THE DAY BOKO HARAM ATTACKED
Postcards from Maiduguri, Nigeria.
WE WATCHED AS THEY EXECUTED PEOPLE
I was taken captive along with many other girls, and we were forced to witness horrible scenes, including the flogging of aged people and the slaughtering of those who disobeyed the insurgents. We were held in a big house in Bama, and many of the girls were dragged out and taken away for marriage to some commanders and fighters in various villages. I was forced into marriage with a Boko Haram commander, and I spent three years in captivity.
WOMEN WERE NOT ALLOWED TO GO OUT
The town remained under the control of Boko Haram for over six months, and I continued to live with my father under their rule. A woman wasn’t allowed to go out for whatever reason except to attend their so-called “lecture sessions”. I was flogged several times because I was out looking for what my father and I would eat.
WE SURVIVED ON LEAVES AND GRASSES
A few months after the school shut down, Boko Haram also attacked my village. They forcefully took me, together with other young girls and my grandmother, to their base in a village called Fada. The journey took some days. Many captives died along the way due to severe hunger, stress and tiredness. During the raid, many were also killed due to disobedience.
PEOPLE CALLED ME ‘BOKO HARAM DAUGHTER’
Fear and circumstances dragged me into a world I never truly belonged to. I was brought up in a family of Boko Haram. When I finally escaped and surrendered, I thought freedom would mean a new beginning. But I soon learned that freedom also carried its own struggles.
I WAS RAPED. I THOUGHT MY LIFE HAD ENDED.
Before the insurgency, I went to school every day and wanted to become a nurse so I could help women and children in my community. But all of that changed when Boko Haram entered our town in Bama. I was with my family at home when we heard gunshots and people screaming. In the confusion, I was captured along with other girls. That was the beginning of my darkest journey.
LIFE AFTER RESCUE FROM SAMBISA IS HARDER
The military launched an operation in Sambisa, and many of us were rescued. We were brought back to our original communities. At first, I hoped this would be a new beginning, a chance to rebuild my life. But since returning, I have found life incredibly difficult. I have no job, no steady source of income, and I spend most of my days being idle.
I ATE GOOD FOOD IN SAMBISA FOREST
At Sambisa, I was engaged with religious studies, and then they married me to someone four months later. The so-called husband always beat me because I was a bit resistant, as I didn’t love him. However, food was sufficient. I ate good food throughout my stay at Sambisa, which lasted over 15 months.
BORN IN A BOKO HARAM CAMP
I was born in a place no child should ever call home. Boko Haram held my mother captive, and I came into this world in the middle of fear, hunger, and violence. I never knew what it meant to play freely or sleep without hearing gunshots. When the soldiers rescued us, my mother wept with joy, but I did not understand.
I JOINED BOKO HARAM. I DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE.
My life took a drastic turn when I joined Boko Haram in 2015. Before that, we were displaced from Bama in 2014 and sought refuge in a village near Cameroon called Jimia. When our village normalised, and people began to return, we received alarming news: we had been declared Boko Haram members, despite it not being true. The place we stayed was considered a Boko Haram camp due to their frequent visits, and we feared for our lives.
I DESTROYED LIVES AS A BOKO HARAM MEMBER
When we went out on operations, I did things I can never forget. We would storm villages at night, armed with guns and fire. I stole from people’s shops, carrying away what they had worked for all their lives. We burned houses, leaving families homeless. We took food, money, and valuables from innocent people. Worse still, we killed those who resisted us, and I know many families are still mourning because of what I did.
I learnt from my interviews that Boko Haram is taking advantage of indigent people, telling them to join them, that they would provide whatever they need. I have also observed that proper provisions have not been made for rehabilitation. The government has claimed to have rehabilitated every repentant Boko Haram member, but I met with some who said they didn’t go to the rehabilitation centre. They came straight to the town and started living there. I talked to a woman whose husband is a repentant Boko Haram member working with soldiers. She told me they are currently planning to go back to Sambisa and continue living there as a family.
Military personnel still restrict people in many resettled communities from going beyond certain boundaries due to the continuing insecurity. Another challenge is that because these areas are not their original homes, they do not own the farmlands and can only work as labourers on someone else’s farm. There are still cases of attacks and abductions. Just recently, about 10 or 15 people were abducted in Dalori, very close to Maiduguri. It’s very bad. The people who were kidnapped are the people who just resettled two years ago, in an estate that the state government allocated to IDPs. Many of the resettled IDPs are leaving the state; they are going far away. Some of them are going to Lagos and Abuja, where they have some relatives, where they believe they will be safer and where they can go and work as labourers and find a means of livelihood. The youth are massively travelling out.
Currently, when you go to the resettled communities, there are visible signs of trauma. When you go to the villages, you will see some Boko Haram writings on the wall, some in Arabic. They will see those writings and psychologically they will be traumatised, because you will recall your relatives who were killed, the kind of people you lost, how you suffered. When you go to the communities most affected by this insurgency, you will see they are full of empty buildings. Some have not been renovated for people to settle there, and there are not enough hospitals.
Food production has also been very, very low. Because the men are often targeted for abduction, and women, especially those above 40 years old, now bear more responsibility for farming. Younger women are at high risk of abduction when they go to the farm. So, agricultural inputs are very scarce in those communities. Natural resources like petrol and fertilisers are extremely expensive there, too. There’s no single functioning filling station in Bama. It has been restricted by the government. Fertiliser is also tightly restricted because it could be diverted to make explosives. As a result, farmers now use organic manure, collecting cattle dung and spreading it on their farmland. But it’s not as effective.
— Usman Zarma.
WE THOUGHT WE COULD COEXIST
At first, when Boko Haram began entering our town, they told us civilians had nothing to fear. They said their fight was only with the government and security forces. They even came to the market to buy things without harming anyone, so we believed we could coexist with them.
WE’VE FORGIVEN THE REPENTANT BOKO HARAM
After we came back, NEMA started helping us with foodstuffs, but now they’ve stopped, and we’re not getting any support from anyone. Before we were displaced, our parents had farms and a lot of sheep, but the sheep were forcefully taken. Boko Haram took all of them.
WE LEFT ALL OUR BELONGINGS BEHIND
Boko Haram came with their guns and chased all of us away. Not a single person remained. We had a population of about 1,000 people, and we were all forced to flee with our children… Right now, we are in a critical condition due to the lack of proper accommodation. Some people fled but couldn’t reach Maiduguri; they are sleeping on farms, hiding among the trees.
WE LOST OUR LOVED ONES, HOMES, AND LIVELIHOODS
All our valuables, including our farm produce, were left behind. We used wheelbarrows to transport our younger children and essential items, and it took us two days to reach safety. We had to survive on minimal food during those two days in the forest.
WE ARE SURVIVORS AND WE’LL REBUILD OUR LIVES
Despite the challenges, I’m grateful for the support I’ve received. Organisations like Plan International have provided me with the skills and resources I need to rebuild my life. I’ve also received support from my community, which has been a source of strength and comfort.
I COULD NOT RAISE THE ₦500k RANSOM
After the deadline passed, we lost contact with my husband. Some of his fellow captives returned home a week later, but he didn’t. It’s been a year since his abduction, and we have no idea if he’s alive or dead. The returned captives told us he was left alive when they escaped, which gives us hope for his return.
THEY CUT OFF OUR EARS WITH KNIVES
They came with 40 vehicles, but I don’t know the exact number of soldiers they came with. They took 42 of us to Dalwa, tied us with a rope, and started beating us. They cut my ear; the CJTF cut our ears with knives — five of us. From there, they took us to Giwa Barracks in Maiduguri; we stayed for one week. Then they brought us out and asked us, “Are you Boko Haram?” We told them, “We are not Boko Haram; we are poor people, farmers, and animal rearers.”
THREE OF OUR PEOPLE DIED FROM TORTURE
They cut my brother’s ear and stabbed him in his ribs, and I took him to the hospital in Giwa Barracks, and he was treated; he even fainted. Three people among us died at Giwa Barracks due to torture. We don’t know anything; our time was just wasted. We used to be self-reliant.
HUNGER IS A CONSTANT COMPANION
Sometimes, I have to swallow my pride and send my wife to beg on the streets just so we can get something to eat. It’s a painful reality, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to feed my family. Seeing her come back with a few scraps of food or some spare change brings a mix of emotions – relief, shame, and desperation.
IT WAS LIKE AN UNENDING NIGHTMARE
They came with guns, bombs, and a message of hate. They wanted us to abandon our way of life and adopt their twisted version of Islam. But we knew that wasn’t the way of our people. We’ve always been peaceful, tolerant, and welcoming to everyone.
TERRORISTS ATTACKED MY SCHOOL. I KEPT TEACHING.
After the attack, I could not return there. The classrooms were abandoned, the blackboards left untouched, and the joy of learning was stolen. Our school library stood silent, with books gathering dust, as though knowledge itself had been forced into hiding. I sought a transfer to Bulabulin Primary School, just to keep teaching and to survive. But fear never really left me.
WE HEARD EXPLOSIONS DURING LECTURES
At times, we would begin a lecture and hear distant gunshots or explosions, forcing students to flee for safety … There were nights I went to bed questioning myself: “Is this worth it? Am I risking too much?” But each time, I reminded myself that education is the only weapon that can fight ignorance and rebuild a broken community. That thought gave me strength.
I REMEMBER THE UNIMAID MOSQUE BOMBING
It was a cool morning. I had slept late while preparing for an examination. Suddenly, a soul-shaking blast tore through the calm. The sound alone felt like it took our spirits away. From the second floor of New Male B hostel, we could hear and feel the vibration. The attack, carried out by a suicide bomber, targeted the staff quarters’ mosque. It claimed the lives of academics and their family members, leaving the university community in shock and grief.
A BOMB BLAST SHOOK OUR CAMPUS
Studying at UNIMAID hasn’t been easy. The insurgency has left deep scars on our education system, and the university has not been spared from the violence. I still remember the night a bomb blast shook our campus. We had to flee in the dead of night, not knowing what the next moment would bring. It was during our exam period, and the disruption made it nearly impossible for many of us to concentrate or even find a safe space to study.
LOST MY FOOT TO AN EXPLOSION
When I returned to Maiduguri, I saw many men like me who had lost limbs. Many turned to begging, but I told myself, “They took my leg, but they won’t take my dignity.” I began learning tailoring through a programme organised by an NGO in our IDP camp. It was difficult at first, balancing on one leg and trying to sew, but I refused to give up.
A STRAY BULLET SHATTERED MY SPINE
Before the insurgency, I was a skilled farmer, providing for my family. Now, I’m unable to work, and my family struggles to make ends meet. We’ve had to rely on aid from government agencies and non-governmental organisations, which is often insufficient and inconsistent.
I CANNOT AFFORD MEDICAL CARE FOR MY CHILD
I would have sold any property I owned, but Boko Haram destroyed the house I inherited from my father in our village. The few valuables I had left here in Maiduguri were also burned during attacks – including my car.
THE MORNING I LOST EVERYTHING
I remember leaving the akara still frying in the oil. I didn’t carry anything, not even my money. I just grabbed one of my children who was with me, and we ran as fast as we could. We didn’t know where we were going, only that we had to find safety.
FROM A PROUD TRADER TO AN IDP
A group of women had started learning how to sew traditional caps. At first, I watched them from afar. My heart told me, “Aisha, you have never done this kind of work. Can you really start now?” But my situation pushed me to try. I joined the training, and for the first time, I picked up a needle and thread.
I SMUGGLED OUT STORIES ABOUT THE WAR
When the Boko Haram insurgency began, my world changed overnight. The sound of gunfire and bomb blasts became part of daily life. Many of my colleagues fled, and some were silenced forever. But I made a choice to stay. My family begged me to quit saying, “Bashir, your life is more important than the news!”
People from the villages are usually afraid when you tell them their stories will be published and may be read by people somewhere far away, because they don’t want to get into trouble. These experiences have taught me patience, empathy, and the importance of building trust while giving voice to stories that matter.
One of my favourite interviews was with the girl whose education was sponsored by her grandmother. She did not give up. Even though they lived with Boko Haram members, this did not change her perception. She ensured her granddaughter was enrolled in school and did everything to help her realise her goal of being a medical professional. This stood out to me. Also, the young man who lost his leg to the bomb explosion. He did not give up. He did not beg on the streets. He runs his business, and the disability of having an artificial leg doesn’t stop him from doing what he wants to do. If people see what he is doing, they will appreciate that losing your leg or a part of your body is not the end of your world.
A lot of people think that people do not even exist in Maiduguri, that people do not live a comfortable or free life here. But when you come, you see something different. There was a time I visited Abuja for a workshop where I met a lot of people. Whenever I told them I was from Maiduguri, they would be like, Maiduguri?! Hia. Boko Haram. During my service year when I camped in Kwara state, the same thing happened. If I told them I was from Maiduguri, they would exclaim and say, Ah, do people still exist in Maiduguri?
People should please note that Maiduguri is a land that has freedom. Even though there is the insurgency, it does not mean there is a hindrance for people to engage in their day-to-day activities. A lot of people think that everything in Maiduguri is hard, and day-to-day activities are not going as they are supposed to. But with everything that has happened, with all the insurgency, we are still strong. We are still resilient. We still achieve what we want to achieve. As you can see from most of the stories, our people don’t give up easily.
— Amina Muhammad Ali.
Curated by: Amina Muhammad Ali1 & Usman Zarma.2
Edited, designed, and vibe-coded by: `Kunle Adebajo.
- Amina Muhammad Ali is a professional scriptwriter and multilingual jingle voice artist with a passion for storytelling, especially in Kanuri and Hausa. ↩︎
- Usman Zarma is an experienced freelance writer, editor, and researcher with expertise in conducting in-depth interviews, crafting compelling content, and providing accurate translation and transcription services. With a portfolio spanning multiple industries, he helps businesses and organisations tell their stories, capture valuable insights, and achieve their goals through high-quality writing, editing, and research services. ↩︎
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My small stand, where I sold akara and puff-puff, was close to Giwa Barracks. That was how I took care of my children after I lost my husband.
One morning, as usual, I set out to fry akara. Customers had already gathered. The oil was hot, and I had just dropped some balls of akara into the fire when suddenly gunshots rang out. At first, I thought it was normal sounds from the barracks, but the shots became louder and closer. Rockets were flying, fire and smoke were rising, and I knew this was no ordinary day. Boko Haram had attacked Giwa Barracks.
Fear took over. I remember leaving the akara still frying in the oil. I didn’t carry anything, not even my money. I just grabbed one of my children who was with me, and we ran as fast as we could. We didn’t know where we were going, only that we had to find safety.
As we ran, we saw military vehicles and security forces rushing towards the barracks. The sound of gunfire and explosions filled the air. My child was crying, and I myself could hardly breathe from fear. In that moment, all I could think of was survival.
After some hours, when things became calm, I returned to my stall. What I saw broke my heart. Everything was scattered. The money I left was gone. The akara I had left in the oil was burnt black. The puff-puff and the akara I had already fried were missing. Even the mixture I had prepared spilt across the ground, trampled by people who ran for their lives.
I cried bitterly. I am a widow, and that business was my only source of survival. Every naira I had was in that trade. That was how I fed my children. Losing it all in a single morning felt like the end for me. I asked myself, How will I survive now? Who will help me?
But life must go on. Slowly, I managed to rise again. I started small, selling akara and puff-puff again. It was not easy, and the profit was little, but I refused to give up. If I had folded my hands, my children would have gone hungry.
This experience taught me something: as women, we must find a skill or a small business to rely on. If I had only depended on my late husband, what would have happened to us after his death? Business has kept us alive. That is why I encourage other women to do something with their hands. It may be small, but it can carry you through the hardest times.
As narrated by: Madam Laraba Steven (Maiduguri, Nigeria).
This snippet is published as part of a series, The Day Boko Haram Attacked.
Life has thrown more challenges at me than I ever thought possible. I was on the cusp of a new chapter, having been selected to sit for exams that would allow me to study in Japan – a dream I had worked tirelessly for. The exams were scheduled to take place in Abuja, and I was all set to leave Maiduguri, full of hope and anticipation. But fate had other plans. On the very day I was supposed to embark on my journey, Boko Haram launched a brutal attack on Maiduguri, plunging the city into chaos and triggering a total lockdown. My dreams of studying in Japan seemed to vanish in an instant.
The attack was more than just a setback; it was a harsh reminder of the difficult reality many of us face in the Northeast. Schools were destroyed, futures were put on hold, and fear became a constant companion. Still, I refused to let the circumstances define me. I redirected my focus to my education here in Nigeria and enrolled at the University of Maiduguri (UNIMAID).
Studying at UNIMAID hasn’t been easy. The insurgency has left deep scars on our education system, and the university has not been spared from the violence. I still remember the night a bomb blast shook our campus. We had to flee in the dead of night, not knowing what the next moment would bring. It was during our exam period, and the disruption made it nearly impossible for many of us to concentrate or even find a safe space to study. The frustration and fear from that time are feelings I would not wish on anyone.
Despite the challenges, UNIMAID has become a beacon of hope for me and many others. The university community has come together to provide support and encouragement. Our lecturers go above and beyond to ensure we receive the best education possible, despite the odds. The bonds we’ve formed with fellow students are strong – unbreakable even – because they’ve been forged through shared hardship and resilience.
Boko Haram may have taken away my chance to study in Japan, but it has not taken away my determination to pursue my dreams. I’m proud to be a student at UNIMAID, and I’m committed to making the most of the opportunities I have. My story is not unique. Many people in the Northeast have faced similar struggles.
As a result of the Boko Haram attack on our campus, I also lost my dear friend Abba. He was killed when a suicide bomber targeted the mosque in UNIMAID. That attack claimed the lives of about three people and left many others injured. Even though we are trying to cope and continue our studies, the fear of Boko Haram still lingers in our minds.
As narrated by: Usman Adam (Maiduguri, Nigeria).
This snippet is published as part of a series, The Day Boko Haram Attacked.
I’ve seen my city go through unimaginable changes over the years. As a young man, Maiduguri was a thriving commercial centre, bustling with traders and farmers from all over the region. But all of that changed with the arrival of Boko Haram.
I remember the day they first attacked us. It was like a nightmare that wouldn’t end. They came with guns, bombs, and a message of hate. They wanted us to abandon our way of life and adopt their twisted version of Islam. But we knew that wasn’t the way of our people. We’ve always been peaceful, tolerant, and welcoming to everyone.
As the attacks continued, life became increasingly difficult. Markets were destroyed, businesses closed, and many people fled the city in search of safety. But I couldn’t leave. This is my home, and I couldn’t abandon it. I had to find a way to survive, no matter what.
The insurgency affected every aspect of our lives. Food became scarce, and prices skyrocketed. Many of our farms were abandoned, and the few that remained were often targeted by the insurgents. I had to be creative to feed my family. I’d sneak out at night to buy food from traders who’d venture out of the city under the cover of darkness.
But it wasn’t just the lack of food that was the problem. The constant fear of attacks, the sound of gunfire and explosions, the sight of dead bodies and destruction – it took a toll on all of us. Many people lost loved ones, including friends and family members. I lost my younger brother in one of the attacks. He was a teacher, and his school was targeted. It’s a pain that never goes away.
The military came to our aid, but their presence wasn’t without its challenges. There were times when we felt caught in the crossfire, unsure of who was fighting whom. But we were grateful for their bravery and sacrifices. They’ve lost many good men and women in this fight, and we will always be grateful for their service.
Despite the challenges, we’ve found ways to cope. We’ve formed support groups, where we share what little we have and look out for one another. We’re a community that doesn’t give up easily.
Today, as I look out at the city, I see signs of hope. The military has made significant gains against Boko Haram, and many areas are beginning to return to normal. Children are back in school, and markets are reopening. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress.
I’m proud of my community for standing strong against the insurgency. We’ve been tested in ways we never thought possible, but we’ve emerged stronger and more united. We’ll continue to work towards rebuilding our city, brick by brick, and ensuring that Boko Haram’s ideology of hate and violence never takes root here again.
As narrated by: Alhaji Umar (Maiduguri, Nigeria).
This snippet is published as part of a series, The Day Boko Haram Attacked.
We have suffered a lot. We ran helter-skelter just to survive. As I’m talking to you now, there are people from our village, Kiriwari, who have been in the forest for about three to four days, suffering. We barely had the chance to make it here.
Boko Haram came with their guns and chased all of us away from our village. Not a single person remained. We had a population of about 1,000 people, and we were all forced to flee with our children. This incident happened exactly two months ago. Right now, we are in a critical condition due to the lack of proper accommodation. Some people fled but couldn’t reach Maiduguri; they are sleeping on farms, hiding among the trees. Because of this situation, if we could get help, we would want to be provided with foodstuffs. We left all our belongings behind and arrived here with nothing. Kind-hearted individuals gave some of us clothes, but that help is only available to those who were lucky enough to reach town. If you go to the area behind our village, you’ll see the level of suffering among our people — it would shock you.
Most of us have scattered to different places such as Kiriwari, Malabari, Borkawuri, Bulumdi, Kurumri, Sadiri, Abachari, Abchuri, Titiya, and other villages whose names I do not even know. All these communities have been displaced. We left our farms just as the crops were about to ripen – beans, maize, millet, and groundnuts – we left everything behind. Our farms are large and have been passed down from our parents and grandparents, but we abandoned them and ran for our lives.
I have lost a lot, and what I lost cannot be replaced by any individual—only the government can help. I personally lost about ₦8 million. Still, we have faith in God. If the government is willing to assist us, we would be grateful.
I have three wives and 28 children, and none of them are currently attending school. What I want most is for my people to have food to eat and a place to sleep. That is my primary concern. When we were in our village, we had no security issues. We were living peaceful lives until Boko Haram suddenly attacked us and displaced us.
This is not the first time we have been displaced. It has happened about three times before. But in the past, we were able to return and recover some of our belongings. This time, however, we are too afraid to go back. Boko Haram abducted around seven to eight people from our village, and up till now, we have not heard anything about them. We don’t know whether they are alive or dead.
As narrated by: Lawan Alaji Kaumi (Maiduguri, Nigeria).
This snippet is published as part of a series, The Day Boko Haram Attacked.