Feature Story

By Abdulsalam Alkali

In the scarred landscape of Northeast Nigeria, where Boko Haram’s insurgency has claimed thousands of lives and displaced millions since 2009, the quest for peace remains a daily struggle. As military campaigns degraded the group’s territorial hold, a more complex and contentious challenge emerged. What to do with the thousands of fighters and their associates who surrendered or were captured?

The Federal Government’s answer was Operation Safe Corridor, a deradicalization program run from a military-controlled camp in Gombe State. But for the epicentre of the conflict, Borno State, this felt distant and disconnected from the realities of its ravaged communities.

In response, the Borno State Government, under Governor Babagana Zulum, began crafting its own approach, which later became known as “The Borno Model.” 

The model is a non-kinetic approach that handles former Boko Haram/ISWAP fighters through disarmament, demobilization, deradicalization, rehabilitation, reconciliation, and reintegration known as the (Triple D, Triple R).

Unlike the military-run, camp-based system, the Borno Model is fundamentally community-centric. According to the document, “The Borno Model’s philosophy is rooted in an audacious blend of practicality and traditional norms. The model argues that sustainable peace cannot be achieved by isolating ex-combatants in distant camps, only to return them as strangers. Instead, it advocates for a localized process of rehabilitation and reintegration directly into communities, heavily mediated by local organizations, traditional rulers, religious leaders, and victims.

“The model operates on the premise that a significant portion of those in Boko Haram/ISWAP were either forcefully recruited, coerced, or driven by poverty rather than ideology, and that the path to peace requires a form of conditional forgiveness”.

This model has translated into a bold and visible policy as thousands of “repentant Boko Haram” members and their families have been received, housed in temporary “transition camps,” and then resettled in their (or new) communities, often with vocational training and start-up kits.

According to an Institute for Security Studies research document, over 160,000 people had left Boko Haram/ISWAP, with over 100,000 fighters and their families, and an additional 6,900 minors surrendering unconditionally since the program commenced.

Nevertheless, this bold program unfolds against a background of profound pain and frustration, especially for the victims of Boko Haram. 

For communities that have endured massacres, abductions, and arson, the sight of former perpetrators receiving housing and support is a bitter pill to swallow.

Many survivors ask: where is our own rehabilitation? The fears of recidivism, accusations of injustice, and deep-seated trauma that no government program has adequately addressed persist. In the streets of Maiduguri, there is a blend of emotions and concerns among its residents. While some people view this program as a viable way of achieving peace, others see it as something forced upon them by the government.

WHAT VICTIMS SAY

For Bakura Modu, who lost his parents to the insurgents, “Only God will reward us for what we have gone through,” he said with mixed emotions. Bakura Modu lost his entire family, three of his brothers and his parents were killed during the 2014 Bama attack. Bakura escaped the attack and came to Maiduguri, later took shelter with his uncle. Now he struggles to live in Maiduguri with no support from the government. Bakura has not heard or felt carried along in the rehabilitation program.

Like Bakura Modu, Ya Kaltum Bukar, 58, lost her husband and six of her children to Boko Haram insurgents. During the peak of Boko Haram insurgency in Maiduguri, “They came during Ramadan in 2012 and killed my husband and three of my biological children, and after two weeks, they returned and shot three again,” she said. 

YaKaltum only became familiar with the rehabilitation and reintegration program on Radio Programs. Now she struggles to survive in this economy, coupled with health complications.

On returning ex-Boko Haram fighters, Bakura Modu was skeptical, having had no previous knowledge or involvement: “The government has done a lot in resettling people and building homes, but not all victims of the insurgency were carried along,” he said.

According to Barrister Abba Kyari Muhammad, the Borno Model does not strictly adhere to the standard model of transitional justice. He stated that the model largely focuses on disarming insurgents, rehabilitating and reintegrating them back into society, while neglecting other core components of transitional justice, including prosecution, truth-seeking, reparation, and institutional reforms. “These obvious lapses in the implementation of the Borno Model render it something other than transitional justice,” Barr. Kyari stated.

Barr. Kyari lost his mother to the insurgents in 2013, skipped classes while at school, lost his livelihood, and was displaced multiple times within Maiduguri as a result of the insurgency. He said, “Upon all that happened, I am still yet to receive an apology from the government or other authority, let alone compensation.”  He further stated that it is evident there is no meaningful victim compensation within the current transitional justice framework.

LACK OF COMMUNITY PARTICIPATION IN THE PROGRAM

Research by the Institute for Security Studies (ISS) clearly outlined the lack of community participation in the rehabilitation and reintegration program, stating that “Communities are not involved enough in reintegration even though they facilitated disengagement and are the first point of contact for ex-Boko Haram associates.”

Speaking as both a victim of the insurgency and a professional, Barr. Abba Kyari stated that “I cannot recall encountering any form of victim compensation, reparation, or even apology to those who lost their loved ones. Available evidence suggests that internally displaced persons who are the true victims are largely abandoned, while repentant Boko Haram members are housed, clothed, and well taken care of in government-owned facilities.”

PROSPECTS AND CHALLENGES OF THE PROGRAM.

Moreover, a source from the Ministry of Rehabilitation, Reconstruction, and Resettlement (RRR) stated that the program has had both its prospects and challenges, but the government is doing everything within its powers to carry all people along. He noted that victims are also supported with skills and are resettled in their communities as peace gradually returns.

The anonymous source also noted that the Reintegration Committee was constituted by Governor Babagana Umara Zulum, and it is working round the clock to return refugees from neighbouring countries like Niger, Cameroon, and Chad.

He also clarified that not only ex-fighters undergo rehabilitation it also includes victims, abductees, and communities ravaged by Boko Haram. “All are being rebuilt and resettled, apart from Abadam Local Government that was recently opened after more than a decade of desertion, and it has improved peace in the state,” he noted.

Similarly, Samuel Orahii, reintegration coordinator at Allamin Foundation for Peace and Development, a. leading organisation working with the government on community engagement and reintegration, noted that some of their work is confidential and sensitive, however, a lot of success has been achieved, and normalcy has almost been sustained. On the Borno Model, Mr. Samuel stated that “the Borno Model is more of a traditional justice, as communities are involved,” noting that ex-Boko Haram fighters are remorseful, recently, one ex-Boko Haram fighter sought forgiveness on a live radio program on transitional justice sponsored by Allamin Foundation”.

The ISS findings, however, show a lack of adequate funding for the program, stating that “The Borno Model faces persistent challenges, especially in providing sufficient economic support to deserters once they leave the camp. Many former Boko Haram members interviewed in March and June 2025 said they left the group with few employable skills, little start-up capital, and no tools to begin a livelihood. The state has introduced vocational training in the camps, teaching skills such as carpentry, tailoring, welding, and mechanics. It also provides a one-off payment of ₦100,000 (about US $67), but this isn’t enough to restart a life after years in the bush.”

On issues around sustainability of the program, Barr. Kyari noted that the sustainability of the program lies in its economic implications, which largely remain unaddressed. “These people are accustomed to a lavish lifestyle and unrestricted control over territories and resources, yet they are now expected to survive on minimal support. This arrangement is neither realistic nor sustainable and represents a ticking time bomb if left unsolved.”

DOES THE REHABILITATION PROGRAM LEAD TO PEACE?

Moreover, despite the sustained rehabilitation and reintegration program, communities resettled, and livelihoods restored, it remains debatable whether the rehabilitation and reintegration of ex-Boko Haram combatants have brought peace or otherwise. Many experts agree that since the collapse of leadership upon the death of Abubakar Shekau, many ex-fighters have retreated and laid down their arms, surrendering to Nigerian authorities. Subsequently, with intensified military aggression by Nigerian forces and the loss of many territorials holds by the insurgents, the group has systematically shifted its focus from ransacking communities to abductions, collecting ransom, and taxing in some areas within the Lake Chad region.

A HumAngle tracker from the last quarter of 2025 indicated that Borno State experienced the highest number of abductions, with over 161 people in a total of 31 kidnapping incidents. “A total of 116 incidents with fatalities were experienced,” the report stated. According to sources interviewed by HumAngle, the group has raked in over ₦1 billion through these random operations. 

This report is corroborated by Yerwa Express News’s recent report of the abduction of seven fishermen from Doron Baga in Kukawa Local Government Area in Borno State by suspected Boko Haram insurgents, with a ransom demand of ₦30 million.

This report is supported by HumAngle Foundation under ‘Fellowship on Strengthening Community Journalism and Human Right Advocacy In Northern Nigeria (SCOJA)’.

By Balkisu Aminu Aliyu

Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic Calendar, a sacred month during which the Quran was revealed, a time of spiritual reflection, purification, and heightened devotion.

A month of abundant blessings, forgiveness, and a strengthening of faith. Across the Muslim world, Ramadan is marked by fasting from dawn to sunset, intensified prayers, and acts of charity. It is a pillar of Islam that teaches patience, gratitude, and empathy. 

It is a time to purify the heart, practice self-discipline and strengthen one’s relationship with the Almighty. However, conversation is less about spiritual abundance and more about stark scarcity and low income.

2026 Ramadan is one of the upcoming Ramadans, while the prices of some essential commodities are falling in some parts of the country; however, many less privileged people are struggling to manage Ramadan due to low income.

“Some people can no longer take full responsibility for their families,” confides a 45-year-old woman in Gidan Sanda area of Sokoto, who asked to remain anonymous, her voice tinged with worry. “Most husbands are struggling financially because of the high level of poverty. This could stop them from providing enough food, especially during sahur and iftar.”

Her lament echoes in the words of Abu Musa, a motorcycle rider whose concern stretches beyond the fast itself to the Eid al-Fitr celebration that follows. “I don’t think I can feed my children properly, even though food prices have dropped from last year. I have no resources to meet their needs. How can I buy them new clothes for Eid?” he asks, his question hanging heavily in the air.

For families like his, Ramadan’s twin pressures, sufficient nourishment for fasting and the social expectations of Eid, feel like an immense weight.

The crisis is both urban and rural. Aliyu Kabir, a young man from the area, expressed, “People all over the town and villages are battling extreme poverty.”

This deprivation carries a deep social sting. Community reports suggest that countless parents cannot afford proper clothing for their children. In a season of communal gatherings and celebration, this need can lead to shame and embarrassment for young ones, who may mistakenly feel neglected by their parents, not understanding that poverty itself is the barrier.

At his roadside mechanic workshop along Abdullahi Fodiyo road, Malam Husaini watches the traffic of life go by, his hope pinned on a simple prayer. “It’s tradition for food prices to shoot up during Ramadan,” he observes, “We are praying to Allah to ease the condition for us.” His fear is common: that any market gains will be erased by the annual Ramadan price surge, pushing basic staples out of reach.

Amid this apprehension, the timeless teachings of Islam offer both a critique and a solution. A Hadith narrated by Abu Huraira is profoundly relevant: the Prophet Muhammad (SAW) said, “Whoever feeds a fasting person will have a reward like that of the person who observed the fast, without decreasing the reward of the latter.”

This principle transforms Ramadan from a private act of worship into a powerful societal covenant. It is a sacred month in which the fortunate’s empathy must translate into sustenance for the struggling. Assisting the needy is not just charity; it is a spiritual investment, a purification of wealth, and a direct conduit to divine mercy.

Therefore, as the 2026 Ramadan approaches, the call from Sokoto’s backstreets is clear. It is a call for the wealthy, business owners, and those in positions of power, including government and political office holders, to remember the core communal spirit of this holy time. To do more. To support the vulnerable not as an afterthought, but as a central, highly recommended act of faith.

For in the end, the true test of this Ramadan may not only be in the stomachs that remain empty but in the hands that remain closed. The blessings of the month are abundant, but they are meant to be shared, ensuring that every believer, rich or poor, can turn their heart toward the divine without the crushing distraction of hunger or shame.

By Abdulsalam Alkali

Haruna Muhammad, known on the streets of Maiduguri as ‘ABALE BORNO’, had always chased greener pastures. His journey from his hometown to the bustling Nigerian capital, Abuja, was a familiar blur of hope and hardship. For a long time, he sold apples on Abuja’s streets, dreaming of the day he could return home to his mother and family.

When the month of Ramadan arrived, Abale felt a pull stronger than any market stall could offer. “I travelled from Abuja to Maiduguri, my heart light with the thought of sharing Eid al-Fitr with my loved ones. The journey was long, but the anticipation of reunion kept my spirits high”. Abale recounted with tears.

Back in Maiduguri, Abale slipped into his usual routine, posting short videos on TikTok. ‘’I voiced out my neighbourhood’s frustrations over an unfinished road project and the dilapidated Wadiya Primary School in Gomari Kostin’’ Abale stated. Residents slogging through potholes and the school’s crumbling walls quickly garnered attention.

One morning, seeking a quieter spot to rest during the Ramadan fast, Abale spread his mat under a lone tree inside the school, where he had earlier raised concerns about its dilapidated condition, offering some respite to the neighbourhood. As he lay there, three men approached—a Civilian Joint Task Force member and two policemen in traditional kaftans. “I felt relaxed even after seeing them, as I never thought the videos I made could trigger such a response from security,” Abale recounted.

While in Police Custody

“I was sceptical and confused about my arrest. I was first taken to the G.R.A Police Station, where I was temporarily detained until the Commissioner of Police, now-retired Yusuf Muhammad Lawan, arrived and ordered my transfer to the CRACK Division’’ Abale stated. Crack Division of the Nigeria Police is a unit specialised in tackling armed robbery, theft, and other capital offences.

“While in custody, I was denied access to my phone. I begged the policeman at the counter to help inform my mother. He agreed but charged one thousand naira for a call that lasted less than a minute,” Abale recalled.

At the CRACK Division, “I was informed that my offence was criticising the state government on TikTok, and I was arrested by ‘orders from above.’ There was no proper explanation. I was subjected to a thorough interrogation by scores of policemen, all asking the same question repeatedly: ‘Who is sponsoring you to attack the government?’ They took my phone, tripod, and microphone, searched them, but found nothing. The disappointment on their faces was visible,” he stated.

Abale recalled being treated like a criminal for expressing his community’s frustrations. “A policeman threatened my mother, telling her I was a criminal who would be jailed for no less than 20 years.” He was held for six days, despite laws requiring that an accused person be charged in court within 24 hours, or 48 hours if no court is within proximity, as stipulated by section 35 of the Nigerian Constitution. 

Abale had not initially engaged legal services. “However, a human rights lawyer, Hamza Nuhu Dantani, came to me. He was God-sent.” Abale stated

The Court Case

Abale was charged at Magistrate Court Number 2, popularly known as ‘Koton Madam,’ in Maiduguri. However, the court was in recess, and the case was referred to another magistrate. “The court found no significant reason for my arbitrary detention, and I was released,” Abale said.

Legal Struggle

After his bail was granted, Abale returned to Abuja to recover from the losses and expenses caused by his detention. However, the case was continuously adjourned. “I travelled from Abuja to Maiduguri three times to seek justice and retrieve my gadgets—two phones, pods, and a microphone—but to no avail. There was no conviction, no acquittal. The case was swept under the carpet,” he lamented.

Violations Continued

Suleiman Usman, 26, known as Sultan, was arrested and detained for three days simply for disagreeing with a public office holder on Facebook. “Even after promising my lawyer, I would be released within 24 hours, I spent three days in the cell,” Sultan recounted.

He was arrested after criticising the Executive Secretary of the Borno State Geographic and Information Service on Facebook. “The complainant insisted it amounted to criminal defamation, even though there was no proof. My words were harmless,” Sultan stated. After three days in the CRACK Division, he was released unconditionally.

Similarly, Alhassan Musa, 40, a father of nine, was arrested and detained for five weeks on the orders of Governor Babagana Zulum. “I was carrying passengers near the newly built flyover bridge in Bolori Store when a white Hilux vehicle drove into our way. It was Governor Zulum. He immediately ordered the police to arrest me,” Alhassan stated.

Detained at the CRACK Division for what was clearly a civil matter, Alhassan was repeatedly refused bail. Without formal charges, and only after his lawyer’s intervention, he paid N100,000 to the Borno State Traffic Maintenance Agency (BOTMA) for a traffic violation. “Five weeks of detention went under the carpet, unexplained,” he said.

Amnesty International Nigeria

In August 2025, Amnesty International Nigeria raised concerns over allegations of human rights violations by the Borno State government. “Borno, based on our initial findings, is increasingly becoming a bastion of repression, abuse of office, and unlawful attacks on the right of the people to disagree with those in power. People have the right to agree and disagree with those in power,” the statement read.

It further attests, “People who criticise the governor are being arbitrarily arrested and detained for months or more, without trial or access to a lawyer or family. A detention centre run by the police has now become a den of unlawful detention and ill-treatment. Some are even refused bail in utter disregard for due process.”

The statement was necessitated by the sentencing of five young people to five years imprisonment for organising and participating in an #EndBadGovernance protest.  Efforts to locate them proved abortive, but a relative of one of the sentenced individuals, who chose to remain anonymous, confirmed ‘’they are still in Maiduguri Maximum Correctional Centre”.

Similarly, Ibrahim Muhammad of the National Human Rights Commission in Maiduguri acknowledged the commission’s awareness of such claims but clarified its role. “We must receive a formal complaint, either in person or through other means of communication, before we can act. We have established protocols, and no violation has been officially reported to us,” he stated.

The Borno State Police Public Relations Officer, ASP Nahun Kenneth Daso, declined to comment, insisting on a physical meeting. However, he neither picked up calls nor replied to messages at the appointed time.

What the Law Says

According to lawyer Barr. Alkali Adamu Askira, “No individual, whether a governor or anyone acting under his authority, has the power to arrest and detain any person beyond the constitutionally permitted period of 24 hours, or at most 48 hours where applicable, without either granting bail or arraigning the person before a court of competent jurisdiction.” He further clarified, “Any directive or action that results in unnecessary arrest or prolonged detention outside these legal limits constitutes a gross abuse of power and an act of lawlessness.”

Barr. Askira noted that the remedy is to file fundamental human rights enforcement suits. “Otherwise, we will have rights we cannot enforce,” he stated.

Commenting on Abale and Sultan’s detention, human rights lawyer Barr. Hamza Nuhu Dantani said, “Abale and Sultan’s cases exemplify the endemic abuse of power, suppression, and denial of access to justice by people in authority.” He advised, “Security agencies should respect the rights to freedom of expression,” and urged public office holders to “refrain from using their office to oppress citizens. 

By Anas Abbas

In the traditional rhythm of life across Kano, Jigawa Katsina and much of Northern Nigeria, the end of the rainy season has always been a time of relief, celebration, and abundance.

It is the period locals fondly call “Kaka” (harvest season) when the farmlands give back to the people, when barns are full, and when hunger gives way to laughter.

Grains, groundnuts, millet, maize, and beans flood the local markets. Prices fall. The air is scented with roasted corn, fresh harvest, and hope.But this year, something has changed.

The joy that once marked Kaka now feels faint and replaced by silence, worry, and a strange kind of poverty in the midst of plenty.

The Daily reality has reported that, in Kano’s bustling Dawanau Market, traders sit beside overflowing bags of produce, but the energy that once filled the air has faded.

“People come, they look, they ask, but they don’t buy,” said Malam Kabiru, a grain merchant of 20 years, wiping sweat off his brow. “Before, this time of year, I would not even have time to rest. But now, we are counting hours, not money.”

Traditionally, harvest season (kaka) is the season when life becomes easy. Farmers sell their crops, traders make profits, and households breathe again after months of lean times.

“Money used to flow like the rain that just passed,” said Hajiya Zainab, a mother and resident at Yankaba in Kano. “But this year, things are upside down. Food is cheap, but we don’t have money to buy. Even if you want to cook “tuwo with bean soup”, you will think twice before buying groundnut oil.” Zainab said.

The paradox is everywhere: prices of some staples have dropped slightly due to harvest supply, yet the economy has tightened its grip on ordinary Nigerians. The value of the naira continues to wobble, and salaries for those who are even lucky to have them barely survive a week.

A Season that feels different

In villages around Katsina, Jigawa, and Sokoto, The Daily reality gathered that farmers recount the same story. Fertilizer prices went up, transport costs doubled, and insecurity chased many from their farmlands. Those who managed to plant and harvest now face a market that no longer rewards their sweat.

“Last year, we prayed for rain. This year, we got it. But now we are praying for buyers,” said Alhaji Isa, a millet farmer from Bichi. His barns are full, yet his pocket is empty.

For decades, Kaka was more than a season it was a social equalizer. Families cleared debts, marriages were planned, and children returned to school with new uniforms bought from market profits. Today, that cycle of joy has broken.

The harvest still comes, but the happiness doesn’t. I recently harvested my onions and took them to the market, said Alhaji Musa Dan’Isa, an onion farmer from Badume in Kano State, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We sold a sack for between N10,000 and N11,000. After all the expenses fertilizer, labour, and transport.There’s almost nothing left for us. I can’t even recover what I spent.”

“To be honest, I’m beginning to lose interest in farming. If things continue like this, I don’t see any reason to invest again next year.”

Economy of Survival

Experts say the situation reflects the larger economic strain facing the country. Inflation has eaten deep into every pocket, and the spending power of ordinary Nigerians has collapsed.

Even when goods are available, the money to circulate them is not.In the past, money used to move like water in a stream from farmers to traders, from traders to transporters, and then back to the villages.

Now, the stream has dried up. Money no longer circulates; it only passes through a few hands and disappears before it reaches the people who truly keep the economy alive.

Economist Dr. Ibrahim Umar explains to The Daily reality: “What we are seeing is a liquidity drought people simply don’t have cash flow. Harvest season should naturally boost local economies, but insecurity, subsidy removal, and currency devaluation have created a heavy burden. So even in abundance, there is scarcity.”

A Cultural Loss

Beyond the numbers, something deeper is being lost the cultural spirit that defined Kaka. The community celebrations, the songs of the farmers, the laughter of women sorting grains in woven baskets all seem quieter now.“Our parents used to say that Kaka is God’s mercy after hard labour,” said Aisha Abdullahi, a teacher in Hadejia.

“Now it feels like we are working for survival, not for joy. The harvest doesn’t bring the same peace anymore.”

A Call for Reflection

The fading joy of Kaka tells a larger story one of resilience, struggle, and a people trying to hold on to dignity amid hardship. It reminds us that the economy is not just about figures and policies, but about lives, emotions, and traditions deeply woven into the seasons.

Northern Nigeria still celebrates the rains, the soil, and the spirit of farming. But until the people can once again taste the sweetness of their own labour, Kaka will remain a season of memory rather than a moment of joy.

The changing face of Kaka is more than an economic issue; it is a mirror of how hardship has reshaped everyday life in the North. A season that once united communities in gratitude is now marked by quiet markets and worried faces.

From Kano to Katsina, Sokoto to Bauchi, people are beginning to wonder if the old Kaka will ever return when the harvest truly brought relief, not reminders of survival.