Just when the country was nursing its grief caused by the rush-hour bombing of a bus park in the capital Abuja, which killed 71 people and wounded dozens more, we were struck another devastating blow: the abduction of 234 girls from their school in Chibok, in the north-eastern Bornu State. Boko Haram terrorists claimed responsibility for the bombing; they are also the chief suspects in this fresh brutishness.
More than a week since they disappeared, the girls' whereabouts are still unknown. About 44 escaped by jumping from the back of trucks used to ferry them away or by sneaking out of the kidnappers' camp deep inside the Sambisa forest. This latest tragedy has dominated national conversation and consumed columns in our newspapers. At Christian and Muslim gatherings prayers have been offered for the girls' safety.
In the days since they went missing, almost every friend or colleague I have spoken to on the phone has devoted the first minutes of our chat to expressing their horror at the abduction. Despite what one would imagine is the bottomless capacity of Nigerians to absorb catastrophe – what with the series of carnages that have steadily erupted in the country over the past year, at least – people here seem particularly affected.
Perhaps it is the audacity with which the crime was perpetrated, the innocence of the victims, or horror at what the children might be going through wherever they might be – Boko Haram has abducted women and girls in the past to serve as sex slaves and chars.
The Nigerian military interrupted the national mood of grief when its spokesperson announced two days after the incident that the missing girls had been rescued. But national jubilation quickly deflated when the school's principal and the students' parents revealed the story to be false. Now our collective horror at the abductions is almost equalled by our revulsion at the military's brazen deceit. What on earth could they have been thinking?
Additional claims by some of the parents have led to more criticism of the military. Fathers and mothers, who in desperation marched into the Sambisa forest to search for their missing daughters, say they saw no trace of military presence in the area; no sign of any search and rescue operation. Some of these parents have now hired motorcycles to help their search.
Beyond grief, many Nigerians are also bewildered by the abductions. How many trucks were required to transfer well in excess of 200 girls? Was the convoy not spotted by anyone as it left the school? Were there no security agents along the route?
As usual, politicians, many of who delight in riding the waves of ethnic and religious sentiments, are trying to take advantage of the country's sober mood. Members of Nigeria's two main opposition parties, the PDP and APC, have openly blamed the ongoing terrorism on their opponents who they claim are orchestrating the acts of violence for political gain.
But this time Nigerians are not falling too easily. Unlike bloodletting in our land from an earlier era, where machetes and daggers were used to lash out at specific ethnic and religious groups, the recent series of bomb blasts have not discriminated. Christians and Muslims have been slaughtered, as have Hausa, Igbo and Yoruba. For a change, every Nigerian is united in his or her need for safety. The 234 missing girls are not being seen as Hausa or Igbo or Yoruba; they are simply people's children.
I hope this spirit of unity lives on, that it extends beyond grief and the need for security. In their attempt to tear Nigeria apart with their reckless destruction, the Boko Haram terrorists have inadvertently succeeded in showing just how much Nigerians can care about one another.
Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani theguardian.com
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