“Things were not always like that,” Mary* recalls. “Food was always our greatest pride, and if one couldn’t provide food for their family, it was a huge personal shame.” The feeling that Mary discusses, the inability to provide food for one’s self, might appear to be a universal one, but what sets this sentiment in her hometown apart is that the connection to their food supply is not so financially dependent, because when you live in the food basket of the nation, a farm is a one-degree separation away.

It is a wet day in Lagos, yet 700 kilometres in Benue appears more cloudy. The air in Benue has nothing to do with its weather; there’s an undeniable gloom and heaviness all around. 32-year-old Mary is going about her day. For years, she has worked in the food industry. However, these days, she is more focused on bringing supplies to the Internally Displaced Persons Camp (IDP) at the International Market in Makurdi. 

The International Market, Makurdi.

MEET MARY:

Soft spoken and calm, the first thing Mary addresses on our call is her speech. “I go in and out of thoughts sometimes, so if I don’t answer a question, please repeat it with simpler words.” She doesn’t have much time today, which has become a luxury. She wakes up at 4 am and heads to the park to get her hands on whatever she can buy. She just wants to help.

Born and raised in Benue, a Tiv woman, Mary has several fond memories of growing up in the middle belt region of Nigeria. “I am from Kwande, Benue and all my childhood memories are built around community. I look back and it is almost crazy how I knew no fear nor hunger.”

Wurukum Roundabout, Makurdi.

If she could describe her state with one word, it would be spices. From the seasonal fruits to locust beans, Benue smelled delicious. Whenever she was out of town, she looked forward to coming home, taking in the smell and eating her soup. “I love the soup, Pocho, it has a very distinct smell and that excites me. I associate it with home.”

Pocho is also the most popular soup. As tea is to Britain, so is pocho to Benue.  It is their welcome dish. “We are hospitable and have a strong sense of community. Our arms are always open to welcome visitors, with fresh farm produce, rich natural fruits. No matter the time and how far you have been from home. Pocho soup will always welcome you.”

Community means a lot to Mary; it is something she can not live without, and to this day, she lives with family. Food is another thing she has strong ties to, as she works as a food vendor. “I moved into the food business two decades ago because I wanted to share this part of my home with everyone.” True to herself, she still markets her goods across social media platforms. But now, her beloved passion rides shotgun to her advocacy for displaced persons in Benue. 

HOW DID SHE GET HERE?

Between June 8 and June 14, 2025, a series of devastating attacks on villages in Benue, allegedly by suspected Fulani militants, resulted in at least 218 deaths and over 6,000 displacements. The deadliest attack occurred on June 13 in Yelewata, where a displacement camp sheltering hundreds of people was targeted. Attackers reportedly burned buildings and assaulted people with guns and machetes, killing approximately 200 individuals.

This recent surge follows other deadly attacks, including the killing of at least 42 people in May 2025 in the Gwer Local Government Area, and 56 in April during the Easter period. While there’s a floating timeline of these attacks, Mary, who would like to remain anonymous, insists that she can trace these attacks to 2021. She admits that she believes they started before then. As a city dweller, she is arguably more secure, but as a food vendor, she often finds herself moving in and out to connect with farmers and build relationships with suppliers.

It was through a supplier that she became aware of what was happening in the villages in 2021. “They were whispers, it was subtle, but every supplier said the same of the villages. People were occasionally being killed, but nothing like last week.”

She says something shifted during the final years of their last Governor’s tenure, the attackers became bolder. A stark difference she highlights about the quiet killings that had been happening over the years was how detached the city people were. “Someone was killed, and we knew that, but we did not know the someone who was killed. It might sound strange, but it didn’t feel personal initially.”  She explained that for the city-dwellers, the news often seemed more like accidents than a calculated, premeditated attack. She doesn’t fault them; the attacks have been heavily underreported. 

“Take an example, my hometown, Kwande. A village in it, Jato Aka, has been attacked before, and it is practically empty now; everyone’s scared to live outside a major city centre. But that’s not well-known.” She cites a few other places and circles back to how the lack of media coverage has harmed them. Everyone has a perception of the attacks, a different timeline of the origins, but a unified answer on the culprit. “I know there are people who are insinuating that we are being tribalistic for attaching a tribe to the killers. But when the homes started burning, we knew the language we heard.”

When Mary says we, she is standing in solidarity with the victims from Yelewata, as she wasn’t actually there. She was in Makurdi. However, her supplier was not as lucky. “He was killed, he is survived by his wife and kids, but she lost more than her husband, her relatives too were trapped in their homes as it burned.”

She is with her friend, the wife of her supplier. She visits her often, and yesterday, she tried to ask her to come to the market with her. Mary attempts a psychological tactic, “Perhaps helping people can comfort her.” But her friend has developed agoraphobia. “It has been four days, and I understand. So I let her take her time, I want her to feel safe again. I want her kids to feel safe again.”

The irony of hoping her loved ones feel safe when she, herself, doesn’t feel it is not lost on her. “I’m not feeling fine. I find myself thinking about the IDP camp. Is it secure? I don’t think so. We need volunteers, we need money, and we need security.”

While she questions a lot about the camp, questions are actually something she avoids at camp. “I don’t ask or answer any. People are antsy, people are angry. I brought mats the other day, and while telling someone, I would be going home soon because I had to take care of my sister, a man responded, ‘and so you shall take care of her for the rest of her life’. That was mean, I know he didn’t mean it, but it hurts.”

She says when people are ready to open up, they do. A day ago, her friend opened up about her survival story. It was merely a case of luck. The attack happened while they slept. Most people who were awake in the vicinity were fleeing the scene, and she heard a noise, almost like someone calling her name. So she stepped out of her home to investigate. Before she had the chance to properly assess the situation, her hut was engulfed in flames. Everyone who hadn’t gotten out was trapped. “The assailants were locking doors.”

WHERE IS BENUE NOW?

The thing about attacking the villages is that they are attacking the farmers. Mary’s theory is that it is a strategy to take over the state. “Benue as a whole is a community. We live off each other, and killing the farmers is killing the city. Emotionally and financially, it automatically starves the city. Prices of food and fruits are skyrocketing. A single mango goes for 800 naira now. Mangoes are in season, but there are no mangoes. Maize season is almost here, but that’s Dauda, and where are the farmers in Dauda? In the IDP camp. There have been attacks on Zaki Biam, which is the largest yam market in West Africa. That’s bigger than Benue.”

As a frequent volunteer, Mary expresses that they need more than volunteers and donations. They need a regulatory framework that ensures that the donations are received by the survivors. “There’s more greed in humans than one’d anticipate. The first time I worked as a volunteer was in 2017, when the Benue flooding displaced roughly 100,000 people. The donations would be held by officials for documentation purposes. The survivors never saw a penny. It got so bad, I began telling people not to donate because I had firsthand seen that the donations were disappearing.”

The Benue River is the second longest in Nigeria, flowing through Cameroon and seven Nigerian states, including Benue. According to ResearchGate, “Heavy, intense rainfall and the River Benue spilling its banks are the major causes of floods in Makurdi town.”

Lately, she says the survivors of the June massacres have been chanting similar tales. “The food is rationed, and there’s a lot of pain for us, the food basket, lacking food.” This highlights another thing that this situation has cost Benue, their pride. 

While it appears trivial, Mary notes that the way certain platforms are reporting the events is to the detriment of their dignity. “Social media has changed the game for us. It has raised tremendous awareness about the attacks, don’t stop that. But it is not fair to post the faces of our dead ones, especially in a torn-up state. We are people, we have emotions, and at our lowest, it is devastating to see photos of our loved ones in such a manner across the internet. It is cruel. Don’t take photos of us in the camps either. We are haunted enough.”

Now that you know the dos and don’ts of how to help Benue. Take this moment to act. Stand in solidarity with the people of Benue and contribute to rebuilding their lives; nothing is too small. Together, we can bring hope and restoration to a region that deserves to thrive once again.