Woro, Nigeria – The stench of charred flesh hung thick in the air, but Umaru Tanko barely seemed to notice. He keeps returning to the same spot – a small, burned-out shop in the centre of Woro in western Nigeria’s state of Kwara.

Tanko looked exhausted, his eyes red and swollen, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

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“Inside that shop are the corpses of my friend’s son and grandson,” he said, fighting back tears.

It was difficult to make out the bodies in the blackened shell of the shop.

Burned beyond recognition, the two men lay huddled together, as though trying to comfort one another in their final moments.

On Tuesday evening, gunmen stormed into Woro and a neighbouring town, massacring about 200 people and leaving much of the community in ruins.

Locals allege the attackers are linked to ISIL (ISIS), and had attacked the Muslim-majority community days after it rejected their demands to preach in the town.

According to residents, the attackers barricaded the shop from the outside before setting it on fire, trapping those inside.

“They set them ablaze, … but we did them no wrong,” Tanko murmured, his voice breaking.

Three days after the attack, fires were still smouldering across central Woro, where much of the violence took place.

Many homes and shops have been reduced to rubble.

Twisted sheets of metal roofing and burned household items litter the streets, a grim reminder of the night the village was overrun.

An almost empty town

Across the road from the destroyed shop, five survivors sat quietly in front of another shop that somehow escaped the carnage.

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One by one, they recounted how they managed to escape: hiding in nearby bushes, fleeing under cover of darkness or crawling through gaps in fences as gunshots rang out behind them.

Just a few metres away, another corpse lay unclaimed in the open. The smell was overpowering, yet the survivors barely reacted, as if the grief had dulled their senses.

A flock of thirsty-looking sheep wandered past, kicking up ash and dust as they moved.

“Soon they will all die of thirst,” Haruna Mohammed said. “I saw three dead sheep near our house.”

His comment was met with irritation.

“Who cares about sheep now?” snapped Yunusa, a 35-year-old resident. “We are talking about how to clear corpses, bury them and look for our missing relatives.”

As they grew quiet again, the first call to the Friday congregational Muslim prayers echoed through the ruined town. The few residents who remained began preparing for worship.

The mosque, small to begin with, felt even smaller after the attack: sparsely filled, its courtyard empty.

Previously, the building and its courtyard overflowed on Fridays.

Since the attack, much of Woro has emptied out. Locals estimated that a town once home to about 17,000 people now has fewer than 200 residents left.

When the imam mounted the pulpit, his sermon centred on patience, endurance and submission to the will of God. The congregation listened in silence, each person wrestling privately with grief, anger and fear.

‘We buried 120 people in one grave’

After the prayers, residents gathered under a tree near the mosque, quietly taking stock of what had happened – counting the dead, discussing who had been buried and asking when the next funeral would take place.

Nearby, three armoured personnel carriers stood guard.

The regional military commander was present alongside members of the army, police and forest guards. Across the road, additional military hardware and personnel underscored the seriousness of the security operation now under way.

President Bola Ahmed Tinubu has ordered security forces to track down the perpetrators of what officials have described as a senseless massacre and bring them to justice.

Brigadier General Nicholas Rume, who commands the 22nd Brigade of the army, said the priority is to restore stability.

“Our aim is to stabilise the area first,” he explained, “and then expand our operations outward to ensure that we track and possibly strike those responsible for this attack.”

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On the outskirts of Woro lies the village cemetery.

Since the attack, resident Mohammed Abdulkarim and his brother have gone there daily to pray for the dead.

Woro is predominantly Muslim, and nearly 90 percent of those killed in the attack were Muslims.

Abdulkarim gestured towards a large, freshly dug grave.

“Here, we buried 120 people in one grave,” he said quietly. “We don’t have the strength or the resources to give each person a befitting burial. So we dig one big hole and put everyone inside.”

A short distance away, he pointed again.

“Over there, 23 Christians were also buried in this cemetery,” he said. “Some other corpses were taken to neighbouring villages for burial.”

Women and children kidnapped

Beyond the killings and destruction, residents said dozens of women and children were kidnapped during the attack. Their whereabouts remain unknown, deepening the anguish of families already shattered by loss.

According to survivors, the violence began on Tuesday evening when gunmen stormed the village. Residents said the attackers had earlier demanded to preach in Woro, a request the community rejected. That refusal, locals believe, sealed their fate.

Although no one has claimed responsibility, the community says an armed group affiliated with ISIL is responsible for the carnage.

According to the International Crisis Group, the area surrounding Woro is a base for criminal gangs as well as armed groups affiliated with ISIL, al-Qaeda, Boko Haram and Lakurawa.

After the massacre, the assailants reportedly tried to return to Woro several times.

“Three times they tried to attack again,” Rume said. “Each time, they were repelled by the security forces.”

Unable to re-enter the village, the attackers resorted to using improvised explosive devices, targeting infrastructure and property, especially on the outskirts of Woro.

“You can see some of the damage at the entrance to the village,” the general said.

Even days later, smoke still rises from burned homes and shops. Residents said the attackers were determined to inflict as much damage as possible before withdrawing.

Woro’s residents believe they stood their ground to protect their beliefs – but paid a heavy price for it.

Today, the community resembles a ghost village. Streets once filled with traders, children and livestock now are eerily quiet.

Even with the heavy presence of security forces, locals said it will take time before those who fled feel safe enough to return – and even longer before the painful work of rebuilding can begin.

For now, Woro waits – surrounded by ashes, haunted by loss and uncertain of what comes next.