We Do Not Carry a Collective Cross -By Udo Blessing

On the 15th of May 2026, a Friday, the now-familiar bandits attacked three schools in Oriire local government area, Oyo State in South-West Nigeria. Seven teachers and 39 students were abducted from these schools: Baptist Nursery and Primary School (Ogbomo Yawota), L.A Primary School, and Community High School (Ahoro-Esinele). While the abduction of these 46 people took place, a 48-year-old teacher, Joel Adegboye Adeyisan, was shot dead. A few days later, Michael Oyedokon, a 57-year-old mathematics teacher was beheaded by these terrorists, who filmed the assassination and uploaded it online to circulate. This disheartening news hung a cloud of gloom upon Nigerians who were very distressed about the incident. It looked as though the country was about to fully go into mourning and righteous rage for the disappearance of citizens whose only crime was being Nigerians, but it was not so. A few days after this grim occurrence, the Ojude Oba festival took place in Ijebu Ode, Ogun state — a two-hour drive away from the place of abduction — and there was massive turnout.

The Ojude Oba festival that was held on Friday May 29th 2026, was a clear example of how the average Nigerian mind works. Just two weeks after the upsetting report of the abduction that seemingly broke our hearts, we decided to celebrate one of the biggest festivals in South-Western Nigeria, our insecurity worries brushed aside. At the mention of “owambe,” every care was thrown aside. People went there to “aura farm” and showcase their wealth, while our dear children experienced Children’s Day in the forest, in the brutal hands of the terrorists. From Aso-oke age-grade societies (Regberegbe), to the Balogun warriors parade, to the beautifully decorated horses, the Ojude Oba festival was celebrated in full. It did not seem as though the country was, or should I say is in the middle of a major crisis. This juxtaposition of the kidnapping and well-celebrated festival shows how Nigerians are gradually becoming insensitive to the pain of others. Except it is our family members or loved ones that meet tragedy, we are okay with jerking our shoulders and saying “God forbid!” and then moving on with life. We don’t fight our battles as a country, instead we each carry our individual cross. Before the movement of this terrorism to the South, when we Southerners hear of the attacks in the North, we would just shake our heads and “thank God” that we are not in the North. Now that the attacks have started spreading to the South, everyone has decided to focus on their families and friends. We have forgotten that a stick of broom breaks easily, but not when in a bundle.

Many may argue that the Ojude Oba festival could not have been cancelled because of the amount of preparation that went into it, and its significance. Of course, we cannot deny the important significance of the festival. “Ojude Oba” festival which translates to “The King’s Forecourt” in Yoruba, dates back to the 19th century, when the early Muslim converts in Ijebu Ode paid a reverent visit to the Awujale to express their gratitude for his religious tolerance, as he allowed them to practice Islam in peace. As time went on, it became a festival that was held three days after Eid-el-Kabir, to celebrate religious tolerance. Today, the Ojude Oba festival transcends religious boundaries as it unifies the Muslims, Christians, and traditionalists, bringing people from all walks of life together. The Ojude Oba festival has become a runway for the display of the rich Yoruba culture, and the wealth of the wealthy. While people may say that such a festival could not have been called off, it is unarguably correct to say that it could have been used to spread awareness or to protest the insecurity plaguing the country. However, it was celebrated in full bloom as though all is at ease. How can we preach tolerance when our very actions show that we have been completely desensitised to the tragedies of others?

Sadly, the Ojude Oba festival is not the only culprit to point fingers at. No event in the country has been toned down. Nigerians still hold concerts, football parades, grand weddings, as though all is well. We have collectively decided to ignore the dark cloud at the horizon. (This should be the only thing we can collectively do.) We act like children who are still playing outside by midnight, ignoring the dark and pretending it is daytime. When the hands of terrorism grips our close acquaintances, then we will wail the mournful song of a “this bad country that cannot protect its citizens,” but until then, “life goes on, God go protect us. E no go reach our side.”

However, this nature in Nigerians cannot be for nothing, for we know a popular saying that says “villains are not born; they are made.” Nigerians have learned to either ignore or comicise every serious situation as a coping mechanism for survival. On the 12th of June, democracy day, a protest was held in Abuja to demand action over insecurity, and the release of the abducted students and teachers. These protesters marched from the popular Berger bus stop towards Eagle Square, demanding the government to take action when the police operatives started to fire tear gas canisters at close range, in the name of maintaining public order. People had to run for their lives, and that was how that day’s protest ended. This is not the first time that such an occurrence is taking place. Many people have lost their lives or become injured during peaceful protests as they would not be allowed to freely express themselves, even though it is their rights. Citizens that tried to be patriotic, to fight for their nation, have been intimidated into silence by the government and its armed forces. We say we practice democracy but everyone is afraid to speak against a government that has failed them, so as to not be used as a scape-goat. Nigerians as a result of this have deliberately become insensitive. Everyone wants to live their lives to the fullest as though there is nothing to be afraid of, and the day we are kidnapped or killed, then it has reached our turn. If addressing the elephant in the room means harm, injury, or death by the very people that are supposed to protect us, then even I myself would mind my business and live my life as though all is well.

Now the houses of people echo with the wailings of sorrow for their missing loved ones, each day marks another absent child, farmers in communities cannot harvest their crops for fear of being abducted in their farms, the blood of youths decorate our lands, but Nigeria moves on despite all these because we do not carry a collective cross.