervention. While a military detachment arrived shortly after the state governor’s visit, he insisted that more aggressive action was needed to rescue the captives alive.
One Week, Three States, Dozens Abducted
The Eruku attack is only one piece of a violent chain of events unfolding across the country.
Just a day earlier, in Kebbi State, 25 schoolgirls were abducted from their boarding school. On Friday in Niger State, armed men stormed a private Catholic school and took an estimated 52 students into the forest. Local officers say the exact number remains unclear.
The pattern is painfully familiar: multiple states, multiple victims, same method.
These incidents triggered swift reactions at the national level. President Bola Tinubu cancelled a planned foreign trip to South Africa and Angola to receive security briefings. Coincidentally, a Nigerian delegation was already in Washington for security talks – a visit now overshadowed by the escalating violence back home.
Kwara on Edge as Fresh Attacks Spread
As fear spread across the state, the Kwara government ordered an immediate closure of schools in five neighbouring districts. A spokesperson said the measure was a defensive step intended to protect children, who are increasingly targeted as “soft threats” and potential bargaining chips in the kidnappers’ negotiations.
But even as officials reacted, the crisis deepened.
Barely 24 hours after the church invasion, gunmen attacked rice farmers in Bokungi village, Edu LGA. Two people were killed, and four more were taken away. Farmers now fear returning to their fields at the very peak of harvest season.
For many families, the insecurity is no longer an occasional fear. It is everyday life.
As Kwara Battles Chaos, Other States Experiment With Solutions
While Kwara struggles to contain the immediate fires, other states are racing to rebuild their own security models.
In Delta State, Governor Sheriff Oborevwori revived the Delta State Security Trust Fund, originally started in 2013 but now redesigned with stronger partnerships and fresh funding. The state contributes 0.5% of its monthly Internally Generated Revenue, while private donors have lined up behind the initiative.
Oil magnate Government Ekpemupolo (Tompolo) pledged ₦10 billion. Banking leaders Aigboje Aig-Imoukhuede and Jim Ovia also made significant contributions. The money will support surveillance tech, communication systems, vehicles, and community vigilantes across all 25 LGAs.
“Security is everyone’s business,” Oborevwori said. “Without safety, development cannot thrive.”
In Kaduna State, Governor Uba Sani is pushing what he calls the Kaduna Peace Model, a long-term approach built around dialogue and grassroots inclusion rather than sheer force. His administration has held over 50 consultative meetings with traditional rulers, Fulani herders, farmers, youth groups, and religious leaders. Kaduna believes that understanding rival groups, not just confronting them, may hold long-term answers.
At the national level, the debate is shifting toward deeper reforms. Lawmakers are reviewing proposals for state police, a long-discussed idea that could fundamentally change how internal security is managed in Nigeria. The Federal Government is also updating its economic policies, allowing ministries to approve Public-Private Partnership projects up to ₦20 billion, a move expected to attract more private investment into security infrastructure.
Meanwhile, Nigeria’s informal security networks are also pushing for proper recognition.
The Commandant General of the Vigilante Group of Nigeria (VGN), Captain Umar Abubakar (Rtd), says the group has over one million active members nationwide. He insists that with government backing, they can confront the estimated 100,000 armed bandits currently terrorizing communities.
“We’re not lazy. Even without pay, we work tirelessly,” he said. “If given official recognition, we can strengthen local security where it matters most.”
Between Government Policies and Human Pain
Amid all the proposals and reform plans, the 38 abducted worshippers remain hidden somewhere in the bush. Their families sleep lightly. They jump at every phone call. They are calculating impossible sums. And they are praying that the next call from the kidnappers does not bring a deadline.
In Eruku, this crisis is not a security debate. It is a life-or-death waiting game.
Nationwide, one hard truth stands out: Nigeria’s insecurity has become too complex for any single solution. But as states like Delta and Kaduna experiment with homegrown models and the federal government pushes new reforms, a pattern is emerging the more local the solution, the stronger the impact.
Still, all the macro policies, reforms, and strategies fade into the background when a community is begging for one thing:
To bring their people home alive.
For Eruku, that is the only goal that matters right now.
