Why Nigerian widows are gathering in an abandoned chicken coop

By Brad Brandon, Op-ed contributor Monday, June 22, 2026

In a quiet corner of Northern Nigeria, a group of women gathers each week in a place no one would mistake for sacred: a cleaned-out chicken coop. The structure is humble, the conditions far from ideal. And yet, within those walls, something remarkable is happening.

Widows — women who have lost their husbands to the brutal ongoing violence — come together to pray, to weep, to encourage one another, and to begin the long, painful work of rebuilding their lives.

Their stories are almost too heavy to carry.

Yombruu Ila* lost her husband on March 8, 2018. Five of her brothers-in-law have also been killed. She now raises six children on her own, three of whom suffer from sickle cell disease and endure frequent medical crises. Displaced from her home, she lives with uncertainty daily. And yet, she speaks of hope. Hope strengthened not only by the provision of food, medical care, and school fees, but by the sustaining power of her faith.

Ayo Domu’s* story echoes a similar grief. Her husband, whom she describes as “a selfless community leader,” was killed on January 15, 2025, leaving her to care for six children, including one with a disability who requires constant attention. The assistance she has received has not erased her loss, but it has given her something vital: the belief that her future, and her children’s future, is not without possibility.

These are not isolated tragedies. They are part of a much larger and deeply troubling reality.

Northern Nigeria is one of the most dangerous places in the world to be a Christian. In fact, a staggering 72% of Christians killed each year globally are located in this region. Entire communities have been targeted. Families have been torn apart. Mass graves have become a grim and familiar sight.

Working on the ground in Nigeria for more than a decade, I’ve witnessed, first-hand, a sobering truth: I’ve stood at so many mass graves, I’ve lost count. I’ve never stood at a mass grave for Muslims — but I’ve stood at many mass graves for Christian believers. And it never gets easier.

In many of the Northern Nigerian states, a strict form of Sharia Law governs daily life. Under these laws, conversion from Islam to Christianity is considered a crime punishable by death. In some cases, even family members are permitted — legally — to carry out that sentence. Women, already vulnerable in a deeply patriarchal system, often find themselves with little to no protection when their husbands are killed. Widowed and displaced, they must navigate a world that offers them few rights and even fewer opportunities.

The international community has largely remained silent. The Nigerian government has been negligent at best; complicit at worst. And so, the responsibility falls, as it so often does, to the global Church and to ordinary people of compassion and conviction.

There is another layer to this crisis — one that is less visible, but no less urgent. Many of the young men drawn into extremist violence come from backgrounds of severe poverty and illiteracy. Among some Fulani communities, fewer than one percent can read or write their own language. Without education or opportunity, the path toward radicalization often seems like the only one available.

This is why the work we’re doing on the ground at Across Nigeria is so critical.

In addition to supporting widows and orphans, our ministry is investing in education — teaching English, literacy, and practical skills that can transform lives. In that part of the world, learning English can open doors equivalent to a college education. It creates opportunity. It restores dignity. And perhaps most importantly, it offers an alternative to the cycles of poverty and violence that fuel extremism.

There are even moments of profound redemption. Recently, our team led a Boko Haram militant to faith in Christ. He reached out to us because he could no longer live under the weight of the violence and oppression. This was a powerful reminder that even in the darkest places, transformation is possible.

But the need remains overwhelming.

Right now, these widows gather in that small, repurposed chicken coop. It is a place of resilience — but it is not enough. Our vision is to build something more: a community center designed specifically for them. A place of beauty. A place of dignity.

This center would include a fellowship hall where they can gather safely, rooms for trauma counseling, and guest accommodations for those who come to serve and support them. We recently purchased a plot of land adjacent to our existing facility. This surrounding land would allow for sustainable initiatives — raising chickens, growing produce, and developing microbusinesses that provide these women with both an income and independence.

It would not just meet physical needs. It would restore a sense of identity and belonging. It would be a place where grief can be acknowledged — but not have the final word.

The prophet Isaiah speaks of a God who brings “beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” For these women, that promise is not abstract. It is something they are clinging to with everything they have.

And we have a role to play in making that promise tangible.

Hebrews 13:3 calls us to “bind ourselves to those who are suffering as though it were happening to us.” That is not a passive instruction. It is a call to action. A call to see beyond our own comfort and to step into the pain of others with compassion and purpose.

You may never stand in Northern Nigeria. You may never face the dangers these women endure. But you can choose not to look away.

You can choose to help build something beautiful in the midst of devastation.

You can choose to turn ashes into something more.

Because even in the darkest places, hope can rise. And sometimes, it begins in something as simple — and as powerful — as a place to gather, to heal, and to start again.

*Names and locations have been changed to protect the identity of these widows as they are under the constant and ongoing threat of violence and retaliation.