Nigeria Bleeds Again—Boko Haram Is Back
Nigeria is burning again—not from the fireworks of celebration, but from the haunting flare of persistent insecurity.
From the cracked plains of Borno to the broken silence of Zamfara, through the oil-rich creeks of the Niger Delta, the restive Southeast, and even into the heart of Abuja, the nation’s capital, the flames of terror continue to rage.
The question is no longer “Why?” but “Why still?” And perhaps more painfully, “When will it end?”
The firestorm did not start today. Under President Goodluck Jonathan, Boko Haram—once a fringe sect lost in the shadows—exploded into full-blown insurgency.
Their 2014 abduction of 276 schoolgirls from Chibok shook the world and exposed the soft underbelly of Nigeria’s security infrastructure. Cities fell in quick succession—Baga, Gwoza, Mubi.
At its cruel peak, Boko Haram held a landmass nearly the size of Belgium. Jonathan did attempt to reclaim control—credit where it is due. Regional coalitions with Chad, Niger, and Cameroon brought about some gains.
But deep within the ranks of our armed forces, corruption festered. Poor logistics, delayed deployments, and under-equipped soldiers sabotaged any lasting impact.
When Muhammadu Buhari—a retired Major General—stepped into office in 2015, he carried the weight of expectations. “I will end Boko Haram,” he pledged. For a time, hope flickered.
Sambisa Forest was declared “captured,” and the insurgents were pronounced “technically defeated.” But the enemy was far from vanquished. They regrouped.
Abuja itself, once thought insulated, became a battlefield. In 2022, Boko Haram stormed the Kuje prison, freeing over 800 inmates, among them hardened fighters.
The elite Guards Brigade—tasked with protecting the president—was ambushed. That attack was a chilling statement: they were not just back; they were emboldened.
Despite momentary wins, Buhari’s years in office saw insecurity deepen and spread. From terrorists in the northeast to bandits in the northwest, from herders-farmers clashes in the Middle Belt to a wave of kidnappings across the south, the country became a playground for armed violence.
Poor coordination among security agencies, weak intelligence networks, and politicized military leadership helped ensure that even the best strategies rarely took root.
Then came President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Within his first two months, criticism mounted. Plateau State bled with little intervention.
As I wrote then in one of my articles titled, “Under Tinubu, Plateau Killings Are Surging Every Day”, communities faced relentless violence with little more than promises in return.
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But Tinubu, a master of political survival, moved quickly. He overhauled the security leadership. Nuhu Ribadu, a seasoned anti-corruption crusader, was brought in as National Security Adviser.
A new team was assembled. New strategies were rolled out. Early signs were hopeful—terror camps were struck, intelligence flows tightened, and illegal arms traced.
Yet, barely two months later, the old ghost reappeared. Boko Haram is back in the news. Benue is bleeding. Borno’s wounds reopen. Plateau’s fragile peace lies in ruins. It feels like déjà vu—only worse.
Analysts cite the usual suspects: poverty, porous borders, ethnic divisions, unchecked arms circulation, and a disenchanted youth population.
But beneath it all is a pattern of failure—failure to prosecute incompetence, failure to sustain strategy, failure of leadership will. Let us be clear: security is not a luxury.
It is a constitutional duty. Section 14(2)(b) of the 1999 Constitution says: “The security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government.” If successive governments cannot fulfill this, then who will?
What Nigeria needs now is not just stronger boots on the ground, but a new mindset. Security personnel who fail must be relieved—no sentiment, no politics. Sack them. Retire them.
Try them, if necessary. National security is not an experiment. We must shift from theory to action. Border control must become sacrosanct. Surveillance technology, community policing, and civil-military trust must move from speeches to the streets.
Why are our forests still terror hubs? Why are arms still flooding across our borders unchecked? Some leaders offer a glimpse of hope.
Governor Babagana Zulum of Borno continues to show proactive, hands-on leadership—engaging the military, supporting civilian efforts, and rebuilding communities. His model deserves emulation, not isolation.
Recently, the Minister of Information, Mohammed Idris, reaffirmed government’s resolve to end terrorism. But rhetoric is no longer enough. President Tinubu’s last meeting with security chiefs must not end with mere headlines.
It must deliver results. Timelines. Measurable goals. Real accountability. This insecurity is not just killing people—it is choking the Nigerian dream.
As bullets fly and bombs explode, schools shut down, farmlands are abandoned, investors flee, and the flame of hope dims. This is not a polite appeal. It is a cry for help.
A desperate one. When will the fire end? When will Nigeria breathe again? When will our leaders stop issuing statements and start delivering safety? The fire must be put out—not with grammar, but with action.
And if we do not act now, we may soon find ourselves buried in the ashes of our own indifference.
Kabir Abdulsalam writes from Abuja and can be reached via: [email protected].
