I began my teaching career at Abbaganaram Primary School in Maiduguri. That school was my pride, the place where I believed I could shape young minds and contribute to the future of Borno. Every morning, I would stand before my pupils with a piece of chalk in my hand, certain that education was the strongest gift I could give them.
But everything changed the day Boko Haram attacked.
It started suddenly with gunshots and chaos. Children screamed, teachers scattered, and everyone ran for their lives. I can still hear the small voices crying out, “Malam, Malam!” searching for safety as bullets cut through the air. In that moment, I felt helpless. A school that should have been a safe haven became a battlefield. I will never forget the terror on the faces of those children, or the sound of their sandals slapping against the dusty ground as they fled.
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. Each day, I entered the classroom with my heart racing, not knowing if we would be targeted again.
The darkest moment came when my colleague, Mr Moses, was killed by insurgents. He was more than a co-worker; he was a friend who believed as strongly as I did that teaching could rebuild our community. His death shook me deeply, and for a moment, I questioned whether I could continue. But then I thought of the children. If we teachers gave up, the insurgents would win. They were not just attacking schools; they were attacking the future of our children.
That day at Abbaganaram taught me that education itself was under attack. But it also strengthened my resolve. For every gunshot that rang out, I promised myself I would answer with the sound of chalk against the blackboard. For every child who cried in fear, I vowed to keep teaching so that one day they would laugh again.
Over time, with the efforts of the Civilian Joint Task Force and the security agencies, schools began to reopen. Slowly, children returned to the classrooms, their satchels clutched tightly as if education itself had become their weapon of hope. Watching them sit again at their desks reminded me of why I stayed.
The insurgency tried to silence us, but I chose to remain in the classroom. Because teaching is not just my job, it is my calling. I believe that no matter how dark the times may be, the light of education can never be extinguished. The future of our children must never be surrendered.
As narrated by: Mallam Habu Abdullahi (Maiduguri, Nigeria).
This snippet is published as part of a series, The Day Boko Haram Attacked.
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