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In November 2025, terrorists attacked the Government Girls Secondary School in Maga, Kebbi State, during the early hours of the morning and abducted 25 students. The attack added another chapter to the growing pattern of school abductions across northern Nigeria, where schools have increasingly become targets for armed groups. Although the girls returned home after nine days, the experience left lasting memories that extended far beyond their time in captivity. In this episode of #VOV, we tell the story of one of the girls, Salima Sani, and the days they all spent in captivity.

In the previous episode of Vestiges of Violence, we told the story of Bintu Suleiman, whose daughters and grandchildren were abducted during the attack on Ngoshe, northeastern Nigeria, on March 3, 2026. She was still waiting for news, still hoping for their return. Now, we have some updates. In this episode, her 16-year-old daughter, Aisha Muhammad Shuaibu, has escaped captivity after spending a period of two months and two weeks with the terrorists. She returned home carrying her four-year-old nephew on her back. She shared with HumAngle what happened to her in captivity and how she escaped.

It is Ramadan, and Bintu Suleiman, a 55-year-old mother and trader from Ngoshe in Borno State, North East Nigeria, is about to break her fast with her family. Then, the gunshots begin, and within the hour, her home is on fire. As the terrorists round people up, she manages to slip away with her children and grandchildren into the bush. Later, she realises four of them did not make it with her. They are somewhere up in the mountains. In this episode of #VOV, we see that, after the attack, Bintu, now displaced, is sheltering at a government primary school in Pulka and has no news of her children and grandchildren.

Adisu Abba is a 45-year-old widow and the mother of five children. She comes from Dikwa, Borno State, in Nigeria’s North East. Long before violence disrupted her life, she had already begun learning the work that would define her role in her community. She had learned how to help women deliver their babies. Adisu was taken into captivity by terrorists for three years, during which she delivered five babies. In this episode of #VOV, she tells her story and what it means to work as a midwife while being held captive by the Boko Haram terror group.

Christie Garba is a 38-year-old mother of seven who lives in Billiri, Gombe State, in Nigeria’s North East. She lived in Yobe State with her family before the Boko Haram insurgency hit the region. At that time, attacks had happened in nearby places, and they had not reached her community directly. Christie and her family had stayed about four months after the attacks started, but as the violence escalated, the soldiers warned residents that the situation had become too dangerous to remain. The curfews that followed made everyday life almost impossible. In this episode of VOV, we tell the story of how Christie and her family moved to Gombe State and how she survived starting a new business.

Gina Bashir is a 46-year-old farmer from Askira Uba, in Borno, northeastern Nigeria. At the peak of the Boko Haram insurgency, she lived in Benisheik, a small town in Borno, with her husband and six children. During the height of the Boko Haram insurgency, she lost her brother, nephew, and six other relatives. In this video, we talk about her survival and the ambition she has for her children

To tell stories of conflict, and show what becomes of people and communities when their lives are upended, is to witness both the depth of human suffering and the remarkable ways people adapt and survive. Through Vestiges of Violence, HumAngle has continued to shine a light on the human faces behind Nigeria’s conflicts. This year, we shared eleven stories of abduction, displacement, loss, and the daily struggle for survival that thousands endure.

You are nine months pregnant, barefoot, and running through thorns, dust, and fear. For nearly a decade, Ya Busam Ali has lived in displacement, walking miles each season to farm land controlled by terrorists, just to keep her and her children alive. This is her story of survival, resilience, and the loud strength that keeps her moving forward.

You used to spend long days on the farm, planting a variety of crops and bringing home a full harvest. Now, you work only a few hours under the watch of soldiers. You can’t go far from town, and you can’t plant tall crops anymore because they can conceal terrorists. So you plant only beans and groundnuts, but the yield is never enough. And each time you step onto the farm, you know you might hear gunshots, and you would have to run for your life.

You flee for your life when Boko Haram attacks your hometown in Adamawa, northeastern Nigeria. By the time you return, a neighbour had already begun building on your family compound. When you protest, he bribes the authorities and dismisses you, telling you that you have no one to inherit the home. Your son, who used to be your main caretaker, went missing during the war, and you have not heard from him since. Which weighs more heavily: grieving a missing loved one without knowing if he is alive or dead, or facing daily struggles that come with losing your caretaker? Either way, the consequences are crushing. So how do you cope with grief, poverty, and injustice, all at once?

You are at home, preparing for a quiet evening after your night prayers. Life is hard, but at least your family is together. Then, without warning, armed men storm into your village. They yell commands you can barely process. Panic sweeps through your body like fire. You run into the darkness, heart pounding, hoping, praying to escape. But the night offers no shield. They find you. They drag you out. And from this moment, life as you knew it changes entirely. This episode of Vestiges of Violence tells the story of Huraira and her days in captivity.

You’re at home with your husband and four children, preparing lunch like any other day. Then armed terrorists surround your town. They storm homes, steal farm produce, and kill anyone who resists. You flee into the bushes, scattering with your loved ones in different directions. When the dust settles, you are told your husband’s body has been found. Home is no longer safe, so you leave to start over. But what would starting over look like?

The most precious thing a war can take is a loved one. Sometimes, the violence is even more brutal when it offers no closure: no corpse to pray over, no grave to visit. When someone you love goes missing, and after years of not knowing and not hearing from them, you still hope for a reunion; it becomes a slow, painful wait. But what happens when it has been over a decade of waiting, and your memories feel like the only proof that they ever existed? What do you do when there is no proof of life?

You are married to a soldier with whom you’ve built a life and raised six children. Then, one day, he is deployed to war and never returns. Years later, as insurgency threats start to surface in your city, your son steps on a bomb that explodes. You’re uncertain whether he will survive, and you rush him to a hospital in the Federal Capital Territory of Nigeria, hoping to give him a fighting chance. A decade later, you still cannot return home. The insurgency remains relentless. Now, you are being evicted from the settlement camp where you’ve stayed for years. What do you do? Where do you go?

You are a single mother of eight, raising your children in an IDP camp in Nigeria’s Federal Capital Territory after fleeing a brutal attack by the Boko Haram terror group. The makeshift school offers little hope for your children’s education, and your once-thriving food business barely keeps you afloat now. Aid is dwindling, and your needs keep growing. How do you cope with the demolition threats to your camp, your son's arrest, and the confiscation of bikes meant to provide income, when every attempt to build a better life feels futile?