For Hajiya Aisha Ibrahim, the past twelve years have been measured in complete silence. It has been twelve years since she last heard from her fifth child, Abdulsharif. Twelve years of unanswered questions, of suspended grief, of a hope that is both a lifeline and a torment.
The incident descended in the early hours of Tuesday, February 24, 2014. At about 1:30 a.m., while students slept in their dormitories at Buni Yadi Unity College, a Federal Government boarding secondary school in Yobe State, insurgents believed to be members of Boko Haram stormed the school.
They arrived on motorcycles, in Hilux vans, and on foot, heavily armed with AK-47 riffles, Rocket-Propelled Grenades (RPGs), and Improvised Explosives Devices (IEDs) as if going to war.
What followed was a night of horror that survivors and families still struggle to forget. The attackers moved swiftly and deliberately, separating male students from female students before opening fire on the boys. Dozens were killed instantly. Those trying to flee were struck down by the bullets as they scrambled for hidden places. In the chaos and confusion, some students disappeared without a trace.
The attack claimed the lives of 29 students. According to Daily Trust, four students were declared missing. One month later, newspapers confirmed that these four young souls were still unaccounted for.
Before leaving, the insurgents ensured total destruction. They set ablazed all 24 buildings within the school compound using IEDs and RPGs. The fires consumed administrative offices, classrooms, laboratories, hostels, staff quarters, the ICT Center, and critical infrastructure. By dawn, the school had been reduced to ashes, a deliberate and comprehensive erasure.
In the aftermath, the Yobe State Government collaborated with teachers, parents, vigilantes, and community leaders to account for every student. Despite these efforts, the four missing students were not found. They joined a grim, growing statistics.
According to the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), since the escalation of violence in northeastern Nigeria in 2014, it has registered about 24,000 missing people across Nigeria – the largest number recorded in any conflict setting in Africa.
Despite ICRC’s Restoring Family Links programme, aimed at reconnecting families separated by conflict, the four students remained untraceable. MarÃa Toscano, the Team Lead for the Protection of Family Links, cited limited access to conflict-affected areas and difficulty in reaching families as major obstacles.
For Abdulsharif’s family, the tragedy began with a phone call. His father, Alhaji Ibrahim Mamman, was contacted early that morning by his son’s guardian. He was told Boko Haram had attacked, killed many students, but that Abdulsharif was not among the dead. He was missing.
“It took my husband more than an hour before he could muster the courage to tell me what happened to the school,” Hajiya Aisha recalled.
There had been a premonition. Abdulsharif had told his parents he did not intend to return to school that week, explaining that something within him urged him to stay home. Despite this, his father had insisted he go, as he had already missed Monday’s lessons.
“I fainted when I was told my child’s whereabouts were unaccounted for, for I know how heartless and inhumane Boko Haram are,” she said.
The family searched everywhere. “We heard from sources that the missing students were in Mutai village and we went there ourselves, but it turned out to be not true,” Hajiya Aisha explained, her voice breaking. The search yielded nothing but exhaustion and deeper despair.
The loss manifested as a sustained trauma that claimed another life. Hajiya Aisha wept as she narrated that Abdulsharif’s father died last year without seeing his son for the last time. “The reason behind his long illness was the disappearance of Abdulsharif,” she said.
Now, Hajiya Aisha waits alone. “This heartless, barbaric, and animalistic incident would remain unforgivable unforgettable and the scar on the families of the affected children would keep hunting us till only when Allà h knows,” she stated.
Yet, within her resounds a defiant hope, she stated that, “It has been twelve years and counting and my child is still missing but as a mother, losing hope about the mercy of Allà h can never be me. I will keep waiting for what Allà h Has in-store for me,” she added.
Twelve years later, the scars of the Buni Yadi attack remain raw. For Hajiya Aisha and the other parents of the missing children, the tragedy is not confined to history. It is a daily reality, carried in memory, in longing, and in the enduring, agonizing question that shadows every sunrise: what exactly happened to their children?
This story was produced under the HumAngle Foundation’s Strengthening Community Journalism and Advocacy (SCOJA) Fellowship, supported by the Embassy of the Kingdom of the Netherlands in Nigeria.
