By Ebenezer Adurodija
Schools across the country are starting to feel less like places of learning and more like abandoned outposts—walls scarred by neglect, gates hanging loose, classrooms echoing with the kind of silence that comes after too many bad stories. The kidnappings of schoolchildren and the killings and abductions of teachers have become a wound we keep pretending isn’t bleeding. But it is. And it stains everything.
A child should be able to walk into school carrying nothing heavier than books and dreams. Instead, many walk in with fear tucked under their uniforms. Parents watch them leave each morning with a knot in their stomachs, praying the day doesn’t end with another headline, another missing face, another community shattered. The memory of mass kidnappings still hangs in the air like smoke that refuses to clear.
The damage doesn’t end when the captives return—if they return at all. Some children come back with eyes that look older than their years, carrying nightmares that don’t fade with daylight. Their education is broken, their trust fractured. Some never step into a classroom again. And every child lost to fear is a future stolen from the nation.
Teachers aren’t spared either. These are people who show up every day with chalk-stained fingers and tired determination, trying to shape young minds despite crumbling buildings and empty promises. Yet they’ve become targets—dragged from classrooms, attacked on lonely roads, murdered for simply doing their jobs. When a teacher falls, it’s not just a life lost; it’s a library burned, a generation robbed of guidance.
The message is chilling: those who build the future are not safe. And a country that cannot protect its educators is a country digging its own grave.
Fixing this crisis isn’t a task for one office or one agency. It demands action from every corner. Government must stop treating school security like an afterthought—intelligence must be sharper, response times faster, funding consistent, and protection real, not theoretical. Security agencies must be equipped and held accountable, not left to improvise in the dark.
Communities, too, are part of the frontline. Local vigilance, shared information, and cooperation with security forces can stop attacks before they happen. Parents, traditional rulers, religious leaders, civil society groups, and the media must keep raising their voices until they’re impossible to ignore.
And we cannot forget those still in captivity. Every missing child, every abducted teacher, is a family living in suspended agony. Their absence is a daily reminder that we have failed them. Their freedom must remain a national priority—not a footnote.
“Their Lives Matter Too” isn’t a slogan to print on banners. It’s a warning. A plea. A truth. Schoolchildren and teachers are not collateral. They are the backbone of tomorrow. They deserve safety, dignity, and the freedom to learn and teach without looking over their shoulders.
A nation that shields its children protects its future. A nation that values its teachers invests in its own survival. It’s time to stand up, speak out, and demand schools where fear has no place.
Their lives matter too.
