The faint mechanical buzz that drifted across Ejiba, a community in Yagba West Area of Kogi State, sometime between 8 and 9 a.m. on Sunday, was unusual enough to make residents look up. In this agrarian settlement, morning sounds usually come from grinding cassava mills or the call to prayer — not the high-pitched hum of aerospace technology.....TAP TO CONTINUE READING

At first, villagers assumed the device was harmless — perhaps a wedding videographer testing equipment. But as the sound lingered, moving slowly and deliberately across the sky, a sense of unease began to settle. The drone wasn’t passing through; it was circling. It was watching.

Minutes later, armed men stormed the Cherubim and Seraphim Church, where worshippers were deep in prayer. Guided, it seemed, by the invisible eyes above, the attackers abducted the pastor, his wife, and several congregants before melting into the surrounding bush.

For locals, the connection was unmistakable: the drone was the scout; the gunmen were the infantry.

But for the Kogi State Government, the immediate concern appeared not to be how bandits launched a drone-assisted operation in the heart of Nigeria, but why the church held its service “in a bush.” In a statement confirming the attack, Commissioner for Information Kingsley Fanwo queried the church’s location and warned residents to “apply wisdom.”

His remarks revealed a troubling disconnect between official rhetoric and the sophistication of emerging threats.

Do you live in Ogijo

The Ejiba attack is among the clearest indications yet that Nigeria’s insecurity has entered a more advanced phase — one defined by aerial surveillance, operational mobility, and a renewed appetite for symbolic targets.

And it was only one chapter in a weekend of coordinated desecration.
A Weekend of Desecration

Violence swept through four northern states between Saturday night and Sunday evening. Viewed together, the attacks formed a chilling pattern: a direct assault on Nigeria’s sacred spaces — churches, weddings, farms, and homes.

Around 11 p.m. on Saturday, terror descended on Chacho village in Wurno LGA of Sokoto State. It was the eve of a wedding, a night typically filled with the laughter and song of the Lalle (henna) ceremony. Instead, gunfire shattered the festivities.

The bride-to-be, Halima (name changed), was indoors with bridesmaids and relatives making final preparations. But instead of the groom’s family arriving with gifts, gunmen arrived with rifles. They abducted Halima, several bridesmaids, and guests, and looted livestock meant for the wedding feast.

“Her room is empty now,” a local source told our reporter, asking not to be named for security reasons. “The henna bowl is still there. The wedding dress is half-sewn.”

The symbolism was devastating. A ceremony meant to unite families and affirm continuity had become another theatre of fear.

In Kwara State, the gatekeepers of tradition were also targeted. The Ojibara of Bayagan, Kamilu Salami, was abducted from his farm. His captors demanded ₦150 million.

And in Kano State’s Yankamaye village, Tsanyanwa LGA, a similar incident occurred. A woman was killed, and three others abducted in another targeted night raid that left the border community paralysed with fear.

Across the North, the message was unmistakable: no space is sacred anymore.
The Technological Leap: When Bandits Watch from the Sky

For years, Nigeria’s armed groups relied on a “low-tech” intelligence network. They used coercion, paid local informants, and utilised spotters stationed along major roads – often disguised as hawkers – to map the movement of villagers and security agents.

Security analysts say the device reportedly used in Ejiba was likely a commercial quadcopter costing between ₦1.5 million and ₦3 million. But its significance lies not in the price — it lies in what it allows: terrain scanning, escape-route mapping, target confirmation, counting worshippers, detecting security presence, and real-time video feed from the bush.

“A drone allows them to watch us before we know they’re there,” a serving security official said. “It marks a troubling escalation.”

France-based forensic consultant, Yusuf Aliu, warns of a rapidly widening intelligence gap.

“Criminals no longer rely solely on compromised villagers,” he said. “They can sit in a forest camp and stream a church service live.”

While authorities urge citizens to “say something when they see something,” the criminals are now seeing everything — from 200 feet above.
State Denial and the Ostrich in the Room

The Nigerian military had admitted that insurgents in the country now use drones, including armed ones. In October, the army said terrorists used armed drones, RPGs and other weapons to attack troops in Borno State.

However, authorities appear unprepared for such warfare by the armed groups.

Mr Fanwo’s remarks — effectively blaming the Kogi church for its location — reflect a worrying trend in official communication: shifting responsibility onto unarmed citizens.

But the weekend’s events dismantle this logic. The bride in Sokoto was inside her family home, surrounded by relatives; the monarch in Kwara was on his own land, within his ancestral domain; and the women in Kano were attacked in their village.

When homes, churches, farms and wedding gatherings all fall within the danger zone, the state’s definition of “safe areas” collapses.
‘The Darkness Before Dawn’: A Nation in Denial

In a sermon on Sunday, titled “The Darkness Before Dawn,” Tunde Bakare, a pastor and church leader, accused the Bola Tinubu administration of “playing the ostrich” — burying its head while terror networks expand.

Mr Bakare, known for his fiery intersection of theology and politics, argued that the government appears more focused on the political permutations of the 2027 elections than on the immediate threat to national cohesion.

“The level of insecurity seems to have worsened,” he said. “Terrorists and bandits brazenly dare the Nigerian state.”

His criticism resonated because the state appears slow to adapt while armed groups innovate rapidly – expanding their capabilities faster than the state is reforming its response. While the government creates committees, the bandits create drone units.
When Survival Becomes a Curriculum

Speaking at his alma mater, Government College Ibadan, Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka argued that insecurity has become so pervasive in the national fabric that schools should begin teaching “security awareness” as a formal subject.

“Security should be treated with such seriousness that it becomes a discipline taught in schools,” the literary icon said.

His suggestion was stark: a curriculum on how to spot danger, informants, survive abductions, and how to hide from gunmen—highlights a painful truth: Nigerians are being forced to learn survival skills in response to state failure.
The Economics of Terror: Funding the Next Drone

Behind every kidnapping lies a cold, hard business model. The ₦150 million ransom demanded for the release of the Ojibara of Bayagan stands out not simply because of the exorbitant amount, but because of what it signifies: investment capital.

Security experts warn against viewing these ransoms merely as a manifestation of greed. Bandit groups today are running sophisticated paramilitary organisations that require significant overhead to maintain.
Consider the “Start-Up Costs” of a modern bandit cell:

Drones: A surveillance drone with a decent range costs between ₦1.5 million and ₦3 million.

Connectivity: To operate these drones and negotiate ransoms, bandits are increasingly bypassing local telecom shutdowns by using satellite internet services like Starlink, which require hardware costs of over ₦500,000 and monthly subscriptions of ₦38,000.

Logistics: Fuel for motorcycles (which has tripled in price), informant networks on government payrolls, and food supplies for hundreds of foot soldiers require a steady cash flow.

In effect, every ransom paid—especially high-value ones—funds the next round of violence. The victims are effectively forced to finance the upgrading of their own oppressors.

The ‘Balloon Effect’ Reshaping Nigeria’s Map of Danger

The recent violence is not occurring in isolation. The surge is tied to a southward migration of armed groups driven by military pressure in the North-west — a phenomenon known as the balloon effect, where squeezing one side causes the pressure to expand elsewhere.

For years, banditry was concentrated in the “axis of violence”—Zamfara, Katsina, and Sokoto. However, intensive military bombardments and air raids in these states have displaced many groups, forcing them southwards.

They are migrating into the “Triangle of Terror”—the lush, unguarded forest corridors connecting Kebbi, Niger, Kwara, and Kogi states. These areas offer dense cover (forests like Kamuku and Kwiambana) and, crucially, a weaker security presence than the militarised North-west.

Executive Governor of Kogi State, Ahmed Usman Ododo
Governor of Kogi State, Ahmed Usman Ododo

On 15 November, this movement became visible to the public. Security operatives in Eruku, Kwara State, intercepted a trailer transporting about 40 suspected bandits. They were not local criminals; they were allegedly displaced from the Zamfara–Katsina corridor, seeking new territory.

A police signal dated 22 November further warned of an influx of bandits into Kogi East. The warning came barely a week before the Ejiba church attack, which security officers now consider a direct consequence of this unchecked migration.

“The contagion has broken through the North-central buffer,” said a retired military intelligence officer who asked not to be named for security reasons. “Abuja’s backdoor is now exposed.”
Drones vs. Diplomacy: A Race Against Time

In response to this spiral, the federal government has signalled a pivot toward international help. President Bola Tinubu recently ordered the establishment of a high-level team to engage the United States on new security cooperation.

But Yusuf Aliu, the forensic expert, warns that bureaucracy and slow diplomacy could become the enemy’s greatest allies.

“While government committees meet to discuss cooperation and write white papers,” Mr Aliu said, “the bandits are already deploying drones for tactical engagement.”

He dismissed the often-cited political fears that foreign assistance undermines national sovereignty.

“Sovereignty is not eroded by accepting support,” he argued. “It is eroded when violent groups control territory, collect taxes, and decide who gets to pray in a church or sleep in their home.”

For many Nigerians, the concern is not whether external help is needed—that is now obvious. The question is whether the help will arrive faster than the next drone-assisted attack.
A Nation Under Hovering Shadows

From the savannas of Sokoto to the forests of Kogi, the message from last weekend’s violence was very clear: Nigeria is confronting adversaries who are innovating, expanding, and entrenching their presence.

The attacks across four states, including the use of a drone in one of them, mark a turning point. The enemy is evolving faster than the state’s capacity to respond.

Unless the government addresses the intelligence failures that allow drones to fly over villages, tackles the financing that allows bandits to demand N150 million, and reinforces the border communities in the “Triangle of Terror,” Nigeria risks losing more than just territory.

It risks losing the sanctuaries that define its spiritual, cultural, and communal life – churches, weddings, farms and homes.

The places where Nigerians gather to pray, celebrate, mourn, and live are now battlegrounds. And as the drone that hovered over Ejiba has shown, the threat is no longer just at the gate. It is already in the sky.