Between August 17 and 18 2026, about 25 Christian people including women and children in BinPer Bwai village, Plateau state, were killed by Fulani Militants. This was reported by the International Centre for Investigative Reporting. The attack was another reminder of the vulnerability of communities in Nigeria’s Northern regions, where violence has repeatedly disrupted ordinary life. Paul Chibuike Emenike, having grown up and still living amongst the religious crisis in North Central Nigeria, Jos in his case, has published several poems that raise conversations on the longevity of this issue.
In November 2025, US President Donald Trump threatened military action over what he described as the persecution and killing of Christians in Nigeria. Nigerians had mixed reactions to this announcement. Some Nigerians said that the USA had other interests and attractions to Nigeria and the Christian killing was only an entryway. The Federal Government quickly put up a couple of acts to show that it was working, acts which were of course not sustained. Whereas, prior to this, the government at different levels have dismissed these concerns as communal clashes and farmer-herdsmen disputes. Other Nigerians, especially the Christian religious leaders in the North found the announcement a welcome development and a deliverance sign from God. This expectation of deliverance from a state outside ours is, in some way, the question the protagonist in Emenike’s poem asks, “If the earth rotates, why am I still in Africa?” Then others, especially non-Christian Northerners, insisted that the terrorists have also been attacking non-Christian communities, and that their interest is in taking over lands and not in wiping out an ethnic or religious group.
Nigeria’s history may beg to complicate this argument. People familiar with religious conquest in Nigeria will remember the nineteenth-century jihad led by Usman dan Fodio, which transformed the political and religious landscape of the North and led to the establishment of the Sokoto Caliphate. Before the jihad, Northern Nigeria was not religiously uniform. Islam had already been established in parts of the region for centuries, while indigenous religious practices also continued alongside Islamic traditions. The history is more complex than a simple transition from traditional religion to Islam, but it remains important when considering the relationship between religion, political power and violence in the region.
Emenike’s poem, published in The Shallow Tales Review, begins with the line, “on Sundays we go to pray at an abattoir.” This depicts the attacks on churches during worship services. Interestingly, such attacks have also happened in states outside the North. In June 2022, worshippers at St Francis Catholic Church in Owo, Ondo State, were attacked during a Sunday service. More than 40 people were killed, including children. On April 28, 2026, gunmen attacked worshippers during a prayer programme at a Christ Apostolic Church in Eda-Oniyo, Ekiti State. The pastor was killed, and worshippers were kidnapped. In July, the abducted worshippers were released after more than two months in captivity, although one woman had died while being held. These incidents raise questions about the safety of people who gather to practise their faith.
The realisation, lately, has been that Nigeria is being attacked by different terrorist and armed groups. This makes you wonder: why Nigeria? Is there, perhaps, some secret goldmine in the country that has made it attractive to violent organisations? Reports have documented links between Islamic State affiliates, including the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP), and militant networks operating in the region. Whistleblowers and other sources have also made allegations against politicians and influential figures, accusing some of sponsoring or enabling terrorism in Nigeria. These allegations require evidence and investigation, but they raise questions about who benefits from prolonged insecurity and why accountability has remained elusive. Nigeria is not alone in this. Neighbouring countries such as Niger and Chad, as well as countries farther afield, including the Democratic Republic of the Congo and Sudan, have also experienced persistent violence from different armed groups. Emenike’s poem “Beast of No Nation” references this wider tragedy through its protagonist, a “Congolese crisis-displaced boy” who is killed during an exchange of gunfire between the Congolese army and rebels.
In “On Sundays We Go to Pray at an Abattoir,” Emenike writes: “Sunday sin. Sunday scene. Manslaughter.” He continues: “How many times do you see a herder turn butcher, & our people blast their mouths in silence? Isn’t this blasphemy too? To pray in a slaughterhouse is a gift for being Christ’s flock—& yet Nigerian.” This has been the cry of Christians who continue to gather in prayer while fearing for their lives. It also raises questions about the response of Christian leaders, especially those in the Christian Association of Nigeria, and whether their public advocacy has been forceful enough. Often, prayers are raised in churches for the protection of worshippers and their communities. But, as literature asks, for how long will we continue to pray while remaining silent?
This brings me back to the US government. After months of declaring its intention to intervene in Nigeria to fight terrorism and, particularly, to address the persecution of Christians, the US carried out airstrikes against Islamic State-linked targets in Sokoto State on December 25, 2025. The Nigerian government confirmed that the operation was conducted in cooperation with the United States, including intelligence-sharing. Since then, the US has continued to support Nigeria’s security efforts, including through intelligence and logistical assistance. But, can the communities testify to any change?
When Trump threatened intervention, the promise was not simply to conduct airstrikes. His public statements framed military action as a response to the killing of Christians, with the implication that the violence would be confronted and the killings brought to an end. The December strikes were presented as a significant step towards that goal. Yet the public has not been given a comprehensive account of how many militants were killed, how the operation has affected the capacity of armed groups to carry out further attacks, or whether civilians in the communities most affected by violence have become safer as a result. The killings in Bin-Per Bwai in August 2026 are a reminder that communities remain vulnerable. The attack alone does not establish that the US operation failed, nor is there evidence that it was connected to the targets of the December strikes. But it does make the question of measurable results more urgent.
This is not to absolve the Nigerian government of responsibility for protecting its citizens. The Nigerian government has a duty to protect all Nigerians, regardless of religion or ethnicity, and that duty cannot be transferred to a foreign power. But the US government should also be held accountable for the assurances it gave and the intervention it undertook.
Emenike’s poem ends with “Today, I planted something holy in my backyard, for want of a miracle. I seeded a rosary into a wet patch of loam, & now I know God has seen me…” The USA presented itself a miracle and an answered prayer. We are now faced with the question, what can it show for the promises it made?
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