By Bamidele Atoyebi

‎The recent news emerging from the Kankia Local Government Area in Katsina State reads like a medieval ransom note adapted for the 21st century. Reports indicate that bandits have issued a staggering ultimatum to three local communities, demanding a “tax” of 700 cows and 1,000 sheep. This demand is not merely a request but a threat of total annihilation, illustrating the brazen nature of those currently holding the rural north in a stranglehold of fear.

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‎While the global community often views terrorism through the lens of ideological extremism specifically groups like ISWAP that kill indiscriminately Nigeria is grappling with a more intimate, “modern” brand of terror: banditry. To understand the current security crisis, one must distinguish between these two forces. While ISWAP operates on a perverted religious doctrine, the bandit is motivated by a more primal and devastating driver: the pursuit of easy, illicit wealth at any cost.

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‎Banditry has evolved into a sophisticated business model that targets the very lifeblood of the community. These actors do not just kidnap; they demand protection money, seize farm produce, and even demand motorcycles from their victims. This “modern” shift is defined by the realization that the traditional pastoral life is no longer as profitable as the business of fear. This transition has turned neighbours into predators and forests into fortresses for crime.

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‎There is a bitter pill for the Nigerian public to swallow, recently highlighted by high-ranking officials like National Security Adviser Nuhu Ribadu and the Chief of Defense Staff. They have noted that these bandits are “our brothers and sons.” To many, this statement feels like an insult, yet it contains a haunting truth. These are not foreign invaders; they are citizens who have grown up within the fabric of our society before turning against it.

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‎As someone who has lived in Kwara as a farmer, hunter, and butcher, I have seen this reality firsthand. During trips into the bush to trade with Fulani families, the lines between nomadic life and criminal enterprise began to blur. Having encountered these groups in the wild, I can say with 99% certainty that the perpetrators are often local Fulanis who have become master navigators of the Nigerian terrain, knowing every hidden path and thicket.

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‎The deep familiarity these groups have with the forest is their greatest tactical advantage. They have moved through these wildernesses for generations, traveling from one community to another entirely undetected by conventional security forces. Because they have become “part of the forest,” they can strike with precision and vanish before the authorities can even mobilize a response, leaving the local population vulnerable and exposed.

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‎A primary catalyst for this friction is the practice of open land grazing. For years, the destruction of cultivated farmlands by cattle led to clashes, some of which were settled through uneasy agreements and others through violence. However, the modern bandit has moved beyond simple grazing disputes. They have realized that while a cow takes years to raise, a human being can be “sold” back to their family in a matter of days for millions.

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‎The valuation of livestock over human life is a chilling characteristic of this conflict. In the past, a herder’s wealth was measured by his flock, but technology and the lure of quick cash have shifted the goalposts. When a single kidnapping can net ₦30 million or more, the incentive to maintain a peaceful, nomadic lifestyle vanishes. This is the economic engine of modern terrorism: the commodification of human suffering.

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‎To effectively combat this, the government must adopt a localized strategy. The Nigerian forest is too vast for an army that doesn’t understand the land. The most effective solution lies in the hands of those who already live there: the hunters and local forest guards. These individuals possess the nitty-gritty knowledge of the terrain that no external soldier, regardless of training, can replicate in a short period.

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‎There is an urgent need for the government to formalize and recruit these local defenders. By establishing a robust Forest Guard system, the state can cover uncovered areas where bandits currently roam free. However, this cannot be a voluntary or low-paid effort. To ensure loyalty and effectiveness, these guards must be treated as professional security personnel with competitive salaries and comprehensive benefits.

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‎Social safety nets are essential for those risking their lives in the bush. If a forest guard falls in the line of duty, the state must guarantee free education and health insurance for their families. Providing a sense of security for the protector’s household ensures that they can focus entirely on the mission of reclaiming the forest. We must treat them as heroes of their fatherland to see hero-level results.

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‎Furthermore, the military should prioritize deploying soldiers to their own home communities. There is a profound psychological advantage to defending one’s own soil. As the Yoruba proverb says, “Oni ilu o ni fe ki ilu re tu”( the owner of a town will never wish for its destruction). A soldier fighting for his own parents’ village will always have more skin in the game than one who is merely following orders in a strange land.

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‎Ultimately, the victory over banditry requires a communal see something, say something culture backed by government aid. We cannot allow bandits to lead their herds through our cities or hide in our forests with impunity. By empowering the local population and recognizing their right to self-defense, Nigeria can finally close the chapter on this modern terror and return the forest to its rightful owners: the peaceful farmers and hunters.

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Bamidele Atoyebi is the Convener of BAT Ideological Group, National Coordinator of Accountability and Policy Monitoring and a publisher at Unfiltered and Mining Reporting