“I Lost My 2-Week-Old Baby; My Husband and Five Children Are Still in Captivity,” Says Escaped Mother After Kurmin Wali Church Mass Kidnapping

Reported By Mary Udezue | Edited by: Gabriel Osa

A nursing mother who survived one of Nigeria’s most harrowing mass abductions in recent times says she lost her two-week-old baby amid the chaos, and her husband and five children remain in captivity more than a week after the attack. The woman’s account, told through an emotional interview, paints a grim picture of the human toll exacted by armed gangs who stormed places of worship in Kurmin Wali, Kajuru Local Government Area of Kaduna State. 

The mass kidnapping, which unfolded during simultaneous Sunday church services on 19 January 2026, involved armed bandits attacking three churches — Evangelical Church Winning All, Cherubim & Seraphim Movement Church, and another congregation — as worshippers gathered. More than 170 people were abducted, including men, women, and children, victims of a brazen assault that has reverberated across Nigeria and drawn international scrutiny. 

Among those who managed to flee was 35-year-old Lovina Ezekiel, a nursing mother who survived by the skin of her teeth. In her interview, Ezekiel recounted the terror of the attack and the devastating personal losses she suffered. “I lost my two-week-old baby,” she said, her voice laden with grief. The infant’s fate remains unclear, but Ezekiel’s account underscores the tragic vulnerability of civilians caught in the crossfire of Nigeria’s worsening insecurity. 

Her husband and five children — names and ages not publicly disclosed for security and privacy reasons — are still being held by their captors. Their plight is emblematic of countless families torn apart by armed violence and abduction, a crisis that has become alarmingly common in parts of northern and central Nigeria where criminal gangs, often loosely referred to as bandits, operate with impunity.

The Kurmin Wali incident has been widely condemned, not just for the scale of the abduction but for the enduring trauma inflicted on survivors and families of the missing. Among the abducted are elderly worshippers, youths, and parents who went to church seeking solace and community on a Sunday morning but instead encountered violence and upheaval. Many families have now spent days without word from their loved ones, unsure if they are alive, where they are being held, or what demands — if any — have been made by the kidnappers.

Government officials and security agencies have described ongoing efforts to locate and rescue the hostages. However, in a security landscape where kidnappings have become distressingly frequent, the path to resolution is fraught with complexity. Nigeria has grappled with waves of abductions over the past decade, from high-profile schoolgirl kidnappings such as the 2014 Chibok abductions to more recent mass captures in rural communities across the northwest and central belt.

Families of the abducted have mobilised support groups and rallied for government action, yet many feel their pleas have been met with slow responses and limited transparency. In Kurmin Wali, community leaders and civil society advocates have pressed authorities for regular updates on rescue operations, while also urging the provision of humanitarian support to those displaced or traumatised by the violence.

The international community, human rights organisations, and foreign governments have also expressed concern over the escalating pattern of kidnappings in Nigeria, emphasising that abductions not only destabilise affected regions but also erode public confidence in the state’s ability to protect its citizens. In some cases, kidnappers have used abductees as leverage to demand ransom payments, fuel political pressure, or negotiate the release of detained members — tools that further complicate rescue efforts and expose victims to additional harm.

Survivors of such attacks often bear enduring psychological scars, their stories marked by loss, fear, and the daunting uncertainty of waiting for loved ones’ return. Ezekiel’s testimony — especially the loss of her newborn — has resonated deeply, highlighting how vulnerable populations, including infants, mothers and children, are caught up in conflicts far beyond their control.

In the aftermath of the Kurmin Wali abduction, many families have organised prayer vigils, community search efforts, and public appeals to government officials to intensify pressure on security agencies to prioritise rescue and release operations. For Ezekiel, the anguish of losing her baby is compounded by daily worry for her remaining family members, who remain unaccounted for and out of contact.

“We escaped, but it feels as though part of me remains there,” she said, describing the emotional fracture that follows such traumatic events. Her story has become a somber reminder of the high human cost of insecurity in Nigeria — a crisis that demands not only law enforcement responses but also sustained humanitarian attention, support for survivors, and long-term strategies to safeguard vulnerable communities.

As search and rescue operations continue, families like Ezekiel’s wait in agonising limbo, clinging to hope even as days turn into weeks. The broader implications of such kidnappings — on social cohesion, community stability, and national morale — remain a pressing concern for Nigerians across the country.

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