By: A G Abubakar

Within a span of barely 48 hours, six military formations and forward operating bases in Nigeria’s North-East were reportedly overrun by insurgents. The chain of attacks began at Ngoshe in Gwoza Local Government Area before cascading across several other locations—Kukawa, Bama, Goniri, Konduga, Dalwa, and Mainok. The last two settlements lie within a 40-kilometre radius of Maiduguri, the Borno State capital, underscoring how dangerously close the violence has crept toward the heart of the region. Prior to the latest attacks, Boko Haram/ISWAP had also unleashed deadly violence on the Mandragirau and Gharang settlements of Biu and Hawul LGAs, respectively.

Spikes in violence by insurgent groups are a common feature of guerrilla warfare. It becomes a source of serious concern, however, when such attacks occur on a sustained basis, as has been the case with Boko Haram/ISWAP in the North-East over the past year.

The audacious assaults by the terrorist groups Boko Haram and the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP) left death and destruction in their wake. Three Nigerian Army commanders reportedly paid the supreme price in the line of duty, along with scores of civilians. In Ngoshe alone, more than 300 helpless villagers were abducted and later paraded in propaganda videos by the insurgents. In Dalwa and Ngoshe, houses built by the Borno State Government to resettle returning refugees were razed to the ground, further deepening the humanitarian tragedy in communities already battered by decades of violence. Dalwa lies only a few kilometres from Maiduguri, the state capital, raising fears that the city—or parts of it—may now be within the insurgents’ sights.

Naturally, these developments have created a troubling sense of déjà vu in Borno State—and, by extension, within the Federal Government. For many Nigerians who have watched the insurgency drag on for more than a decade and a half, the disturbing question has once again surfaced: what exactly is going wrong? Is it a question of commitment within the military establishment?
Is it a failure of intelligence gathering and coordination?
Or have the insurgents evolved into a far more sophisticated fighting force than previously imagined?

These questions are uncomfortable but unavoidable. One issue that has long generated concern—even among casual observers—is the largely defensive posture adopted by the military in the theatre of war. In asymmetric warfare, a defensive approach can easily turn troops into sitting targets. Insurgents who dictate the timing, location, and tempo of attacks often gain a tactical advantage over conventional forces confined to defensive positions.

Another dimension of the challenge lies in Nigeria’s approach to military hardware and technology. Buying sophisticated weapons abroad is one thing; mastering and adapting them locally is quite another. Wars are rarely won simply by acquiring expensive equipment. The true advantage lies in a nation’s ability to domesticate, maintain, modify, and improve weapon systems in response to changing battlefield realities. Unfortunately, Nigeria’s approach has largely centred on purchasing and deploying hardware without developing the deeper technological ecosystem required to sustain and adapt such systems effectively.

Meanwhile, Boko Haram and ISWAP have steadily evolved. What began as ragtag militant bands have gradually transformed into increasingly organised and sophisticated fighting units. They have established enclaves and safe havens—particularly in difficult terrains such as the Sambisa Forest—where they regroup, train, and refine their tactics.

Equally troubling is the gradual loss of control over certain strategic transportation corridors. Major highways such as the Biu–Damboa–Maiduguri road and sections of the Damaturu–Biu corridor have faced prolonged security threats. The Maiduguri–Damboa–Biu highway, for instance, has remained largely closed for close to a decade. Even with military escorts, the Maiduguri–Gamboru transnational corridor remains a risky route.

In military strategy, surrendering control of major transportation arteries—whether highways, waterways, or ports—to hostile forces is profoundly counterproductive. It allows insurgents freedom of movement while restricting economic and civilian activity, thereby amplifying the psychological and economic cost of the conflict. Enclaves are sometimes conceded temporarily for tactical reasons—to herd and isolate enemy forces as part of a broader final offensive. But when such spaces become enduring sanctuaries, the balance of advantage shifts dangerously.

Then there is the sensitive issue of morale within the ranks of the armed forces. Reports of poor welfare conditions, allegations of corruption among some senior officers, and concerns about recruitment quality have occasionally surfaced in public discourse. When soldiers feel inadequately supported, poorly equipped, or uncertain about leadership decisions, battlefield effectiveness can suffer. War demands not only weapons but also morale, discipline, trust, cohesion, and accountability. The last of these has often appeared in short supply. The $2.2 billion weapons procurement fund allegedly misappropriated by Sambo Dasuki, a former National Security Adviser (NSA), and the $2 million and N1.65 billion stolen by the convicted Gen. Umar Muhammed are among the more prominent examples. Many others have been implicated across the various services.

Modern warfare itself has changed dramatically. Conflicts are no longer fought exclusively with boots on the ground. Increasingly, battles are fought from the air and through advanced technologies—using drones, precision missiles, surveillance systems, and electronic warfare tools. In this regard, it is troubling that insurgent groups sometimes appear to be adapting faster in certain tactical areas than a country with more than 230,000 personnel across its various security services.

Nigeria must therefore rethink its security architecture. Strengthening local military production capability, investing in research and development, and integrating modern technologies into military doctrine are no longer optional—they are strategic necessities. Training must evolve alongside technology, and operational strategies must adapt to the realities of contemporary asymmetric warfare.

Beyond the battlefield, there is also a growing psychological dimension to the crisis: public fatigue and resignation. After more than fifteen years of violence, many communities in the North-East are gradually losing faith in the ability of the state to guarantee their safety. This erosion of confidence is dangerous for any nation.

Ironically, the early years of the insurgency revealed remarkable community resilience. In 2009, when Boko Haram briefly gained control of large parts of Maiduguri, young residents mobilised themselves to resist the insurgents. At one point, the militants had restricted movement and commercial activity, subjecting residents to severe hardship. Local youths organised themselves to push back. One, Baba Lawan Jafar, is believed to have initiated the historic move in June 2013. Others, like Shehu Ganiyu, also played key roles.

A similar story unfolded in Biu, where youths reportedly went from house to house identifying insurgents and confronting them—often armed with nothing more than clubs and improvised weapons.

These spontaneous community efforts eventually gave birth to what became known as the Civilian Joint Task Force (Civilian JTF)—popularly referred to in Hausa as “Kato da Gora.” Their bravery played a critical role in helping the military reclaim control of key urban areas and restoring a measure of stability.

However, after years of grinding conflict and perceived shortcomings in the national security response, the initial enthusiasm that powered such grassroots resistance has gradually waned. These developments demand serious reflection as Nigeria continues its long war against Boko Haram and ISWAP.

The insurgency has devastated the economy of the North-East, destroyed livelihoods, and displaced millions. Worse still, the security crisis has gradually spread beyond the region into other parts of the country that were once considered relatively safe.

19.More than a decade after the tragic abduction of the Chibok schoolgirls in 2014, some of the victims are still believed to be in captivity, including Dapchi Girls’ School’s Leah Sharibu. Sadly, many more citizens have since been kidnapped across different parts of the country.

Meanwhile, over half a million displaced persons from Gwoza and other parts of northern Borno remain stranded in neighbouring Cameroon and the Niger Republic, unable to return home safely. Within Nigeria itself, it is estimated that more than three million people are internally displaced as a result of various forms of insecurity across the country. This is in addition to the not fewer than 50,000 people believed to have lost their lives to the insurgency in the North-East region alone.

Nigeria now ranks as the 6th most terrorised country according to the Global Terrorism Index (GTI) 2025. It is also ranked 148 out of 168 countries on the 2025 Global Peace Index (GPI). These and other indicators have combined to place Nigeria among the least cohesive countries in 2025, with a cohesion score of 46.8% according to the Africa Polling Institute. As a consequence of these challenges, Nigeria and Nigerians have lost considerable trust in the eyes of the international community.

It has also been estimated that the war against insurgency and other terrorist groups has cost the nation over N40 trillion over the last decade. This figure is derived as a fraction of the nation’s average annual defence expenditure of about $4 billion, at the current official exchange rate. These are resources that could otherwise have been invested in critical infrastructure and sustainable human capital development—initiatives capable of transforming the lives of millions of citizens.

These realities underscore a simple but urgent truth: Nigeria cannot afford complacency. The Federal Government must urgently reassess and rejig the nation’s security architecture—strategically, technologically, and institutionally. The war against insurgency requires not only courage on the battlefield but also clarity of strategy, innovation in technology, integrity in leadership, and renewed trust between the state and its citizens.

Above all, the situation demands urgency and a fundamentally new approach. The current strategy appears increasingly incapable of delivering decisive results. There is a popular wisdom that one cannot continue doing the same thing and expect a different outcome. Nigeria’s war against insurgency therefore requires bold rethinking and swift action; a paradigm shift from the usual “doctrine” trap.

Every delay carries a human cost—not only for the men and women on the battlefield but also for the civilians whose lives hang in the balance. History teaches that prolonged wars breed deprivation, disillusionment, and instability. For Nigeria, the stakes could not be higher. The country must either adapt its strategy and regain the initiative—or risk watching the conflict drag on with devastating consequences for national security and development.
A.G.Abubakar agbarewa@gmail.com