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There is a dangerous habit in nations battered by recurring tragedies. It is the habit of moving on too quickly. A fresh calamity arrives and instantly pushes yesterday\'s sorrow into the shadows. New headlines emerge, new outrage erupts, and the old wounds are quietly abandoned. Still somewhere beyond the glare of public attention, the victims remain trapped in the same nightmare.
Since May 15, 2026, dozens of schoolchildren and their teachers abducted from schools in Oriire Local Government Area of Oyo State have remained in captivity. The victims include pupils as young as two years old and others barely in their early teens, alongside teachers whose only offence was showing up for work on an ordinary school day. Reports indicate that 39 pupils and students and seven teachers were seized during coordinated attacks on schools in the Ahoro-Esinle and Yawota communities.
What is perhaps most heartbreaking is the age of the children. Some are too young to understand the meaning of kidnapping. Some cannot properly pronounce the names of the forests into which they were marched. Some still sleep with toys. Some still run to their mothers at the slightest sound of thunder. Yet these children have now spent weeks in the custody of armed captors.
When the abduction first occurred, the nation reacted with shock. Security agencies launched operations. Political leaders issued statements. Citizens expressed outrage. Families held on desperately to hope. But as days turned into weeks, the volume of public concern began to fade beneath the weight of other national crises and tragedies.
This is precisely why we must return our attention to these children.
For every day that passes, their families endure a torture that cannot be measured by statistics. There are mothers who wake up each morning staring at empty beds. Fathers who can no longer focus on work. Siblings who ask questions that nobody can answer. Grandparents who wait anxiously for footsteps that never arrive.
In many homes, time has effectively stopped on May 15. Calendars have continued to move forward, but emotionally, those families remain trapped on the morning when armed men invaded schools and carried away their loved ones.
The greatest cruelty of prolonged captivity is not merely physical confinement. It is uncertainty. Families do not know whether their children are hungry, frightened, sick or injured. They do not know whether their teachers are safe. Every telephone call becomes a source of anxiety. Every rumour becomes a fragile thread of hope.
The tragedy is further deepened by reports that one of the abducted teachers, Michael Oyedokun, was killed in captivity, a development that sent waves of grief through the affected communities.
Presently, despite this painful reality, the names and faces of the remaining captives are gradually disappearing from public discourse. Their ordeal is being overtaken by politics, insecurity elsewhere, economic debates and the relentless churn of the news cycle.
But a nation should never become so accustomed to tragedy that children can vanish without sustained national attention.
History judges societies not by the eloquence of their speeches but by the value they place on the vulnerable. Few citizens are more vulnerable than schoolchildren whose lives were interrupted in classrooms where they should have been learning, laughing and dreaming about the future.
The abduction is also an assault on the very idea of education. Every child who disappears from a classroom sends fear into hundreds of others. Parents begin to wonder whether school remains safe. Teachers question their security. Communities lose confidence in institutions that should nurture the next generation. Across Nigeria and beyond, attacks on education continue to rise, threatening children\'s right to learn in safety.
Recent reports suggest that security agencies have intensified efforts and that intelligence points to the victims being held within the vast Old Oyo National Park area. Surveillance operations and rescue missions have reportedly continued.
Those efforts deserve recognition. However, the passage of time demands even greater urgency. Every additional day in captivity increases the emotional and psychological burden on the victims and their families.
The children abducted on May 15 are not merely figures in a security report. They are unfinished stories. They are future doctors, teachers, engineers, artists, farmers, entrepreneurs and leaders. They are dreams waiting to grow. They are possibilities waiting to blossom.
The nation must therefore resist the temptation to forget them. Their names should continue to be spoken. Their photographs should continue to be displayed. Their plight should remain part of the national conversation until every child and every teacher is safely returned.
For somewhere tonight, beyond the reach of their families, those children are still waiting. And until they come home, Nigerria\'s conscience should not be allowed to rest.
