One night, we were sitting down and had started to feel sleepy. It was around 1:00 am. The bandits came in two batches. The first batch stayed along the road leading to the community and the second batch invaded, shooting sporadically in our town. We could not hide in the house because they usually slaughter those they find hiding indoors. That is why we stopped hiding, as we heard them coming. We just ran into the bush.
But that day they blocked every road and hidden area; they killed many people, slaughtering those attempting to hide, and kidnapped some. In our presence, they beat a lady who died immediately after she was taken to the hospital. They beat her using the head of a gun. They went with her child and killed him in their camp.
We ran for our life, covering a long distance. My colleagues and I ran to escape, about thirteen of us, but only six survived. You will be running alongside your friend, and you will realise they’ve shot him.
Believe me, I have never seen anything heartbreaking like that attack. There was a time all through the week they attacked our town every day and night for the whole week and wouldn’t let us go to our farms. They burnt shops to ashes, stole camels, and abducted five women. We later paid their ransom, but they still killed all of them except two who managed to escape in the night.
After collecting money – three million naira, two motorcycles, and other items as ransom – they killed the remaining three, including those who went to deliver the ransom. Those two who escaped spent about three days running in the bush until they found a community that would help and drop them at the riverside of our community.
Some young boys who had gone to fetch water found them and reported to us. They were very dirty and their clothes had torn all over. This happened after losing a lot of my relatives and friends, which is the basis for my relocation to Gusau, where I live now. I am not feeling okay because those I lost are everything to me. I lost close friends who were my everything since childhood. I’m in Gusau now, but not in a good mood.
There was a day we went to the farm, about six of us, and saw people in military uniforms, thinking they were soldiers with their rifles, but they turned out to be bandits. One giant man among them stopped his bike and readied his gun, waiting for the go-ahead from his boss to shoot us. The boss asked him to just go and leave us. He searched us and asked where we came from. Luckily, we didn’t mention Gidan Goga, because if we did, they would kill us. They’re in conflict with the people of Gidan Goga because we have a vigilante group. Even a day-old child, if he is in Gidan Goga, they won’t leave him alive.
Another incident I will never forget is, there was a day on Wednesday around 2 pm during a weekly market day, we realised the market was filled up. Unknown to us, there were strangers. Instantly, about 200 bikes with bandits started coming into the market. Our Yan Sakai responded to repel the attack, and they kept exchanging fire until late evening around Maghrib. They overpowered everyone and set motorcycle selling points ablaze, scattered phone selling points, and stole phones. They killed and abducted many people that day because the attack was sudden.
So, these responses by the Yan Sakai are what make the bandits have more grudges with our community. They don’t give any chance to Gidan Goga or someone from Gidan Goga to rest or survive, and they say it’s because of the Yan Sakai.
As narrated by: Mu’awiya Gidan-Goga (Maradun, Zamfara).
This snippet is published as part of the series, What We Lost to the Bandits.
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