The Danger of Numbness: Why Every Nigerian Must Choose to Be Their Neighbor's Safekeeper

There is a terrifying pattern sweeping through Nigeria’s news cycle, and it follows a precise, predictable timeline.

First, the breaking news hits. The numbers are staggering: dozens of students and teachers stolen from their classrooms in Oriire, Oyo State; a group of young passengers and UTME candidates intercepted on a highway in Benue. Then comes the outrage. Social media feeds are flooded with prayers, hashtags, and angry demands for government action.

And then, inevitably, the silence sets in. The algorithm shifts. A new celebrity scandal or political drama takes over, and the names of our stolen children slip into the dark recesses of collective amnesia until the next tragedy restarts the loop.

This cycle of outrage and apathy is more than just frustrating; it is dangerous. It masks a deeper, structural decay in our communities.

We are gradually adapting to terror, treating it like a seasonal weather pattern we just have to endure.

But we cannot afford to wait until the smoke is rising from our own street, our own house, or our own family members before we recognize that security is a collective duty, not a selective choice.

The Political Carnival vs. Communal Grief

The most jarring proof of our collective numbness is how seamlessly our society transitions from mourning to celebration. While mothers in Oyo are staring at empty beds and families in Benue are frantically negotiating with faceless voices in the bush, our television screens and streets remain dominated by glamorous political rallies.

The political carnival never stops. The stadium lights glare, praise-singers chant, and politicians wave from heavily fortified convoys. It is a bitter irony: your preferred political candidate might be physically far from the remote forest where an abduction took place, but they are incredibly close to the corridors of power—the very people who command the resources, intelligence, and authority needed to impact a recovery.

Yet, the quest for political position and the desperate preservation of personal ambition have effectively sealed their mouths and dried up their empathy. To speak too loudly about the stolen children might disrupt the festive mood of the rally or offend the powers that be.

Even more tragic is that the victims’ neighbors, relatives, and peers are often found in those very crowds, jumping and chanting the praises of these silent leaders. For a few crumpled banknotes passed over a car hood or crumbs dropped from the high table, we willingly cheer for the very people who look right past our trauma. We have allowed the eradication of abductions to become nothing more than a hollow campaign promise—a bullet point on a manifesto that evidence has shown time and again will be discarded the moment the ballots are counted.

The Illusion of Individual Safety

Because we cannot rely on the political class to hold up their promises, the burden falls back on us. Yet, in a climate of fear, it is human nature to look inward. People begin to settle for a selfish peace, believing that if they just keep their heads down, pay their local guards, and stay out of trouble, they will remain safe. Worse still, the breakdown of our economy has made some willing to compromise the safety of others for short-term gain. The recurring presence of local informants—individuals within the community who guide bandits through familiar routes or tip them off about moving targets—proves that the enemy is often invited inside by those we know.

Selling out a neighbor for temporary financial comfort or turning a blind eye to an early red flag might seem rewarding in the short run. It puts money in a pocket or keeps trouble away from a specific doorstep for one more night.

But it is a mathematical certainty that this is an illusion.

When you help compromise the safety of a community, you are building the very system that will eventually consume you. In a society where betrayal becomes a currency, someone else will eventually emulate your actions. In a matter of time, it will be your turn, or your child's turn, to be sold out to the highest bidder by someone else chasing their own crumbs

When No One Listens to the Wolf

If we allow society to normalize the trade of human lives for cash or material gain, we define a new, brutal set of norms. And here is the bitter truth about a broken norm: once it is established, the society you corrupted will gloss over your own tragedy with the exact same indifference you once showed others.

If you are forced to cry wolf tomorrow, it won't matter. The crowd will not gather. The state will offer standard, scripted condolences. The internet will make your pain trend for 48 hours, and then the world will move on to the next political rally, just as it is doing right now with the abducted children of Oyo and Benue.

We cannot expect an indifferent society to care about us when we have spent years being indifferent to everyone else, dancing at rallies while our neighbor's house burns.

Becoming Safekeepers of Each Other

Driving action toward citizen duties means shifting our mindset from superficial political loyalty to radical collective defense. This does not mean taking up arms; it means

reclaiming our roles as active, vigilant "safekeepers" of one another.

Rejecting the Crumbs: We must refuse to let politicians buy our silence or our praise during a security crisis. If a leader cannot demonstrate active, fierce empathy for the vulnerable, they do not deserve a platform, a cheer, or a vote.

Calling Out Early Red Flags: Strange vehicles loitering near school premises, unusual movements along transit routes, or sudden unexplained wealth displayed by individuals with no clear source of income must be treated as active threats.

Squeezing Out Informants: A community must make the social and moral cost of betrayal too heavy to bear. We must build an internal culture where protecting the collective is a sacred duty and exposing a traitor is an act of honor.

The children taken from Oyo and the travelers ambushed in Benue are not statistics, nor are they political props. They are daughters, sons, future leaders, and a piece of Nigeria's tomorrow.

If we continue to treat their disappearance as "their problem" while we chase the high of the next political season, we guarantee a future where no one is left to fight for us when the darkness reaches our own doorstep.

Safety is not a product a politician will deliver to us after an election. It is a shared ecosystem. It is time to wake up, look at the person next to us, and commit to being their keeper—before the silence catches up to us all.

Join us for the next episode of WACANDA Series.

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