Bornos

After over a decade of displacement, 63-year-old Fanne Goni believed life was finally returning to normalcy for her, her husband, and their seven children. It was 2019, and the Borno State government had announced the resettlement of displaced families to Kawuri, their hometown in northeastern Nigeria.

During those long years away, Fanne and her family stayed in a relative’s house in Maiduguri, the state capital. It had been offered to them after they fled their village. However, the living conditions were deplorable. 

The town looked familiar and strange when the government eventually conveyed Fanne’s family and other households to Kawuri. Streets once alive with children’s laughter, cultural monuments, and sacred groves were now overgrown with weeds. Their crumbled mud homes were replaced with newly constructed housing units, uniform in shape and pale in colour.

For Fanne, stepping into her new home brought relief and a hope that the long years of suffering were finally behind them.

But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Every essential supply they had brought was gone a few months after their return.

“We are left with nothing,” Fanne said.

The harsh reality soon set in. They needed to rebuild their means of livelihood, but the persistent presence and growing threat of Boko Haram insurgents made that nearly impossible. 

“We lack access to clean water and functional schools. Our children aren’t attending school, and the little we gather from the bush is taken from us at night,” she told HumAngle. “There are structures now. But no teachers because of the insecurity. Even those among us who are qualified to teach can’t do so. The schools are there, but they don’t function.”

What was meant to be a fresh start slowly began to feel like another form of displacement, this time, without leaving home. 

Healthcare offered no comfort either. Fanne recalled falling seriously ill and being taken to the local clinic. “There were no drugs, no doctor to treat me. They had to refer me to the University Teaching Hospital in Maiduguri,” she recounted. 

Then came a more personal blow. Her 18-year-old daughter, Kaltum Batuja, married a man who used to be a Boko Haram insurgent. Without telling anyone, Kaltum followed her husband to Sambisa Forest to live with the terror group.

“They married without our knowledge,” Fanne said. “Now I have two children with Boko Haram and the rest with me.” The other children had been abducted by the insurgents years earlier.

Although eloping may not be unusual in Kawuri’s folklore, a young girl running away with a terrorist deserter was seen as an abominable act that left the entire community in shock.

By November 2024, life in Kawuri had become unbearable. Insecurity, hunger, and the constant threat of Boko Haram attacks made living an everyday life impossible. Quietly, families began fleeing—one after the other. Fanne’s family slipped away at night in December, resettling again in Dalori, a village near Maiduguri.

We returned to Kawuri, but nothing worked. We were forced to leave again,” she said.

Once again displaced, Fanne now tries to piece her life together, just as she had tried to do in Kawuri. She now supports herself by processing and selling groundnuts. With ₦3,000 a month, she rents two small rooms in Dalori’s 1000 Housing Unit.

A fragile settlement 

Unlike many other towns and villages in Borno State, Kawuri, a roadside town, was displaced as early as 2014, at the height of Boko Haram’s violent rampage against local communities. Situated along the Konduga–Bama road, Kawuri was once a prominent and historic settlement in Konduga Local Government Area, a place its people proudly called home.

The residents were predominantly farmers and traders, while the community’s hunters were well known for their skilled game activities in the nearby Sambisa Forest, which has now become a stronghold for the insurgents. All of that changed when terror seized everything, forcing the entire population to flee and leaving behind only silence and ruins.

For over a decade, Kawuri’s displaced population lived in makeshift camps and host communities across Maiduguri, or crossed borders into neighbouring countries like Cameroon, Chad, and Niger, waiting for a chance to return home.

That opportunity came in 2019, when the Borno State government began an ambitious programme to repatriate displaced communities. Kawuri was among the first to be resettled. As part of the effort, 500 housing units and additional shelters were constructed to accommodate returnees who had spent years in exile.

Upon their return, residents began rebuilding their lives, turning to small-scale farming and firewood collection to survive. Despite security presence, locals told HumAngle the forces were limited in their capacity to defend the community, relying largely on rudimentary trenches.

Kawuri’s proximity to the Sambisa Forest soon turned fragile hope into renewed fear. The surrounding bushes became deadly terrain. Insurgents began abducting and killing people who ventured out to farm or fetch firewood.

The son of Bunu Modu Jiddor, a 75-year-old retired civil servant, was one of the victims. “We paid a ransom to get him back,” he said. The abductors demanded a million naira as ransom at first, according to Bunu, but eventually they negotiated ₦250,000 for his release.

With time, Boko Haram insurgents carrying rifles started infiltrating the town more frequently. Locals told HumAngle that the insurgents would steal foodstuffs, clothes, buckets, and household items, often breaking into homes and looting at will, with no resistance from the terrified population. 

Some Kawuri residents, desperate to survive, reluctantly agreed to run errands for the insurgents. In a region where venturing into the bush to fetch firewood is vital for daily living, complying with their demands often meant avoiding harassment or violent attacks. 

“When our wives and children go to the bush to collect firewood or fetch water, Boko Haram stops them,” said Kadai Kawuri, a 72-year-old elder from Dubdori ward in Kawuri, who has been displaced twice in the past decade. “Sometimes, they demand something before allowing them to pass. Other times, they kidnap them, and we’re forced to gather what little we have to pay ransom.” 

Cooperating with the insurgents, residents explained, was never out of loyalty; it was a desperate strategy to preserve a fragile semblance of peace and reduce the risk of becoming a target during routine activities.

But this uneasy relationship brought more trouble. Local sources said the Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF) and soldiers began arresting people suspected of delivering items like salt, seasoning cubes, or cassava to the insurgents. Anyone caught was taken to military barracks. Fearing arrest, many avoided such errands entirely.

While some arrests were justified, community members say they are also subject to harassment and false accusations. “Sometimes they just pick someone and say he’s working with Boko Haram, even when it’s not true,” said Kadai. “They have accused people unfairly, and it causes fear and division among us.”

These accusations have made it difficult for the community to rebuild trust and stability. Instead of feeling protected, some residents now feel watched and judged, adding another layer of anxiety to an already fragile resettlement experience.

The situation escalated further when security agencies began punishing and prosecuting those found guilty of trading with Boko Haram. According to Abbagana Mohammed, a resident, this provoked the insurgents into retaliating with violence. “They took violent action against men, women, and children of Kawuri,” he said. 

In a chilling warning, over 200 armed Boko Haram members on motorbikes and vehicles stormed into Kawuri, and their message was simple: “If the community continued to refuse their errands, they would return to slaughter everyone, and burn the village down,” recalled a resident who declined to be named for fear of retaliation.

Caught between the wrath of Boko Haram and the suspicion and harassment of state security forces, Kawuri residents found themselves with no safe option. This unbearable pressure forced many to quietly flee again, abandoning the homes they had just begun to rebuild.

“There was nothing anyone could do. People left,” said Kadai. He fled his ancestral home to Dalori just four months before HumAngle met him.

Kawuri’s hope was sown, sprouted, and then withered, all within just four years of resettlement. 

Could this be considered a failed return?

Renewed threats

Through investigations and field visits, HumAngle has been closely monitoring the conditions of resettled communities across Borno State, particularly those repatriated over the past couple of years. 

Rather than returning to stability, many returnees have found themselves in even more difficult and insecure living conditions. Like Kawuri, these communities live under the constant threat of insurgent attacks and within tight military restrictions. Returnees report living in fear, with limited access to farmland and strict rules on what crops can be grown, often confined to shorter varieties like groundnuts, beans, and millet, making long-term food security nearly impossible.

In recent weeks, resettled communities across Borno have faced renewed threats from Boko Haram and its splinter faction, the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP). These insurgent groups have launched deadly attacks on several communities where residents had only just returned to their ancestral homes.

On April 17, for instance, militants stormed Yamtake in Gwoza Local Government Area, killing two soldiers and an unconfirmed number of civilians in a coordinated nighttime assault. A day earlier, suspected insurgents attacked Pulka, a community hosting thousands of resettled families, triggering heavy gunfire and sporadic shooting.

In Kirawa, a quiet border town near Cameroon, two local vigilantes were killed on Friday, April 25, while trying to repel a Boko Haram attack. The victims, Abba Aja and Abbaye Shettima, were members of the local hunters and vigilante group protecting the community. They died instantly during a confrontation with the insurgents around noon.

Locals in Kirawa blame the persistent insecurity in their community on the continued use of the Kirawa–Pulka road, which they say has become increasingly dangerous due to Boko Haram’s stronghold along a critical crossing point. 

“There is a Boko Haram crossroad between two deserted towns, Manava and Sabon Gari,” Mohammed Amada, a councillor representing Kirawa Jimini Ward, told HumAngle. “They use it frequently to move between the mountainous terrain and the Sambisa Forest.” 

Two years ago, HumAngle published a video documentary exposing the poor condition of this treacherous road and the grim realities faced by repatriated residents, just a year after their return to Kirawa.

The two vigilantes recently killed had been stationed at this strategic junction to help secure safe passage for military-escorted convoys.

“Our main challenge is the lack of active and effective security operations. We are calling on the government to strengthen the military base here,” Amada lamented. “Most of the security work, like escorts and patrols, is left to the vigilantes and Civilian Joint Task Force members.”

They often work without enough weapons, pay, or support. Some have even quit because they haven’t been paid for months.

According to Amada, the community has repeatedly appealed to the security forces, including the Multinational Joint Task Force, to increase their presence by conducting regular escorts for commuters and patrol operations along the dangerous road. However, he said, those requests have gone unanswered.

Kirawa was once a ghost town after Boko Haram attacked and seized it in 2014. 

For almost a decade, its people lived in displacement camps across Nigeria or as refugees in Cameroon, waiting for the day they could return home.

That opportunity came in 2022, when the government began resettling communities. Kirawa was among them, and its people returned with hope to rebuild their homes, restart farming, and live in peace.

However, since their return, many families have faced hardship. Schools lack teachers and teaching materials. The health clinic is often closed because it lacks staff and amenities like electricity and medicine. Enough clean water is still hard to find, and residents usually walk back into Cameroon to access healthcare, buy medicine, or seek basic services.

When night falls, fear takes over. Boko Haram elements continue to infiltrate the town. People sleep with one eye open, and some even cross the border to sleep in Cameroon, only returning to Nigeria in the morning.

About 15,000 individuals from over 2,500 households were reported to have returned to Kirawa in 2022. However, within just two years, that population has declined drastically. According to the local councillor, the number of households remaining has dropped to around 1,500, as families continue to flee.

In February, the Borno State government led a delegation to repatriate over 7,000 Nigerian refugees from the Republic of Chad, where they had sought refuge for a decade after fleeing their communities in Nigeria. However, shortly after their cross-border return, many faced significant challenges, including inadequate security, food shortages, limited access to safe farmlands, and a lack of essential services such as healthcare and functional education. These hardships forced some to flee again, returning to Chad for the safety and stability they had left behind.

Coupled with continued attacks on resettled communities across Borno State, residents say it only reinforces their doubt in the government’s capacity to protect lives, provide basic services, and maintain stability.

There’s even a more brutal blow to this fragile trust. HumAngle’s investigation recently found issues relating to a lack of accountability from private and government bodies implementing projects and services in these resettled communities. These findings raise critical questions about the sustainability and safety of resettlement efforts in regions where the threat of violence is resurfacing across the Lake Chad region and targeting of repatriated communities is evident.

However, local authorities continue to resettle internally displaced families. Just last week, over 6000 residents of the Muna IDP camp in Maiduguri, one of the largest displaced persons settlements in the state, were set to be resettled to their ancestral homeland. While this marks a significant step in closing down the remaining IDP camps in the state capital, the experiences of residents in resettled communities like Kawuri and Kirawa raise disturbing concerns that the Muna resettlement may repeat past failures. 

Dikwa, a border community in Borno State, North East Nigeria, erupted in celebration on Saturday, Feb. 8, as it officially installed its 13th Shehu, Ibrahim Ibn Umar Ibrahim. The event marked a milestone in the town’s recovery, years after its residents were forced into displacement by Boko Haram insurgents.

The new monarch’s coronation came at a crucial moment, coinciding with the large-scale return of displaced persons to the town. Dikwa had been overrun by Boko Haram militants seven years ago, forcing its people to flee and leading to the occupation of the Shehu’s grand palace—the second most prestigious traditional seat in Borno—which the insurgents repurposed as their headquarters.

The 12th Shehu of Dikwa, Alhaji Abba Tor Shehu Masta II, was installed in 2010 but spent much of his reign in exile due to insecurity. He passed away in Maiduguri in 2020. Although the new Shehu was appointed in January 2021, his coronation was postponed due to lingering security concerns. 

“Nigeria’s battle against terrorism in the North East is gradually coming to an end,” said Borno State Governor Babagana Umara Zulum. “I would like to commend the efforts of the Nigerian military, other security agencies, the Civilian Joint Task Force, and the people of Borno State for their resilience during these challenging times. I am pleased to report that Borno State is experiencing substantial improvements in peace and security, marking a positive shift from past difficulties.”

Thousands of residents, many of them returning internally displaced persons, lined the streets to celebrate as Dikwa’s royal kingmakers performed the traditional rites, formally installing the Shehu as the custodian of the emirate’s heritage.

Governor Zulum, who presented the staff of office to the new monarch, urged him to lead with fairness, justice, and inclusivity. “The selection of the new Shehu of Dikwa was marked by a peaceful and harmonious process. This transition reflects the respect for tradition and the rule of law that defines the Dikwa Emirate,” Zulum said. 

Addressing the Shehu, Zulum said, “Your Highness has ascended the throne in an era remarkably different from that of your illustrious predecessors. These modern times require your best efforts in providing leadership and direction. Ours is a State that has been bedevilled by years of insecurity. The process of recovery is a collective responsibility for all. So, you have a greater responsibility to change the people towards the entrenchment of peace and development of the emirate.”

The Shehu expressed gratitude to those who supported his coronation, including the governor, the Sultan of Sokoto, and other traditional rulers. He pledged to uphold his responsibilities and support government initiatives that prioritise the welfare of his people. “I promise to uphold the oath administered on me. I will continue to support the people-oriented programs and services of the government,” he said. 

He also thanked the Borno government for resettling displaced persons in Logomani and Gajibo villages and called for the extension of the Maiduguri-Dikwa road reconstruction to Kala Balge.

For many residents, the coronation symbolised a new chapter of hope. Amina Othman, a deputy registrar at the Borno State judiciary, said the occasion allowed her to reconnect with her ancestral home after years of displacement. “I am delighted, not just because I am related to one of the Shehu’s wives, but because this event has brought us together as a people. It reassures us of better days ahead,” she told HumAngle. 

A storied emirate 

Dikwa Emirate, a traditional state within Borno, is one of the successor states to the old Bornu Empire. Its establishment dates back to 1901, during the colonial period.

The old Bornu Empire collapsed in 1893 when the Shuwa Arab leader, Rabeh Zubayr Ibn Fadl-Allah, seized power and moved the capital to Dikwa. Following Rabih’s defeat and death at the hands of the French, they installed Shehu Sanda Kura, a member of the old Bornu dynasty, as the first Shehu of Borno in 1900. He was soon replaced by his brother, Umar Abubakar Garbai, the ancestor of the current Emirs of Borno.

Under a treaty between the French, Germans, and British, the old Bornu Empire was divided. Dikwa became part of the German colony of Cameroon, while Umar Abubakar Garbai was invited by the British to rule their portion. The Germans, in turn, installed Shehu Sanda Mandara, Abubakar’s brother, as the Shehu of Dikwa. Upon Mandara’s death in 1917, he was succeeded by Shehu Sanda Kyarimi. Dikwa was transferred to British control in 1918 following Germany’s defeat in World War I. Shehu Kyarimi was appointed Shehu of Dikwa in 1937, residing in Dikwa town. However, at the request of the colonial administration, he moved his palace to Bama in 1942.

The old Dikwa Emirate was subsequently divided into the new Bama and Dikwa Emirates in 2009. The new Dikwa Emirate comprises three Local Government Areas: Ngala, Dikwa, and Kala-Balge, with its headquarters in Dikwa Town.

Following the demise of Alhaji Shehu Muhammad Ibn Masta Elkanemi, the immediate past Shehu of Dikwa, his brother, Alhaji Ibrahim Ibn Umar Ibrahim, succeeded him on Jan. 30, 2021.

He stood in the doorway, dressed in a grey, faded kaftan worn from days of labour. His left shoulder bore the weight of an axe, and on his right, a four-litre container wrapped in old clothes and filled with water. From the chest pocket of his kaftan, he pulled out some naira notes. Handing them to his wife, he asked her to buy what little they could afford—staples for their immediate needs.

“This is all we have for now,” 41-year-old Tukur Grema* murmured. The money was a fraction of the part payment he and his colleagues had received from a firewood dealer for a truckload of wood—earnings that came too infrequently and vanished even more quickly. “I am off,” he added before stepping out of the small thatch hut he shared with his wife and six children into the cold morning.

Tukur joined the small crowd of men at the Borno Firewood Sellers Association headquarters in the Goni Chariri area of Maiduguri, northeastern Nigeria. Each man bore the same weary expression, their eyes reflecting the shared burden of survival. They were all headed to the Konduga-Maiduguri forest.

At the headquarters, each man received a slip of paper —the “tally”— detailing the exact number of passengers. The driver must return with the same number of souls they set out with; it is non-negotiable.

“Before leaving, daily, we do a headcount to know the members going in a truck. With the ‘tally’, the driver must not leave anyone behind. And he must not carry anyone extra,” Zakariya, Vice Chairman of the Borno Firewood Sellers Association, told HumAngle.

Departure was strictly timed. The men would gather by 6 a.m., and the truck set off by 7 a.m. Any delay would result in drawn-out interactions at military checkpoints.

The convoy rumbled out of Maiduguri, briefly stopping at a military checkpoint in Dalwa, a boundary that marked relative safety. From there, an armed convoy would escort them. But the soldiers were not there just for protection. Tukur and his colleagues knew this too well. 

“We are often harassed by them,” he alleged.

The day would begin with the soldiers commandeering the loggers’ labour, demanding that they fill the military’s trucks before they could gather any wood for themselves. Filling it was no small task; it required hours of backbreaking work. Tukur and the others would spend nearly the entire day chopping and loading.

Once the military’s needs were met, the loggers were left with a narrow window—often no more than an hour, rarely up to three—to gather wood for their own livelihoods. 

Curfew starts by 3 p.m., so they had to be back in town. “If you did not make it to town before the curfew, you would be made to sit at the gates until late in the evening. And in some cases, you would be subjected to harassment, including flogging,” *Kaumi Malum, a young logger who sat nearby, chipped in.

Tukur nodded in agreement. “You would even be asked to go back, sit, or stand for a long time, late into the evening, or do some frog jump. They must subject you to one or two forms of discomfort. But for the fact that we do not have any profession other than logging and farming, we would have stopped going to the forest,” he added.

This daily race against time was not just about survival but a struggle against the relentless forces depleting the forest. The Konduga-Maiduguri forest bears the heavy toll of unchecked logging. The environmental impact was evident—deforestation stretched as far as the eye could see, leaving behind a barren landscape where biodiversity once thrived.

Extortion, harassment, and large-scale deforestation

The military truck appeared large, its capacity dwarfing the 1974 Isuzu and 1988 Nissan truck vehicles used by the loggers. “One of the military trucks is equivalent to four of our trucks,” Tukur noted, highlighting the sheer volume of wood extracted daily. The logs would later be transported by the soldiers back to their barracks, he narrated, revealing how too familiar it had become to the loggers.

The extortion and harassment described by loggers and truck drivers are not merely economic grievances but violations of fundamental human rights. The right to livelihood, freedom from exploitation, and personal safety are all being undermined in Borno’s conflict zones. “We are treated like criminals for trying to earn an honest living,” Tukur said.

The widespread extortion at military checkpoints not only drains the financial resources of loggers and road users but also heightens the psychological toll on these already vulnerable workers. To rebuild trust, the Nigerian Army introduced measures in 2023 to curb extortion within its ranks, aiming to foster better civil-military relations; however, the extortions persist.

Displaced from Gwoza Local Government Area of Borno State by attacks of the Boko Haram terror group in 2014, Tukur takes care of his family through logging, charcoal production, and seasonal farming. “I do not know any profession other than these,” he told HumAngle. 

Over 600 firewood trucks enter Maiduguri every day, according to recent media reports, reflecting the extent of displaced persons’ reliance on logging for survival. However, according to Maidugu Ali, the chairman of the Borno Firewood Sellers Association, about 50 Isuzu or Nissan trucks filled with firewood, majorly logged from Konduga and Kaga, enter the state capital daily. Despite efforts to curb this challenge, the relentless pace of deforestation persists, driven by the high demand for firewood and alternative livelihoods amidst conflict. 

In contrast to the loggers’ account, the Borno Firewood Sellers Association portrays a narrative of cooperation and order. Maidugu Ali, the association’s chairman, described a structured relationship with the military, where registered members, identifiable by their issued cards, operate under the watchful eye of armed escorts. 

“They [referring to Tukur] are not our members,” the chairman began, distancing the association from the claims of the loggers who spoke to HumAngle. “They are Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) who enter people’s farms to gather dry logs,” Ali accused, emphasising that the loggers “[were] forced into the profession by hunger. Our members have ID cards. The military would never extort them, nor would they harass them. And this is our headquarters.” 

“There are many people who are desperately trying to damage the good relationship between us [registered loggers] and the military who often escort us into the forest,” added Zakariya, the vice chairman. “We are recognised by the Government. It was, in fact, the government, during the Kashim Shettima administration, that gave us this piece of land,” Ali added. 

Zakariya described the association’s role in supporting military operations—clearing branches that impede movement, ensuring compliance with environmental regulations, and fostering a sense of mutual benefit.

“We majorly go logging into the Konduga-Maiduguri forest,” the vice chairman added. “Our members often tag along with the military to cut down tree branches on the highway and those obstructing military operations. They [the military] would first scan the horizon for landmines before our loggers go in for shoulder clearing. We are members of the Joint Task Force team.”

“Cases like the one described happen when there is a communication gap between the association’s leadership and its members. When the truck transporting members and logs gets spoiled, we often ask them to join other members and return to town. In situations where they are the last vehicle, they should leave the vehicle behind and immediately inform their leader, who, in turn, would inform us. We would then call and inform the military at the checkpoints. So, in situations where they fail to tell us, they are often denied entry. This would then make them claim that they were subjected to abuse,” Zakariya added.

Tukur, however, claimed to be a registered member when asked if he belonged to any association or body that could fight for his rights. “I belong to the Borno Firewood Sellers Association. Our headquarters is at Gonichariri in Maiduguri. However, the leadership of the association rarely speaks to authorities concerning these things,” he said, bringing out his registered card, wrapped in a white plastic bag, from his chest pocket.

This fear and uncertainty at checkpoints have led others to abandon the logging industry.

“It was as a result of this humiliation and level of abuse that I stopped driving wood and charcoal trucks two years ago,” 40-year-old *Maina Yerima told HumAngle. “In fact, I totally left the profession. I now make straws for huts with absolute peace of mind. I was a driver for eight years. I have travelled all of these axes and have witnessed these humiliations severally; giving some bundles of wood, bags of charcoals, money, being made to sweep, among other things.”

Yerima also showed his membership card to emphasise his affiliation with the loggers association. “I would return today if these things are stopped. We are reliant on ourselves. We are not waiting for the government to provide us with jobs. If this humiliation can stop, we will go back,” he added.

“You would be made to sweep the sides of the roads at the checkpoint before you would be allowed to pass,” *Babakaka Akura, a firewood truck driver, stated. “This is the first thing they ask you to do once you drive to the checkpoint. You would take the next 30 minutes or an hour sweeping the side of the roads within the checkpoint. This happens on a daily basis. And when you are returning by afternoon, you must drop some bunches of firewood, either 10 or 20 pieces. This, too, is on a daily basis.”

“So many loggers go into the forest daily. At least 500 loggers would go into the forest. Sometimes, we go to Benisheikh, Jakana, Mainok, Auno, Alau, and Yelwa. In all of these, however, it is only the Konduga forest that the military follows us into. For the others, when we return, we either give them some bundles of firewood or bags of charcoal. If you are returning with charcoal, the driver would drop one bag and the charcoal producer one bag. And unlike the Dalwa axis, there are several checkpoints on other roads. We must drop firewood and charcoal at each of the checkpoints,” Tukur said.

The forests that Mohammed and other loggers go into in the state are “Tamsukau around Benisheikh, Benisheikh, Jakana, Mainok, Auno, Molai, Mammanti, Monguno, Muna, Mafa, Gwoza. Each of these roads has military checkpoints. And at each, you either give money or drop some bags of charcoal or bundles of firewood.”

“Our members go into other forests, too. But, because there is no security presence in those other areas like the one in Molai, we asked them to suspend logging in other places,” said the chairman. “In the last two to three years, we have lost at least 70 members to either landmines or terrorist attacks.” 

“Being asked to fill the truck with wood or dropping some bunches of wood at the checkpoint or even bags of charcoal by the soldiers is not an issue,” Tukur said. “What we find disturbing is the abuse and harassment they subject us to, both in the forest and at the checkpoints. This is our major concern. If they can treat us with respect and as humans with dignity, we would not mind doing anything they would require of us,” Tukur lamented.

“While logging in the forest, we often encounter bombs wrapped in tree branches. This has killed many of our members. And when you are in the forest with the military, doing ‘shoulder clearing,’ you must cut down the tree branches they point to,” said Tukur. “And although I do not have personal experience, some colleagues are even asked to pack some bombs into sacks and dispose of them in a pit dug in farmland. They majorly do this to loggers and farmers passing through the Dalwa checkpoint, which is very close to Kwayangiya.”

“If you are a dealer (or merchant) who purchases in bulk, before transporting charcoal into the state capital, you must first inform the military at the Dalwa checkpoint,” Tukur stated. “You tell them the quantity of the charcoal, and then you negotiate with them. You would pay ₦500 per bag.” 

According to Tukur, after the merchant pays the money, “he would be allowed to take them into the city, even if it passed the curfew time. However, if you convey the charcoal without informing them, you would pay ₦1,000 [$0.64] per bag. This is preferable to those who would harass you or collect some parts of your items.”

“There is a particular soldier there at Molai who would confiscate your items on the slightest offence. And that is the end. You would never get them back. In fact, this particular soldier doesn’t even spare women. He is often in charge of overseeing commuters on that axis. Any commuter in that axis is very familiar with his name and abuse. He is dark in complexion. And around 5’5 tall. He could be around 35 to 40. He was said to have been sanctioned several times by Saina Buba [the Borno State Commissioner for Youth Empowerment, Sports Development, and Poverty Alleviation],” Tukur said.

Many loggers who spoke to HumAngle said military checkpoints, intended for security, have become sources of fear and exploitation. “We would sincerely appreciate it if the government could help us either talk to the military to stop subjecting us to those humiliations and abuses,” he pleaded. 

The extortion worsens the already economic strain faced by drivers and loggers; it also takes a psychological toll on them, as fear and anxiety over abuse threaten their livelihoods. Experts say such exploitation erodes trust between communities and the military, deepening insecurity among those reliant on forest resources for survival.

The far-reaching implications

The challenges faced by loggers have broader implications for Borno’s logging industry and economy. Extortion disrupts supply chains, increasing costs and reducing profitability, exacerbating poverty and stifling economic development. Furthermore, unsustainable forest exploitation undermines efforts to build an equitable logging industry that could benefit the local economy.

Military involvement in economic activities like logging raises governance and accountability concerns. As both security providers and economic actors, the military is caught in conflicts of interest that undermine civilian oversight. This dual role often leads to the exploitation of vulnerable populations, eroding trust in state institutions and perpetuating abuse and corruption. Addressing these issues requires re-evaluating the military’s economic involvement and strengthening of governance frameworks.

The complex evolution of civil-military relations in Borno reflects the challenges of balancing security needs with civilian rights and economic activities. Strengthening these relations is crucial for preventing insurgency, fostering trust, and protecting communities engaged in economic activities like logging. Effective civil-military engagement is essential in Northeast Nigeria to bridge gaps in protection and support sustainable economic practices amidst ongoing conflict.

Deforestation in Borno, intertwined with socio-political dynamics, has worsened with the Boko Haram insurgency. Displacement has forced communities to rely on forest resources, disrupting traditional agriculture and leading to unsustainable logging and firewood collection. This deforestation meets the immediate needs of displaced populations and urban demand for firewood but accelerates environmental degradation.

When asked about deforestation awareness, Tukur said, “Yes. Some NGOs and government people have spoken to us about the importance of trees, proper logging, and replanting. Since then, we have cut only branches, not entire trees, and have avoided cutting economically beneficial ones.” However, he added, “Forest Rangers have arrested us a few times, threatening to confiscate wood or charcoal unless we settle them with ₦2,500 [$1.61] to ₦4,000 [$2.57], especially on the Molai axis.”

“We are prohibited from cutting down economic trees such as tamarind, jackal berries, and desert dates,” the Borno Firewood Sellers Association chairman explained, corroborating Tukur’s account. “Additionally, we are required to plant four tree seedlings for every tree we cut as part of our afforestation efforts. Before the insurgency, I personally planted trees in areas like Damboa, Kaga, Konduga, and several other local government areas. I have been a logger for about 40 years, and unlike charcoal producers, we do not fall trees from their roots. The penalty for illegal logging is six months imprisonment,” he added.

“Every truck remits ₦500 [$0.32] daily as revenue to the government,” the chairman further disclosed.

Illegal logging and unregulated wood gathering are significant drivers of deforestation in Borno. These activities, often carried out without adherence to environmental laws or sustainable practices, result in large-scale forest depletion. The lack of oversight and enforcement enables the exploitation of forest resources at an unsustainable rate, contributing to the loss of valuable ecosystems and furthering environmental degradation. This rampant deforestation affects the immediate environment and has far-reaching consequences for the region’s climate and biodiversity.

Climate change compounds challenges in rural Borno, where deforestation and flood worsen food insecurity, affecting vulnerable populations. A comprehensive review reveals the interconnectedness of environmental degradation and the need for sustainable livelihoods in Northern Nigeria, highlighting an urgent need for intervention.

Borno is drafting stricter laws and promoting sustainable forest management to combat deforestation. The state’s appointment of a new Borno Great Green Wall Director and afforestation initiatives aim to restore ecological balance by planting thousands of trees to counter erosion and deforestation.

*Names with asterisks were changed to protect the sources. 

Following the devastating floodwaters that ravaged Maiduguri, capital of Borno State, northeastern Nigeria, in September 2024, hundreds of families were left to grapple with loss and uncertainty.

The flood which was as a result of the collapsed dam affected over a million people.  While no fewer than 37 lives were lost, at least 400,000 others were displaced, according to the state government. It also had a devastating impact on local businesses as many shops, markets, and trading centres were inundated with water, resulting in significant losses for traders and entrepreneurs.

To cushion the effects of the disaster, the State Government, Non-governmental Organisations (NGOs), and other stakeholders provided financial support to affected people.

Alhaji Muhammad, a 50-year-old resident of Limanti Ward in Maiduguri, is one of those who benefitted from the government’s support after the flood destroyed his house, food, clothes, and valuables – notably 25 bags of cement he was storing for a friend. He was forced to flee his flooded home and sought refuge at a relative’s house where conditions were equally difficult.

In a bid to recover quickly, Muhammad diligently followed the necessary procedures to secure government assistance. Eventually, he received ₦101,000 in cash assistance from the government, a gesture he appreciated, but fell woefully short of addressing his extensive needs.

“After buying food and other emergency items for my family, I realised I needed at least ₦550,000 to restore my home to a livable state,” he explained. “Just repairing the broken floor, walls, and toilets took all that money.”

Aside from his residence, Muhammad owns two rental properties that were also damaged by the flood. He spent ₦250,000 to repair one and ₦600,000 on the other.

Despite his struggles, he considers himself fortunate compared to others in his community. “In my area, 90 per cent of those affected by the flood did not receive any support,” he lamented. “Many people’s homes are still destroyed, and they can’t even afford a single block to start rebuilding. Unlike me, they haven’t received any intervention at all.”

He, however, urged the state’s government to expedite its efforts to provide relief. “The government needs to wipe the tears of those who are still crying and make things easier for them, especially those who haven’t received the needed support,” he added.

Another beneficiary, Maimuna Kaka Ali, a 46-year-old mother of five from Kalari, said she received ₦100,000 from the government. While she expressed gratitude for the assistance, it was only enough to make minor repairs to a toilet and part of the floor in her home.

“The walls are still cracked, and I’m afraid they might fall on us at any time,” she said. “However, I am happy that this support has reached me, especially since so many others have yet to receive anything.” 

“For most people, having a safe shelter is the most urgent need. When shelter is taken care of, victims can focus on rebuilding their lives and moving forward,” she admonished the government. 

‘The Forgotten’

Inna Bukar, a mother of five, shares a story that feels different from many others. Unlike Alhaji and Maimuna, she has yet to receive any form of support.

Recalling the harrowing night when the flood struck, Inna said she was forced to seek shelter with relatives. They stayed there for three weeks, returning periodically to salvage what they could from their home.

However, her husband believed they shouldn’t burden their relatives for too long. He managed to repair one room in their home, allowing the family to return. But the conditions were far from ideal.

“When we came back, the room was so cold that I and all my children fell sick,” Inna said. “We’ve had to manage living in this state ever since.”

Deeply saddened by the lack of assistance, she said while the government conducted a screening exercise in her area, she never had the opportunity to have her details recorded with them. 

“When I tried reaching out to them, they said they weren’t responsible for collecting data for people in Gwange near Mansoor Motors,” she explained. “They told me another team would come the next day to consult us, but no one has spoken to me about it since.”

Inna stressed that her home is among those most severely impacted by the flood. She also explained that 20 other victims in her area have been completely overlooked.

“Why have we been forgotten?” she asked. “The government shouldn’t give up on us.”

Authority reacts 

When contacted for comments, Ali Bolori, an aide to Borno Governor and member of the flood response committee, explained that the government’s efforts are based on constitutional guidelines.

“The guidelines provided by the government have been used to carry out assessments, with support from community leaders,” said Bolori. “The community leaders have identified those most affected, and data has been collected accordingly.”

He, however, called on residents who have yet to receive support to be patient, saying “the support will reach everyone. We are still waiting on many of the promised donations. This delay is slowing down the process, but I urge everyone to remain patient.”

“We do not want to rush the distribution of aid to the camps, as this could lead to an influx of new camps, which would complicate the process,” he added. “The process is gradual, but everyone will be supported.”

Meanwhile, Ibrahim Umara, who is also a member of the committee responsible for the identification and distribution of relief items corroborated Bolori’s account. 

He explained that during the ongoing assessment and distribution process, victims who encounter challenges—such as not being assessed or receiving food aid—should file a written complaint.

He also confirmed that adequate food supplies are available, and if they are exhausted, additional provisions will be procured to meet the needs of all victims. Similarly, he urged victims to be truthful when sharing information, as dishonesty complicates the committee’s efforts and delays relief interventions.

Expert weigh-in 

Mustapha Adam Kolo, a disaster expert at the Department of Geography, University of Maiduguri, highlighted the significant impacts of delayed relief efforts on flood victims.

“Delays in relief efforts lead to stress and mental distress, which cannot be overemphasized,” Kolo explained.

He also urged the government to ensure that all affected individuals are adequately cared for during this challenging time.

“The government’s decision to mark riverside properties for demolition is a bold step,” he said. “However, to prevent future occurrences, there’s a need to focus on improving recovery efforts, such as implementing and educating the public on early warning systems. These systems are often ignored but are critical in disaster preparedness.”

“The government should prioritise research and ensure that all policies are based on research outcomes. Effective policy development, especially in terms of development control, is crucial. Also, there needs to be a complete overhaul of the drainage network in Maiduguri. Without this, some sections of the town will continue to experience perennial flooding year after year.”

On Sept. 10, 2024, a collapsed dam in Maiduguri, northeastern Borno State, led to devastating floods that affected about a million people. Aside from 37 lives that were lost, no fewer than 400,000 others were displaced, according to the state government. 

It also caused widespread damage to major infrastructure in Fori, Gwange, UMTH London Ciki, Gidan Danbe, Zara Plaza, Lagos Street, Abbaganaram, Kofa, Budum, Kalari, Shehuri, and Shehuri North. While other flood-hit structures received patchwork repairs, Fori bridge, which connects Fori and Galtimari to Tashan Bama, has been left unattended to by the government, turning a simple 10-minute journey into an exhausting hour-long detour for thousands of residents.

Though many people defy odds to cross the damaged bridge, the hazardous endeavour often resulted in injuries, disproportionately affecting vulnerable groups such as the elderly, children, and women.

Harrowing experience 

Speaking with HumAngle, Maryam Habib’s voice trembled as she narrated the terrifying moment a mother fell while navigating the treacherous bridge with her children. “The woman was holding a six-year-old daughter and carrying a toddler on her back when she fell on the debris,” Maryam recalled. “Her daughter lost a tooth and suffered bruises, while the woman herself sustained several injuries on her body.”

For Hauwa Adamu, a widow and mother of four, the bridge has become a source of perpetual fear. She told HumAngle that her youngest child, Aisha, bursts into tears every time they attempt to cross. The reason is stark: four massive holes on the bridge force pedestrians to crouch and navigate through, making every crossing a heart-stopping ordeal.

Fatima Yusuf, a secondary school student whose education has been affected by the ugly development, said: “I easily crossed the bridge to my school in the past, but after last year’s floods damaged it, my academics suffered because I had to spend more on transportation despite the economic hardship confronting my family.”

Construction of alternative

Concerned about the difficulties faced by residents who use the bridge to connect the University of Maiduguri, Bama Motor Park, the University of Maiduguri Teaching Hospital, businesses, schools, and other essential services, ten enterprising youths have constructed a makeshift bridge as an alternative.

The youths said they raised over ₦600,000 among themselves to make an improvised bridge from wooden planks and scrap metal. To ensure proper maintenance, they collect a toll fee of  ₦100 from cars, ₦50 for tricycles, and ₦20 for pedestrians.

“The aim is to maintain the bridge with the little amount we get from commuters,” said Jerry Markus, one of the youths who made the alternative bridge. 

His colleague, Muhammad Ali, added that while over 2,000 people and 500 motorists access the bridge daily, children and aged people are excluded from paying toll fees. “We did this not to enrich ourselves but to help our community,” he explained.

One of the beneficiaries of the alternative bridge, Musa Goni, explained that following the damage of the Fatori bridge last September, he usually spent an hour to reach the market from home. “Now, it’s a simple 10-minute journey. We’re grateful to the youths who made this possible.”

Ten metres away from the already completed makeshift bridge, another is under construction as undeterred residents were seen pooling resources to create an additional bridge to ease the condition further.

Not everyone is satisfied 

Despite the initiative by the youths, the inability of the temporary bridge to support heavy vehicles has led to a drastic surge in transportation costs, forcing truck drivers to embark on lengthy journeys to supply goods to business owners. 

For entrepreneurs like Usman Bunu, a block seller, the consequences are dire. “We’ve had to increase our prices because of the additional costs incurred on transportation,” he lamented. “Unfortunately, this has driven many customers to seek alternative suppliers.”

Baba Isah, a resilient elderly resident, crosses the treacherous bridge daily to reach his business. His eyes reflect the hardship he faces daily during an interview with HumAngle. “I feel jittery every time I cross. It’s like climbing the biggest mountain in the world,” he said. “But I have no choice; my livelihood depends on it.”

As the local economy faces challenges, residents and business owners are left wondering when the government will intervene to rebuild a permanent Fori bridge, to restore vital connectivity and revive the area’s economic vitality.

State gov’t keeps mum

HumAngle contacted Borno State’s Commissioner for Works and Housing, Mustapha Gubio, for comments but he’s yet to respond to several calls and text messages sent by our reporter.

Reacting to the government’s inactions, Hamza Iliya, a resident, said, “we are being treated like second-class citizens because most residents here aren’t high government officials or influential people. If this bridge served a government reserve area, it would have been fixed by now.”

Despite grassroots efforts to provide a temporary solution, residents’ frustration deepens with each day as they wait for the government to rebuild the permanent Fori bridge. 

Bukar Zarami, a seasoned farmer from the Gongulong community, Jere Local Government Area of Borno, is one of those severely affected by the devastating floods that swept through the northeastern state of Nigeria on Sept. 10. 

With over three decades of farming experience, Bukar told HumAngle that he has never witnessed a flood of such magnitude as his 3-hectare millet farm and additional hectares of guinea corn, beans, and cucumbers were destroyed entirely.

Climate change effects had already stifled his farm’s income for the past two years, but he was hopeful for a good harvest this season—until the floods took everything.

“I lost three hectares of millet that I planted. The remaining hectares, where I planted guinea corn, beans, and cucumbers, were also washed away,” he told HumAngle during a phone interview in October. 

When he visited the farm some days ago to see if he could recover any of the washed-away produce, he only gathered a small portion of millet, which was not enough to feed his wife and children.  Even worse, the salvaged millet caused stomach discomfort when they ate it. 

“After my wife processed and cooked the millet I brought home, we all ate, but it gave us stomach aches that night,” Bukar explained. “I think the water that affected my farmland contained some chemicals; it felt slippery.”

Despite help from good samaritans since the devastating flood affected his farmland, Bukar’s family members are still faced with hunger amid a struggle to survive. “I haven’t sat idle. My farmland is still wet, so I have planted two bowls of beans again with the hope of a fruitful outcome,” he added. 

‘A season of loss’

The September catastrophic flash flood affected not just Gongulong but numerous communities across Borno, leaving a trail of destruction. The United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organization estimates that the crops and foods destroyed by the heavy floods would have fed 8.5 million people for six months. It added that the situation has further deepened the food crisis and hunger in the country. 

Bintu Mustapha, another farmer who spoke to HumAngle from Dikwa, shared a similar plight. In her 14 years of farming, Bintu had relied on her vegetable and grain crops—okra, spinach, guinea corn, maize, and beans—to feed her six children and earn a small income. The floods, however, submerged her fields, leaving her family in despair. 

“We have nothing left,” Bintu said. “Our means of survival have been cut off; we need support, especially in terms of food. My father suggested I replant cucumbers when the farmland stabilises, and I am looking forward to doing that,” Bintu told HumAngle.

‘They shouldn’t feel discouraged’

Isa Bukar Kumshe, a lecturer at the Mohammed Goni College of Agriculture in Maiduguri, said the recent flooding caused by heavy rainfall and the breakdown of the Alau Dam requires urgent action from necessary authorities. 

He explained that seasonal changes are expected every few years, and the floods will continue to impact food security severely. “The water came with contaminants like dead bodies and animals. When these organic materials decompose, they release ammonia and other organic waste into the water, which can cause serious health implications. Farmers should avoid consuming crops directly affected by this water,” the expert warned.

Kumshe, however, urged farmers to replant using irrigation farming. “My advice to farmers is that there is still time to continue farming on their respective lands. They shouldn’t feel discouraged. They should return and replant their crops, especially through irrigation farming. The government must also step in to support these farmers by providing seeds and other farming inputs.”

Borno’s Governor, Babagana Zulum, has also called for urgent support from the World Food Programme (WFP) to aid recovery. He appealed to the WFP to support dry-season farming along riverbanks and provide improved seeds and solar-powered water pumps to help farmers reclaim their flooded lands.

This report was produced under the 2024 HumAngle Accountability Fellowship with support from the MacArthur Foundation.