One of my neighbours was among the worshippers at St Finbarr’s on that fateful day when a bomb detonated outside the church, carried out by enemies of Christianity. The morning had begun like any ordinary Sunday—everyone running to complete house chores and rushing to church, trying not to be late.
Shortly after the Hausa service ended and the High Mass began around 11:00 a.m., a small altercation erupted at the church gate. Latecomers were insisting on parking within the premises, but church security firmly refused. A heated argument drew in senior security officials, and in the midst of the tension, an explosion occurred.
The blast claimed the lives of church security personnel who stood their ground, the occupants of the vehicle—apparently suicide bombers—and some latecomers. Several victims were passersby or attendees of the Hausa service who had other engagements afterward. The tragedy struck indiscriminately.
Security operatives were the heroes who saved hundreds of lives. Without their discipline, firmness, and resilience, the bomb would have wreaked even greater havoc, destroying the church and taking countless lives.
The casualties extended far beyond the dead. One neighbour was traumatised for life, discovering his car littered with human remains. The experience haunted him until his death; he never stepped foot in that church again.
Similarly, during a deadly crisis in 2009, this same man had to be secretly evacuated from his mansion in Bukuru. Unable to sell his property at a fair price, he abandoned it, moved into a rented house, purchased another plot, and began redeveloping—but never returned to live there.
A friend and flourishing restaurant owner in Rayfield Golf Club was forced to flee with her three children after narrowly escaping death. She lost everything, including school for her children for an entire year, and relied on friends to rebuild. She eventually relocated to Bauchi and founded ‘Mama Put,’ now a successful restaurant.
Reflecting on her ordeal, she said, “When you are down, you learn who truly cares and see people for who they really are. I have faced death, hunger, and hatred. I do not wish that for anyone—not even my enemy.”
For children, insecurity casts a long shadow over education and childhood. Miss Laraba Musa of Barkin Ladi, an SS1 student, shared her experience: “I used to be excited by talk of crises from afar because it meant we could stay home from school. But when the attack came close, hearing gunshots, seeing neighbours’ cries, and witnessing the dead, the injured, and burnt properties, I felt real fear. My heart was heavy, and I cried until I could cry no more.”
What once seemed like a holiday now felt like despair. Even daily meals were eaten in silence and fear. The persistent breaches of security erode not only safety but also trust among neighbours, halting commerce, destroying friendships and undermining our shared humanity.
Each act of violence sets communities back, and the enemy roams like a roaring lion, seeking to devour the innocent. After every attack, suspicion grows, patronage declines, and the economy suffers. Loss of life is compounded by loss of trust and shared peace.
As we navigate these dangers, it is crucial to remember what is at stake: our lives, our communities and our humanity. Therefore, we should not allow insecurity to escalate into religious crises, further dividing us and deepening our losses.