In the once-bustling neighborhood of Kurna Mayanka in Kano State, fear now walks the streets more boldly than ever. What began as turf wars between rival gangs has now evolved into a chilling pattern of home invasions, brutal killings, and unchecked terror.
Last weekend, at least four people were murdered in a wave of coordinated gang violence that hit Kurna, Yan Yashi, and Tudun Fulani. Among the victims was Usman Hamidan, a young man whose only crime was being targeted in a long-running feud he didn’t sign up for. His mother, Hajiya Habi Hamidan, an elderly woman in her 80s, watched the horror unfold from her sickbed — helpless, paralyzed, and forever broken.
“They broke into our house in the middle of the night,” she recounted, her voice trembling. “I was lying down sick when I heard his screams… They were slaughtering him. I begged, I cried… but they told me they were sent to k!ll him.”
The killers, she said, wore masks and showed no mercy. Her voice cracked as she recalled what came next — they beheaded her son, right there in their family courtyard, then walked out into the night as if nothing happened.
“His blood was everywhere. They even licked the knives. My son was my only help… my only son. Allah will judge them.”
Usman’s story isn’t an isolated tragedy. In the Ungogo Local Government Area, similar reports have surfaced — masked assailants storming homes under the cover of darkness to eliminate targets in what appears to be revenge killings or gang-sanctioned executions.
For residents, this isn’t just crime anymore — it’s war. Many now live in paralyzing fear, unsure of who might be next.
Sabiu, a young security guard, still bears the wounds from a recent attack that nearly cost him his life.
“They flashed light into my eyes,” he said, pointing to the deep cuts on his scalp and arms. “Before I could react, they were already stabbing and slashing me. I don’t even know why.”
Local vigilante chairman, Alhaji Bashir Lawal Moriki, believes the root of the violence starts from within the community.
“These boys are not from Mars — they are our children. Parents need to stop shielding them,” he said. “Even if it’s my own son, I’ll hand him over to the authorities.”
But residents say authorities haven’t always acted responsibly either. There are growing complaints that innocent youths are being arrested indiscriminately, further traumatizing families already living on edge.
During a recent visit, Kano’s Commissioner for Internal Security, Air Vice Marshal Ibrahim Umar (Rtd.), acknowledged the security gap, urging locals to protect themselves “until help arrives” — a statement that has left many wondering: who will protect the protectors?
At the time of this report, efforts to reach the Kano State Police spokesperson for clarification on these troubling allegations were unsuccessful.
In communities once defined by bustling trade, family bonds, and Islamic faith, homes are now being turned into slaughterhouses, and fear has become a daily companion.
The people of Kano are crying out — not just for protection, but for justice, accountability, and a return to peace.
