The Business of Blood and Ransom

Femi Akintunde-Johnson

Once upon a time, four odd years ago, we wrote about the curious case of Ruth Pogu – a Chibok girl who returned from captivity, not just as a freed victim but as a mother of two, with her terrorist “husband” in tow. Instead of outrage, there was celebration. The Borno State government, like an indulgent parent, welcomed her with open arms, while the fate of her captor-turned-spouse remained suspiciously unspoken. A bizarre story, yet in Nigeria’s ever-worsening security crisis, it was just another day.

Nearly four years later, the tragedy has metastasised into an industry. Today, abductions are no longer just the horrifying consequence of a failing state; they are a full-fledged business model, complete with negotiators, financiers, and even insider enablers. And for every victim who makes it out alive, a dozen others do not.

Ransom As Death Sentence: The latest spectacle is the abduction of the national president of Afenifere National Youths Council, Prince Eniola Joseph Ojajuni, in Abuja, a man who found himself at the mercy of gun-toting kidnappers demanding ₦100 million for his release. His torment, captured in a harrowing ransom video, was a now-familiar horror: a pleading, terrified Nigerian, held at gunpoint, reduced to a bargaining chip in the gruesome marketplace of human life.

But these days, even payment does not guarantee survival. Across the country, there is a chilling pattern – families scrambling to raise millions, only for the captors to collect the ransom and still execute their victims. Just last month, in Kaduna, the family of Alhaji Umaru emptied their savings to meet a ₦50 million ransom demand. Days later, his corpse was found by the roadside. The transaction was completed, but so was his life.

Yes, there have been tragic incidents in Nigeria’s eastern region where legislators were brutally killed despite ransom payments. For instance, in June 2022, former Anambra State lawmaker Nelson Achukwu was abducted from his home in Ukpor, Nnewi South Local Government Area. Despite his family’s payment of a ₦15 million ransom, his beheaded body was discovered between the Uke and Ukpor communities. 

Similarly, in December 2024, Hon. Justice Azuka, representing Onitsha-North 1 State Constituency in the Anambra State House of Assembly, was kidnapped on 24 December. The abductors initially demanded a ₦20 million ransom but denied receiving any payment. Tragically, Hon. Azuka was killed shortly after his abduction, and his decomposing body was found near the Second Niger Bridge. 

Even Illusion Hope Is Draining: It is no longer enough to fear abduction; one must also fear the illusion of hope. When you are taken, your family will sell land, cars, and possessions to buy your freedom. If they succeed, you are lucky. If they don’t, your ransom money simply becomes capital for the next round of kidnappings.

Friendly Abductors And Indifferent Governments: We once asked a pertinent question about the so-called “repentant terrorist” who returned with Ruth Pogu. What became of him? Did he face justice? Was he even interrogated? Nearly four years later, we can guess the answer. Terrorists who “surrender” are rewarded with rehabilitation, training, and sometimes even stipends. Their victims, meanwhile, are left to rebuild their shattered lives with no psychological support, no financial aid, and no guarantee of safety.

 In contrast, when ordinary Nigerians dare to protest the insecurity that engulfs their lives, they are met with the full force of state violence. The same government that cannot track ransom payments or locate kidnappers collecting cash in broad daylight can miraculously freeze the bank accounts of peaceful protesters within hours. The same security forces that plead helplessness against heavily armed bandits have no trouble storming university hostels at midnight to arrest unarmed students.

 Negotiators, Insiders, And The Economy Of Terror: Kidnapping in Nigeria is not just a crime; it is an organised economic sector. The financiers are shadowy, the foot soldiers are expendable, and the profits are astronomical. In some cases, government officials themselves are suspected middlemen, taking a percentage of every transaction.

 Consider this: if a village raises ₦20 million to free a handful of its abducted residents, where does that money go? Some of it funds weapons, some goes to logistics, and a healthy chunk likely greases the palms of those in some rungs of power who ensure the system remains oiled and operational.

It is no surprise that ransoms have gone from tens of thousands to hundreds of millions. The business is booming, and demand is high. Some kidnappers now offer “discounts” for bulk payments, while others provide installment plans. And as with any business, innovation is key: instead of simply waiting for payments, kidnappers now use victims’ phones to call multiple family members, playing them against each other for maximum returns.

A Government On Auto-Pilot?: The Nigerian government’s response to this crisis has been a mix of denial, incompetence, and outright complicity. Our leaders have normalised failure to the point where even mass abductions barely make the headlines anymore.

Consider the Tudun Biri massacre in Kaduna, where over 120 villagers were killed in what the Nigerian Air Force called an “accidental” airstrike. Accidental? Yet, they never accidentally misfire at bandits collecting ransoms. They never accidentally bomb the hideouts of known terrorists. Their aim is suddenly precise when dispersing crowds of angry citizens or when silencing critics who refuse to stomach government propaganda.

Meanwhile, the economy collapses under the weight of debt. As of March 31, 2024, Nigeria’s total public debt stands at ₦121.67 trillion ($91.46 billion). External debt alone is ₦56.02 trillion ($42.12 billion), while domestic debt is ₦65.65 trillion ($49.35 billion). And yet, what do we have to show for it? Roads remain impassable, hospitals are underfunded, and public universities produce graduates with no hope of employment.

In 2021, Jega accused both APC and PDP of running Nigeria into the ground. Back then, they howled in protest, each party accusing the other of corruption and mismanagement. Today, the debate is over. The evidence is all around us. The country has reached a state where governance is no longer about policies or progress – it is simply about survival.

  The Abyss Is Widening: In the same article, we lamented that Nigerians have “no one to stand in the gap for them.” That has never been truer than today. Bandits run free, kidnappers name their price, and terrorists secure amnesty while innocent citizens are left to the mercy of fate.

The nation is bleeding, but its leaders are on another plane – literally. They fly in private jets to global conferences where they beg for loans they will never repay. They build mansions abroad while their citizens live in fear. They throw elaborate parties while families mourn loved ones lost to the unforgiving grip of terror.

  As the 2027 elections approach, the politicians will re-emerge, peddling the same tired promises. They will tell us they have a plan. They will urge us to trust them – again. And like a battered spouse hoping for change, some Nigerians will believe them – again.

But for many, belief is a luxury they can no longer afford. Because when your loved one has been kidnapped, and you have to sell everything to pay the ransom – only to receive their lifeless body in return – what is left to believe in?

 Nothing. Just the abyss. And it is getting deeper.