The sound came suddenly.
POW.
A sharp crack that tore through the atmosphere of a peaceful gathering — one that was even being streamed live. People scattered. Confusion. Fear. Instinctive survival.
But what caught my attention most was not the chaos. It was the elderly woman, moving at the pace her age allowed — steady, measured, dignified. Even in fear, she responded like the women of my ancestral Ekiti land: unhurried, grounded, calm in the storm. In that moment, something deep inside me awakened. A reminder:
“Ekiti Ilú Okiti, Afọ̀mọkàsọ̀rọ̀ leun…”
Ekiti, land of hills; a people who must understand before speaking.
We are a people known for measured thought over impulsive reaction, for wisdom over noise. Yet here I was, witnessing noise —literal and symbolic— invading sacred spaces, disrupting worship, and stirring collective uncertainty.
This incident, followed by reports of over 30 people kidnapped, shook me. Not long after, news broke of schoolgirls taken from a boarding school in Kebbi. And unexpectedly, I found myself transported 34 years back to my own boarding-school days in Ekiti. A young 15-year-old navigating routines of learning, discipline, and hope, never imagining that the phrase “kidnapped schoolgirls” would one day become a recurring headline in our national vocabulary.
My father studied in Ekiti. His schoolmate, the late Bamidele Otiko, studied there too. Different towns, same identity — because Ekiti is Ekiti Kete, one family. One collective. One hill-dwelling lineage bound by ancestry and values.
And this brings me to the second ancestral chant:
“Ekiti, ọmọ akí gbogbo ógùn á gbé sínú òkè.”
Ekiti—children who carry all their remedies into the hills.
A people who preserve wisdom, healing, and strategy in moments of danger. If that is who we are, then what wisdom do we carry in this moment?
In behavioural science, there is a concept called trauma-informed reflection. It asks us not to react only to the symptoms — noise, fear, sensational headlines — but to examine the deeper layers beneath the crisis. Trauma-informed thinking invites us to ask different questions:
- What happened?
Not to sensationalise the event, but to understand the human impact. - Who was affected?
And in what unseen ways — emotionally, socially, spiritually? - How does this event sit within a broader pattern of insecurity?
What is the historical timeline of such incidents? - What are survivors feeling now?
Fear? Anxiety? Distrust? Disconnection? - What do communities need to feel safe again?
Not just physically, but psychologically.
These are not political questions. These are human questions — questions leaders rarely ask.
When over 30 people are taken and later released, some might say: “Thank God, at least they are alive.”
But behavioural science reminds us:
Release does not erase trauma.
Trauma lives in the body. It shapes memory. It influences how children learn, how adults trust, how communities function, and how nations develop.
And so I found myself asking deeper questions — not as Dr. Awesome the learning specialist, not as a strategist, not as a social entrepreneur, but as a Nigerian who loves this land:
- How many Nigerians have been kidnapped in the last decade?
Do we have accurate data? Are we relying on formal records or crowd-sourced information? How many cases go unreported because of fear, stigma, or hopelessness? - Where exactly are these kidnappings happening?
Are there geographic clusters? Patterns linked to poverty? Patterns linked to weak infrastructure? Patterns linked to lack of state presence? - Why is this happening?
What are the socioeconomic drivers? Unemployment? Under-governance? Youth disengagement? Organised crime? Radicalisation? Environmental pressures?
A trauma-informed leader would ask:
What conditions created these behaviours — not only in victims, but also in perpetrators? - What is the population of Nigeria today?
We estimate, we guess, we approximate — but without a credible census, how do we plan? How do we create social protection systems? How do we deploy mental-health resources? How do we allocate police or community-response units? How do we predict security vulnerabilities? A nation cannot solve what it has not measured.
And here lies our contradiction:
We respond to crises, but we do not prepare for them.
We react loudly, but we seldom analyse deeply. Ekiti taught me something different. We are a people who understand before acting. We safeguard wisdom in the hills. We respond with reflection, not noise.
If Nigeria is to heal, we need a shift from reactive leadership to reflective, data-driven leadership.
We need:
- a national trauma-informed framework
- community-level psychosocial support systems for victims
- real-time kidnapping data dashboards
- empowered local security ecosystems
- updated census and demographic data
- investment in behavioural insights units
- nation-wide early warning systems
Because trauma is not only an individual wound — it is a societal pattern.
Call to action: Return to the hill of wisdom
As Ekiti people say, “Ekiti, ọmọ akí gbogbo ógùn á gbé sínú òkè.” We take our remedies into the hills.
Nigeria must now climb its own symbolic hill — the hill of wisdom, data, reflection, planning, and collective healing.
Let us call our leaders, researchers, faith communities, civil society, and citizens to unite around one national priority: To understand our pain so we can prevent its repetition.
Not with noise. Not with panic. But with clarity, compassion, courage — and evidence. Our ancestors preserved their remedies in the hills. Today, our remedy is data, trauma-informed leadership, and collective resolve.
The time to act is now.
