In a glimmer of relief amid Nigeria's escalating wave of kidnappings, the remaining 12 young women abducted by jihadists in the country's volatile northeast were freed late Saturday, according to a local official. The release of the group, all Muslim girls and women aged between 16 and 23, marks the end of a tense weeklong ordeal that began when they were snatched from their farms near a notorious jihadist hideout in Borno state.
Abubakar Mazhinyi, president of the local Askira-Uba council, confirmed the development to the Agence France-Presse news agency. "All the 12 were released," Mazhinyi said, noting that the victims had been promptly taken to a hospital for medical checks and care. He added that the abductors, believed to be members of a jihadist faction, had communicated directly with the families. "They (jihadists) spoke to the parents," he explained. "It was the parents that went to the bush."
The kidnapping occurred last Saturday in a rural area bordering a nature reserve in Borno, a region long plagued by insurgent activity. The 13 victims were tending to their farms when the armed group struck, separating them from their daily lives in an instant. One of the women was released shortly after the abduction when she revealed she was nursing an infant, a small mercy in an otherwise harrowing incident.
No ransom was demanded or paid for the release of the remaining 12, according to Mazhinyi. Instead, he attributed their freedom to the swift response of the Nigerian military. The jihadists, sensing the army's pursuit closing in, opted to let the captives go rather than risk confrontation, he said. This account underscores the precarious balance of power in Borno, where security forces continue to battle entrenched militant groups.
Borno state lies at the epicenter of Nigeria's protracted conflict with Islamist extremists, a war that ignited 16 years ago with the rise of Boko Haram. The group, whose name translates to "Western education is forbidden," has waged a brutal campaign against the government and civilians alike, seeking to impose a strict interpretation of Islamic law. The 2014 abduction of nearly 300 schoolgirls from Chibok, a town in Borno, became a global symbol of the insurgency's horrors, drawing international outrage and the hashtag #BringBackOurGirls.
Though Boko Haram's influence has waned in recent years due to military crackdowns and internal fractures, the threat persists. A rival faction, the Islamic State West Africa Province, has emerged as a formidable force, splintering from the original group and aligning with the global Islamic State network. Both organizations remain active, launching attacks and abductions that terrorize local communities.
The United Nations estimates that the conflict has claimed more than 40,000 lives and displaced over two million people, many of whom live in sprawling camps or eke out survival in remote villages. Borno, once a vibrant hub, now bears the scars of endless violence, with schools shuttered, markets empty, and families fractured by loss.
This latest incident is part of a broader surge in abductions across Nigeria over the past two weeks, highlighting the nation's deepening security crisis. Kidnappings, once sporadic, have become a grim routine, exploited by both ideological militants and opportunistic criminals. In the northeast, jihadists use such acts to sow fear and recruit; elsewhere, bandits target schools and villages for profit.
Just last week, in the central-western Niger Delta state, armed gangs stormed a Catholic school, seizing more than 300 children in a brazen daylight raid. While some pupils managed to flee into the surrounding bush, over 265 students and teachers remain in captivity, according to reports from local authorities. Unlike the Borno case, this abduction has been linked to non-ideological bandits, who often demand hefty ransoms from desperate families.
Nigeria's history of mass kidnappings dates back over a decade, but the scale has intensified in recent years. Criminal gangs, operating in poorly policed rural expanses, view vulnerable populations—particularly students and farmers—as easy prey. These groups thrive on the country's vast ungoverned spaces, where weak infrastructure and underfunded security forces leave communities exposed.
Experts point to a confluence of factors fueling the epidemic: economic desperation, the proliferation of small arms from regional conflicts, and the lingering instability from the Boko Haram war. In the northeast, jihadists blend ideological zeal with criminal enterprise, sometimes collaborating with bandits for mutual gain. The Niger Delta incident, claimed by such non-religious gangs, illustrates how the tactic has spread beyond ideological borders.
Local leaders in Borno have long called for bolstered military presence and community-based early warning systems to prevent such attacks. Mazhinyi's account of parental involvement in the rescue—venturing into dangerous terrain to retrieve their daughters—speaks to the resilience of affected families, who often bear the brunt of inadequate state protection.
As the freed women recover in the hospital, questions linger about the long-term impact on their lives. Trauma from captivity, coupled with the ever-present fear of reprisal, could hinder their return to normalcy. Nigerian officials have not yet released details on any ongoing operations against the perpetrators, but the army's role in this release suggests intensified efforts to reclaim control.
The broader implications of these abductions ripple far beyond the victims' villages. They erode trust in the government, deter investment, and perpetuate a cycle of poverty and displacement. With elections looming and economic pressures mounting, President Bola Tinubu's administration faces mounting pressure to address the root causes, from improving intelligence sharing to tackling corruption in security spending.
For now, the safe return of the 12 women offers a rare moment of hope in Borno's shadowed landscape. Yet, as long as jihadists and bandits roam freely, the shadow of fear will continue to hang over Nigeria's heartland, a stark reminder of a conflict that refuses to fade.