An Endless War
- Correspondent
- Nov 7
- 3 min read
Boko Haram’s enduring insurgency and the failure of Nigeria’s “resettlement peace” reveal a state caught between illusion and exhaustion.

When the authorities in Nigeria’s Borno State recently began sending displaced families back to their villages, it was meant to signal ‘victory.’ Governor Babagana Zulum’s ‘stabilisation’ strategy promised to rebuild homes, restore livelihoods and reassert control over a region ravaged by jihadist terror. But the illusion of progress has proved short-lived. A surge of attacks in the past months on supposedly ‘safe’ settlements has laid bare the fragility of Nigeria’s security gains and the perils of declaring peace too early.
In September this year, jihadists from Jama’atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda’awati wal-Jihad - better known as Boko Haram - stormed the town of Darul Jamal on the Cameroon border, killing more than 60 civilians. The victims were internally displaced people (IDPs) who had been moved there as part of the government’s resettlement drive. The attack was a reminder that Boko Haram’s territorial decline has not meant its demise.
The Nigerian army’s ‘super-camp’ policy - fortifying troops in major garrisons while abandoning rural outposts - has ceded much of the countryside to jihadist control. For residents of Borno’s hinterland, life remains perilous. The military, stretched thin across multiple conflicts, is often unable to respond.
Borno’s return policy is part of a broader ‘Reconstruct, Rehabilitate and Resettle’ initiative that has seen more than 170,000 IDPs sent back to areas once overrun by insurgents. Camps around the state capital, Maiduguri, are being closed ahead of a 2026 deadline. The goal, officials insist, is to reduce dependency on aid and restore dignity to displaced families. But the returns are only nominally voluntary. Many IDPs have built livelihoods in the city; few wish to trade them for precarious safety and barren fields. To entice them, the state offers modest stipends and food and tools.
The optimism that once surrounded the ‘Borno Model’ has faded. Between 2021 and 2024, some 160,000 Boko Haram fighters and their families surrendered under a locally crafted amnesty. Yet, while surrenders mounted, so too did attacks. The Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP), the deadlier offshoot of Boko Haram, has evolved into a disciplined and tech-savvy force. Its fighters use drones, improvised explosive devices and coordinated night raids to overwhelm Nigerian bases.
Nigeria’s security crisis extends well beyond Borno. Across the Middle Belt, herder-farmer conflicts, fuelled by land pressure and climate change, have turned deadly. In the northwest, bandit militias carry out mass abductions and extortion with impunity. In the southeast, secessionist unrest has flared anew. According to Amnesty International, more than 10,000 civilians were killed across six northern states between mid-2023 and mid-2025.
The government of President Bola Tinubu faces a grim arithmetic of overstretch. The army is deployed in nearly every region; morale is poor; reinforcements and air support are often delayed. Corruption and logistics failures sap capacity. Abuja’s reliance on aerial bombardment and short-term offensives has produced sporadic tactical gains but no strategic coherence.
International attention, meanwhile, has returned in fits of misunderstanding. Last month, U.S. President Donald Trump claimed that Islamic terrorists were conducting a “Christian genocide” in Nigeria and called for military action. Western governments, fatigued by years of counterterrorism campaigns in the Sahel, are reluctant to invest in Nigeria’s recovery.
Boko Haram’s endurance owes much to Nigeria’s chronic governance failures. Poverty, unemployment and corruption provide steady recruits. Borders with Niger, Chad and Cameroon remain porous, allowing fighters to regroup and resupply. The withdrawal of Niger from the regional Multinational Joint Task Force earlier this year weakened cross-border coordination. ISWAP’s reach now extends around Lake Chad, threatening regional stability.
For Borno’s returning civilians, the human toll is stark. Fifteen years of war have hollowed out the countryside, destroying farms, schools and clinics. Insecurity has strangled the agricultural economy, driving up food prices and deepening hunger across the north. Young men who once picked up arms for jihad now find few alternatives; women widowed by war struggle to feed families.
Nigeria’s war with Boko Haram has entered its sixteenth year. The group may no longer hold swathes of territory, but its ideology and networks still endure.





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