Yemi is the only child of his parents so far. He is just ten years old and only began formal education a few years ago. Yemi has not only been a source of joy to his parents, but also a source of peace and strength.
Anyone privileged to be a parent understands the indescribable joy of watching a child grow from one milestone to another, crossing life’s checkpoints as though they were nothing.
Yemi once told his parents that when he grows up, he wants to become a medical doctor so he can make sure no child ever falls sick again. It was a decision born from the memory of a hospital visit after he had fallen ill a few years earlier.
His parents told him that if he truly wanted to become a doctor, then he must study hard and become an intelligent student. Since then, Yemi has taken his studies more seriously than ever.
Most mornings, he wakes before his parents to prepare for school. While many children are scolded for not getting ready early enough, Yemi turned the tables in his home. He is usually the one urging his parents to hurry so he would not be late for school. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say his parents are the ones slowing him down, because Yemi is often fully dressed and ready as early as 6:30 a.m., waiting impatiently by the door.
Like every other day, Yemi woke up excited about school. He had already finished preparing and had to wait for his parents until 7 a.m. before they finally left for school. By about 7:20 a.m., Yemi happily arrived at the school premises in the company of his parents. Everything seemed as normal as it could be.
Yemi waved goodbye and ran into the school compound for another school day.
What Yemi, his parents, and even the teachers did not know was that the government had already introduced three new subjects into the educational curriculum.
Three subjects capable of altering the course of students, teachers, and parents alike.
The subjects had first been introduced in the far North, but little was done about it. There was some outrage from affected parents and communities, but eventually, like we often do as a people, we moved on — not realizing that those same subjects would one day arrive at our own doorstep.
We were docile. After all, we were not the ones directly affected then, and besides, the subjects did not seem compulsory — or so we thought.
But today, every arrangement had been concluded to bring those subjects into Yemi’s school, and their impact would alter everything. Worse still, no prior announcement had been made.
Nobody prepared Yemi.
Nobody prepared his parents.
Nobody prepared the teachers.
At about 10 a.m., the sound of dozens of motorcycles shattered the serenity of the once peaceful school compound. But that was not all.
The noise came accompanied by something even more dangerous — sporadic gunshots tearing violently through the atmosphere.
While teachers struggled desperately to calm the students, news quickly spread that the vice headmistress had been shot dead.
That was the final straw.
Panic erupted instantly.
Students and teachers ran in every direction, desperately searching for safety. Nobody had the time to think straight. Nobody had the luxury of being in charge of anybody else.
The new subjects had finally arrived
Insecurity.
Banditry.
Kidnapping.
These subjects do not coexist peacefully with Mathematics, English, Biology, or Civic Education. They destroy concentration. They cripple dreams. Their chief invigilator is Fear, and once Fear arrives, rational thought begins to die.
Who can dare dream of becoming a doctor, lawyer, engineer, or pharmacist when fear has invaded their mind and peace has become a distant memory?
The news of the attack spread as rapidly as the gunshots themselves, and peace disappeared from every home in the community. Parents rushed in their numbers to retrieve their children, but before they arrived, the first lesson had already ended — with the disappearance of forty children.
Forty children.
Children who woke up that morning with dreams, bright hopes, and innocent excitement now swallowed by the consequences of failed leadership and collective national silence.
Homes have been shattered.
Parents have been broken.
Peace has vanished.
Even those fortunate enough to escape now live under the chains of perpetual fear. The environment has become everything except conducive for learning.
Unfortunately, Yemi was among those taken.
Inside the kidnappers’ den, he keeps wondering what exactly his offence was. Was it wrong to dream of becoming a doctor? Was this now part of the academic curriculum?
His small mind cannot make sense of it all. All he truly understands is pain — and the unbearable longing to see his parents again.
Meanwhile, his mother has grown lean from worry and sleepless nights, while his father has become a shadow of himself at work, emotionally broken and unable to function productively.
Yemi has now spent almost two weeks in captivity alongside the other abducted children. He does not know whether he will come out alive, but one thing he knows for certain is this:
School is no longer a safe place.
And whether he survives or not, his life may never remain the same again.
This piece is dedicated to the forty children kidnapped in Oyo State, Nigeria, on May 15, 2026, who, as of the time of writing, are still in the den of their abductors.
My heart bleeds for Nigeria and for the trauma these children must be enduring right now.
Previously, I wrote that our future was in the fire.
But now, my fellow compatriots, I humbly submit that our future is no longer merely in the fire.
Our future is already burning.
And if we do nothing about it, this nation may yet be completely consumed.
