Kidnapping has now become one of the most dangerous crimes in Nigeria. Both young and old are targets, and neither Muslims nor Christians are spared from this madness. What started as an occasional incident has now grown into a frightening industry that feeds on fear, poverty and weak enforcement of the law.
In the South-West, the land of Oduduwa’s children, this ugly reality is a relatively recent development. For decades, our region was known for relative peace, communal vigilance and the culture of protecting one another. Unfortunately, things have begun to change. What used to be stories from faraway places has now crept into our backyard.
Today, kidnapping has turned into a multi-billion-naira criminal enterprise, largely driven by ruthless elements who move across Nigeria’s porous borders. Many of them are young Fulani men who have abandoned the traditional occupation their forefathers were known for—cattle rearing—and have instead chosen the dangerous path of quick and violent wealth.
However, we must also look inward. The truth is that the South-West might have been largely insulated from this scourge if we had not gradually abandoned the age-long Yoruba principle of collective responsibility. Our forefathers believed strongly that “ara ilu ni n so ilu di ilu”—it is the people of a community who make the community what it is. When vigilance weakens and communities stop looking out for one another, criminals find space to operate.
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Many of these bandits are unfamiliar with the deep cultural structure of the South-West. Yet they have found ways to exploit loopholes created by outdated policies, particularly the old grazing routes established decades ago. Historically, nomadic herders moved their cattle southward during the dry season through designated routes created by the government. At the time, the policy may have had good intentions.
Unfortunately, those same routes have now become pathways for criminal infiltration. Bandits follow these corridors into southern forests, where they abduct innocent travelers and villagers. What was once a pastoral arrangement has now been hijacked by violent criminals.
Truth must be told: open grazing, as practiced in the past, is now outdated. It belongs to another era. Nigeria has changed, population has grown, farms have expanded, and communities are more interconnected than ever before. Continuing with such practices in modern Nigeria only creates security loopholes that criminals exploit.
What we are witnessing today is not merely kidnapping—it is a sign of weakening authority. When criminals operate boldly without fear of consequences, the message is clear: the system is failing.
A recent video circulating on social media illustrates this disturbing trend. A young Yoruba man named Adegoke, who was travelling to Sokoto State, was abducted by bandits. What happened afterward shocked many Nigerians.
The kidnappers released a clear photograph.
In the image, the victim was alive, seated helplessly beside a bandit dressed in full camouflage uniform. The criminal’s face was fully visible—no mask, no attempt to hide his identity. Soon after, a ransom demand of ₦100 million followed.
Naturally, Nigerians began asking serious questions. If the bandit’s face is visible, why has no arrest been made? If he is wearing military-style camouflage, where did it come from? And if such photos can be circulated freely, who truly controls those territories?
When criminals begin to pose confidently for photographs, it shows that fear of the law has disappeared. When authorities remain silent, it suggests that action has been replaced with hesitation.
Banditry is no longer hiding deep in the forests. It is now bold enough to face the camera.
The South-West governors must therefore go beyond rhetoric and enforce existing anti–open grazing laws decisively. Empty promises will not solve this problem. Communities must also revive the old culture of vigilance, because “bi ile ba n jo, a kii wo aso funfun”—when the house is on fire, no one worries about wearing spotless clothes.
In other words, extraordinary times demand firm action.
If nothing serious is done now, the danger may spread further. As another Yoruba proverb warns, “ti a ba fi ọwọ́ kan fọ́tẹ́, a fi mejeeji gba a”—when a problem is ignored early, it eventually demands greater effort to solve.
Nigeria must act before this growing crisis consumes more innocent lives.
Mogaji Wole Arisekola, Publisher of The Street Journal Newspaper, writes from Ibadan.
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