Pain, Anger, and a Cry for Justice in Jos -By Rinret Istifanus

There are moments when pain becomes too heavy for words when grief turns into something raw, something uncontrollable. That is what many are feeling right now in Jos, especially in communities like Angwan Rukuba, where violence has left wounds that may never truly heal.

And just when it seems like the pain cannot get worse yesterday happened.

Another day.

Another incident.

Another reminder that the situation is far from over.

Reports of a student being brutally beaten have once again thrown people into fear and confusion. For many, it feels like a cycle that refuses to end.

This is no longer just a story of “what happened before.”

This is happening now.

From the attacks in Angwan Rukuba to the disturbing events of yesterday, a painful pattern is unfolding one that continues to rob people of their safety, their loved ones, and their peace of mind.

But beyond the headlines, there are voices.

Broken voices.

One of them is a grieving mother.

A woman who lost her only son.

Through tears and trembling words, she shared memories that now feel like knives in her heart. She said her son used to call her “baby.” Every morning, he would wake her gently, telling her to get up so they could eat together.

That was their routine.

That was their bond.

But now, that voice is gone.

She said that since Sunday, she has not been able to eat not because there is no food, but because she is still waiting. Waiting for her son to wake her up as he always did. Waiting for a voice that will never come again.

“I am still waiting for him,” she cried.

She said her birthday is coming soon, and her son had promised to buy her a gift.

“So this is the gift you wanted to give me?” she asked through tears.

She said she will never forget this day for the rest of her life.

She said she is in so much pain.

No mother should ever have to say these words.

No parent should ever have to live with such emptiness. The pain in her voice was not just grief it was devastation. The kind that breaks something inside you forever.

And when people hear such stories, something inside them breaks too.

Anger rises.

Questions follow.

Where is the protection?

Where is the safety?

Where is the government when people are crying out for help?

For many, it feels like a betrayal.

Because the truth is simple: the primary responsibility of any government is to protect lives. When people begin to feel abandoned, when communities start living in fear, when students can no longer feel safe then something is deeply wrong.

The attacks in Angwan Rukuba were not just incidents.

They were warnings.

And yesterday was another warning.

Warnings that people are vulnerable.

Warnings that something needs to change urgently.

The people are not just mourning the past anymore

they are fearing the present.

But even in the middle of this anger, we must hold on to something important: humanity.

It is easy, in moments like this, to want revenge. But violence has never truly healed violence. It only deepens the wounds and creates new victims.

What the people of Jos need is not more bloodshed.

They need justice.

They need protection.

They need to feel seen and heard.

They need leaders who will act not just speak.

Because behind every statistic is a human life.

Behind every headline is a family that will never be the same again.

The grieving mother’s words are not just a story they are a cry that must not be ignored.

The people of Jos are tired.

Tired of mourning.

Tired of fear.

Tired of unanswered questions.

And now, tired of waking up to new tragedies every day.

So the question remains, louder than ever:

How many more “yesterdays” must we endure before enough is truly enough?

Because until something changes, the pain will remain.

And the voices of the broken will continue to echo across the land

crying not just for justice,

but for peace.