CRIME AND BIDA’S MORAL COLLAPSE

 

‎Bida is hurting, and pretending otherwise only deepens the wound. What confronts the ancient town today is not merely a spike in internet fraud or the rise of so-called “Yahoo-yahoo” among its youths; it is a far more troubling crisis of conscience that cuts across homes, streets, institutions and leadership structures. A silent war is being fought daily, not with guns or bombs, but with smartphones, compromised values and collective denial. The tragedy is not that crime exists, but that it has become normalised, tolerated and, in some quarters, subtly celebrated.

‎Across Bida, stories abound of young people between the ages of 12 and 25 living lifestyles that defy logic and legitimate income. Many are still in secondary school; others are barely out of it. Some are students in tertiary institutions who should ordinarily depend on parents or modest allowances, yet they cruise expensive motorbikes, erect buildings and spend lavishly. What alarms residents is not only the visibility of this wealth, but the boldness with which it is displayed in a community where, traditionally, everyone knows everyone and progress is often traceable.

‎Yet, to reduce the matter to youthful recklessness alone would be dishonest. The deeper crisis lies in the complicity of adults who should know better. Parents, guardians and relatives often know the sources of this sudden wealth, but choose silence over confrontation. Some benefit directly from the proceeds, eating from it, dressing with it, using it to expand households or acquire assets. In some compounds, luxurious bungalows rise beside modest family homes, built by children whose income cannot be explained. These structures stand not as symbols of success, but as quiet indictments of a community that looked away.

‎Still, the narrative requires balance. Not every young person displaying comfort or success in Bida is a criminal. There are legitimate hustles that flourished in recent years, including agricultural produce trading such as shea butter and other commodities that experienced a boom before border closures, insecurity and economic downturn discouraged investors. The danger, however, is that the prevalence of fraud has blurred distinctions, breeding suspicion and eroding trust even for those striving honestly. Today, when young men gather at night with their phones, no one can confidently say whether they are engaging in legitimate online business or digital theft. That uncertainty itself is corrosive.

‎It is also important to situate Bida’s challenge within a broader national context. Internet fraud is not peculiar to the town, nor is it confined to any single region. However, Bida’s closely-knit traditional setting, where families are interconnected and social mobility is closely observed, makes the moral dissonance more visible and painful. In a society where people know one another’s backgrounds and means, unexplained wealth raises eyebrows. Unfortunately, instead of triggering collective correction, it often breeds quiet envy, resignation or rationalisation.

‎There are structural injustices too that cannot be ignored. Many young people grow up watching opportunities circulate within closed networks. Job placements, admissions and appointments are sometimes sold rather than earned. Even qualified graduates find themselves locked out of institutions led by their own kinsmen unless they “know someone” or have money to pay. In such an environment, the message unintentionally sent to the youth is dangerous: integrity does not pay, connections do. Social problems rarely exist in isolation; they multiply and mutate when left unaddressed.

‎History also matters. Some residents trace the spread of internet fraud in Bida to the period when fraudsters displaced from Ilorin found refuge around the Polytechnic community, gradually extending their influence to GRA areas and beyond. Combined with economic shocks such as the momo incident and rising poverty, what began as a fringe activity metastasised into a household-level problem. Today, very few families can confidently vouch, one hundred per cent, for the activities of their children. That reality should unsettle everyone.

‎Perhaps the most distressing dimension is the moral spillover. Young girls are increasingly drawn into a toxic ecosystem of immorality, substance abuse and transactional relationships, financed by illicit wealth. A generation is being socialised into believing that crime is cleverness, fraud is hustle and conscience is optional. This is not just a crime problem; it is a civilisation problem.

‎Yet, despair is not an option. Communities have pulled back from moral cliffs before, but only when courage replaced comfort. Silence must give way to honest conversation. Parents must rediscover the moral authority to question, caution and, where necessary, reject tainted wealth. Community leaders, religious figures and opinion moulders must speak clearly and consistently, without fear or favour. Social honour should never accompany unexplained affluence. When society stops clapping, crime begins to lose confidence.

‎The traditional institution, particularly the Etsu Nupe palace, still commands deep respect and can play a decisive role in moral reorientation. History shows that when tradition speaks with clarity, the youth listen. Similarly, platforms such as the Bida Forum have a responsibility to rise above indifference, engage local authorities, convene town halls and sustain public enlightenment through mosques, churches, markets and the media. Fraud must be reframed for what it truly is: shame, not success.

‎Bida is not dying from poverty alone; it is struggling with moral erosion compounded by systemic failure. The youths bear blame, but so do the elders, the enlightened class and institutions that allowed injustice, silence and hypocrisy to fester. The danger ahead is real. If this moral time-bomb explodes, it will spare no one.

‎History will be unforgiving, not because our children went astray, but because those who knew better chose comfort over conscience and silence over truth.

Aliyu Umar, aliyuumar721@gmail.com

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