Sugar and Ants: The New Face of Kidnapping in Nigeria

By Omolola Olakunri

We used to fear strangers at the gate.
Bolt the door twice. Check the CCTV. Tell the driver not to stop for anyone. The danger had a face we did not know. It came at night. It wore a mask. It spoke in a voice that wasn’t ours.
Today, Nigeria has entered a more dangerous phase.
Not because kidnappers have become more sophisticated.
But because access has become the new weapon.
In today’s Nigeria, wealth is becoming what sugar is to ants.
Leave it exposed long enough and attention gathers around it.
Some attention is admiration.
Some is curiosity.
Some is harmless.
And some is predatory.
For years, kidnapping was associated with armed gangs, highway ambushes, and criminals operating from distant forests. The threat came from outside.
Today, the threat often comes from people who already know something about you.
They know your routines.
They know where your children go to school.
They know when you travel.
They know where you live.
They know your habits, your weaknesses, your circle, and sometimes even your security arrangements.
The most dangerous shift in modern kidnapping is not that criminals have become smarter.
It is that information has become easier to obtain.
The insider has become the criminal’s greatest asset.
And insiders come in many forms.
Sometimes it is a family member.
Sometimes it is a driver.
Sometimes it is a nanny.
Sometimes it is a domestic worker, a business associate, a former employee, a neighbour, a romantic partner, or someone watching quietly from a distance.
The common factor is not blood.
The common factor is access.
A few years ago, many Nigerians would have considered it unthinkable that a family member could participate in a kidnapping plot.
Yet stories continue to emerge of relatives providing information, facilitating access, or actively participating in crimes against those closest to them.
But focusing only on family misses the larger lesson.
The real story is not that brothers are kidnapping brothers.
The real story is that prosperity has become increasingly visible in a society battling economic hardship, rising insecurity, and weakening social trust.
When wealth becomes highly visible, it attracts attention.
Not all attention is healthy.
Some people see success and feel inspired.
Others see success and feel entitled.
Some see a house, a business, a thriving career, and ask how it was built.
Others simply ask how it can be taken.
Somewhere along the line, many people stopped seeing the years of sacrifice behind success.
They stopped seeing the cramped apartments, the failed businesses, the unpaid debts, the sleepless nights, and the risks.
They stopped seeing the journey.
They only saw the destination.
The house.
The cars.
The lifestyle.
The photographs.
The appearance of abundance.
And when people see only the reward and not the struggle, entitlement begins to grow.
A brother becomes a bank.
A friend becomes an opportunity.
A successful relative becomes an inheritance that is somehow owed.
Economic pressure has only intensified the problem.
School fees rise.
Food prices climb.
Businesses struggle.
The cost of survival grows heavier.
Poverty is not an excuse for crime.
But desperation often creates dangerous justifications.
People begin telling themselves stories.
“He has enough.”
“He won’t miss it.”
“He owes us.”
“He can afford it.”
These are the lies that transform envy into resentment and resentment into criminality.
Kidnapping itself has become more than a crime.
In some places, it has become an economic model.
A shortcut.
A business.
A calculated transaction where human beings are reduced to assets and ransom becomes revenue.
That should concern all of us.
Because when crime becomes an industry, everyone becomes vulnerable.
Especially those perceived to have means.
The uncomfortable truth is that Nigeria’s wealthy are increasingly becoming an endangered class.
Not because success is wrong.
Not because wealth is evil.
But because visibility now carries a cost.
The more visible your success, the more people know about you.
The more people know about you, the greater your exposure.
In such an environment, discretion is no longer merely a personality trait.
It is a security strategy.
This does not mean living in fear.
It means living wisely.
It means understanding that privacy is not wickedness.
Not everyone needs to know your account balance.
Not everyone needs to know where you are travelling.
Not everyone needs access to every detail of your business affairs.
Not everyone needs to know when you are buying property, changing schools, expanding a company, or moving assets.
Information is valuable.
And information in the wrong hands can become dangerous.
The old security model was simple.
Protect the gate.
Protect the fence.
Protect the house.
The new model is different.
Protect the information.
Protect the routines.
Protect the access.
Protect the details that make you predictable.
Sometimes the strongest security system is not the one mounted on your wall.
It is the information you never shared.
Families also have difficult conversations to confront.
Many households avoid discussing money, expectations, inheritance, responsibilities, and resentment until conflict explodes.
By then, years of frustration may already have hardened into bitterness.
Silence rarely solves these problems.
Healthy boundaries do.
Open conversations do.
Clear expectations do.
Family meetings are not signs of dysfunction.
Sometimes they are acts of prevention.
But let us also be careful not to become cynical.
Nigeria is still full of families defined by sacrifice rather than greed.
For every story of betrayal, there are countless stories of loyalty.
There are siblings paying school fees for younger brothers and sisters.
Children caring for ageing parents.
Relatives selling assets to fund medical treatment.
Families carrying one another through hardship.
These stories far outnumber the darker ones.
That is why this conversation should not lead us toward suspicion.
It should lead us toward wisdom.
The lesson is not that your brother is your enemy.
The lesson is not that your driver cannot be trusted.
The lesson is not that every nanny, employee, friend, or relative is a potential criminal.
The lesson is that access matters.
Information matters.
Visibility matters.
And in a country where kidnapping has become increasingly sophisticated, discretion matters too.
Fly lower.
Speak less about what you own.
Share less about where you are.
Guard your routines.
Protect your privacy.
Success does not need an audience.
The goal is not to live afraid of your surname.
The goal is not to fear your family.
The goal is not to distrust everyone around you.
The goal is to understand the times we are living in and respond with wisdom.
Because in a country where sugar attracts ants, the safest wealth is often the wealth that attracts the least attention.
Not hidden by fear.
Protected by discretion.
Not isolated from society.
Shielded by wisdom.
And perhaps that is the challenge before us.
To reclaim a culture where success inspires rather than provokes.
Where family means protection rather than opportunity.
Where loyalty is stronger than entitlement.
And where prosperity can once again be celebrated without becoming a target.

*Omolola Olakunri writes from Abuja