On October 1, 1960, Nigeria’s ship left its port of origin, bound for a model state. Its voyage towards nationhood, as envisioned, has not been a smooth sail. At various points, the ship has experienced tempests—from crew mutinies in the form of coups, to Isaac Adaka Boro’s declaration of the Niger Delta Republic, an act like water hyacinth that makes navigation difficult, and Sargassum in the form of the 30-month civil war that nearly broke the propeller into three and made the compass inactive.
Despite all these, the ship is still sailing on. But alas, just when we wanted to shout “Ahoy” and pop champagne for the relative peace the ship is experiencing, the calm at sea started to change, as a pod of orcas—Boko Haram, ISWAP, and Lakurawa—are making the ship surge and sway.
The three insurgent groups, though different in name, are similar in motive. Years before their emergence, Afrobeat already bore a semblance of their actions.
The Afrobeat singer Fela Kuti once sang: “Dem bring sorrow, tears and blood, dem regular trademark.” A song once meant for protest now mirrors the carnage left in the wake of insurgent groups.
As it is now, we are not just listening to the lyrics; we are feeling them.
For the past 17 years, they have deepened Fela’s refrain. With sheer brutality, they cart away our girls and disrupt family cohesion. Displacement from farms and homes follows, spreading hunger. They also create a deep hole in the government’s purse and attack our soldiers, resulting in the loss of limbs and death.
As our military hospitals continually receive emergencies, some of our heroic soldiers are dependent on prosthetic limbs to regain a sense of normal life. Still, Maimalari Cantonment Cemetery and other burial grounds remain the unexpected destinations of the fallen. As obvious as the gloom may be, stories abound of our combatants showing that they refuse to be confined to hospital beds or consigned to untimely death.
From this tragic scene and gloom emerges one story that will, in time, go into the annals of the country’s military history and raise questions. It is a story that evokes the “man in the arena” spirit, embodied by a bloodied soldier, Sani Uba. Below are the fragments of communication that followed:
On November 14, 2025, a battle-scarred soldier, Brigadier General Sani Uba—whom the army spokesperson, Onyechi Anele, said, “Led the troops back to base”—made contact with Army Headquarters but never made it back to his family, barracks, or even the burial ground, as he was later captured. According to Zagazola.org, during the communication with Army Headquarters, he asked:
“Are they going to pick me or direct me on where to go?”
A strong assurance came from the coordinating team:
“Sir, they will remain overhead and coordinate with the troops moving towards you, Sir.”
I suspect that, in a tailspin, he updated: “My battery is 31% now.” “Sir, I am on foot, but once I see the aircraft, I can raise my peak cap.”
Days later, a picture of Brigadier General Sani Uba sitting on the ground, crestfallen after his capture by ISWAP, gained traction. Yet, this is not a new story.
Saving a comrade is not a new phenomenon; it can be traced to biblical times, as documented in Genesis 14:14–16 (NIV): “When Abram heard that his relative had been taken captive, he called out the 318 trained men born in his household and went in pursuit as far as Dan… he recovered all the goods and brought back his relative Lot.”
From this biblical rescue operation, we can get insights germane for any such mission to be successful. These are manpower, will, planning, and the importance of darkness. All these factors enabled 318 men to rescue Lot from a strong army of four kings. This ancient logic of rescue finds echoes in modern military doctrine.
Also, in a news report published by The Times of Israel, a reservist combat medic in Unit 669—Israel’s elite aerial rescue squad, formed in 1974 in the aftermath of the Yom Kippur War—who spoke on condition of anonymity, pointed out the importance of timing, accuracy, planning, and the need to have a Plan B for any rescue operation’s success. From the Abrahamic insights and reservist comments emerge the factors that led to the failure in Sani Uba’s rescue.
Rescue missions, even with Abrahamic insights and reservist comments well taken, are still like a biscuit that can break at any point. Apart from being delicate, complicated, and energy-sapping, the results of every rescue exercise are threefold: success, failure, and unresolved tragedy.
Just as a diamond is the purest of gemstones, the 1976 Operation Entebbe by Israeli commandos has become a playbook and manual for rescue undertakings. The Israelis flew almost 2,500 miles to rescue 102 Jews held hostage in Uganda. The near-perfect execution notwithstanding, the biscuit broke, and Lt. Col. Yonatan Netanyahu was hit during the operation. Even in death, Yonatan Netanyahu’s body was not left behind. But the extraction of two American pilots in Iran by the United States in April 2026 just veneered the Israeli playbook with gold dust. While we continue to marvel at the Israeli and American exploits, we should also take note of the American failure with Operation Eagle Claw (1980) rescue in Iran and the unresolved tragedy of Ron Arad, the 28-year-old Israeli pilot who went missing on a mission to Lebanon in 1986.
The issue of military rescues is not a straitjacket thing. While one leg is deeply rooted in military doctrine, the other finds its way into the realm of image and perception. Every brand, like the military, has a unique selling proposition that distinguishes it from others and is presented as a cocktail of promises to the customer to ensure loyalty. For the military, the USP is the brotherhood creed of not “leaving any man behind”. When there is fidelity to that promise, unit cohesion, loyalty and morale increase.
But when promises are not met, loyalty fades, courage takes a back seat, and morale dwindles.
To drive home the point, let us go down memory lane and see a pacifist amid guns and tanks: Lance Corporal William Coltman was a stretcher-bearer and a conscientious objector (a class of men often dismissed as cowards in the British military at the time) during World War I.
As a follower of Christ, he held human life in high esteem and regarded it as sacred. He did not even carry a jackknife, let alone a gun. Despite these perceived shortcomings, Coltman was awarded the Military Medal and the Distinguished Conduct Medal twice. He was even awarded the Victoria Cross, which many regarded as impossible.
Wondering how he did it? Coltman, though regarded by some as a coward, went to where the battle was fiercest to tend to the wounded. With guns banging, artillery booming, and no armour cover, Coltman carried wounded soldiers on his back for miles to places of safety. He would not rest until the last wounded soldier was safe. Coltman exhibited the ancient brotherhood code of leaving no man behind, which has become a creed in some countries.
Efforts were made regarding Sani Uba and others whose stories may never be heard, but the efforts and results are uncorrelated. Now is the time to cut off rhetoric like “led the troops back to base” and make them correlate.
The choice is ours, if we do not want thunder to strike twice in the same place.
Shodunke, a media practitioner, writes via [email protected]
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