₦airaland Forum

In North-central Nigeria, terrorists are weaponising hunger as a strategy to recruit vulnerable children into their fold. They would ravage specific areas, destroying their crops and farming infrastructures, looting stores and private houses, and then position themselves as the only source of food for children.

Hassan Audu is lost in the past.

Tricked into a Boko Haram camp in Niger State, North-central Nigeria, the 16-year-old is mired in the mud of his traumatic experience as a child soldier. He is a witness to the terror and tragedy devastating his hometown of Shiroro. He struggles to move towards a glimpse of the future. Audu’s nine-year-old brother, Ja’afar Hassan, was caught in Boko Haram’s vicious net in 2022, with families and friends thrown into agony that the terrorists had conscripted their beloved son. For years, no one could trace Ja’afar’s footpaths to the camp; his parents wallowed in pain, begging local authorities in the Mashekeri village of Shiroro to help retrieve their son.

When Ja’afar’s captors sauntered into the village in 2024 for their exploits, they encountered a weary Audu, exhausted from his desperate search for his younger brother. The terrorists took advantage of his desperation, asking him to follow them into the forest to retrieve his brother. He hopped on a motorbike, wedged among the terrorists, as the rider zigzagged his way toward the forest’s edge.

“They asked me to come see my brother. When I arrived, they locked me up in a mud cell,” Audu tells HumAngle. “We used three motorcycles, two people each, including the one I was on. They asked me to come with them and see my brother. Since I knew my brother was with them, I went along.”

The boy wears a sour face and a sober appearance, beaming softness and stone-heartedness simultaneously. One minute, his eyes catch tears during the interview in a secured location in the Hudawa area of Kaduna State in northwestern Nigeria, and the next minute, he carries a terrifying face, stirring up a panic-stricken atmosphere.

Concerned that he might go rogue if allowed to travel alone, Audu’s stepmother, Laraba, accompanied him from Zamfara to Kaduna to speak with HumAngle. Since returning from the terrorist den, his chances of going berserk have been high, according to the stepmother, who noted that the boy has lost his tenderness as a teenager, occasionally displaying wild behaviour and betraying a civil demeanour. Blame him, but also blame the men who lured him into the valley of violence, keeping him in the logistics unit of the camp where he witnessed how terrorists planned attacks, brutally punished offenders, and detained civilians for ransom.

The terrorists fed him enough tuwo, a local Nigerian meal made from maize, and a hastily prepared tomato soup. He had wanted to return home the same night with his brother, but fed like a cat, Audu stayed, with the terrorists promising more sumptuous meals if he swallowed their rulings. He had more than three square meals that he couldn’t have at home. Back in Mashekeri, a single solid meal daily was a luxury. The boy found that luxury in multiple folds in the terrorist camp and stayed glued to it, quickly forgetting his initial mission to bring his brother back home.

“I never missed home. Whenever I mentioned home, they would say, ‘Some other time.’ Since then, the feeling of returning home faded,” Audu tells HumAngle.

He is one among dozens of children lured with food to embrace corrosive doctrine peddled by violent extremists. The food weaponisation strategy is deployed by a fragment of the Boko Haram terror group predominantly settling in the lush canopy of the Alawa Forest in the Shiroro area of Niger State. Caught up in the terrorist zone, children are vulnerable to hunger and displacement and are trained to become brutal terrorists.

They are recruited into different areas of terrorist operations. While Audu, for instance, was placed in the logistics unit, his younger brother was taught how to spot a target and pull the trigger. Teenage girls trapped in the camp are kept as wives, a euphemism for sex slaves. The women are also responsible for the food supply, preparing meals for the captives and commanders in the camp, and determining the food ration formula.

Read full story on HumAngle here: https://humanglemedia.com/the-boys-lured-into-boko-harams-enclave-with-food-rations/

With elephant populations killed and heavily armed poaching syndicates losing a lucrative income stream, attention quickly turned to the next available source: warthogs. Despite being common across Borno, warthogs—and pigs in general—are considered haram (forbidden) by the state’s predominantly Muslim population and are not eaten in most communities.

“Hunters, including us, capture them almost every day. We sell them for the meat,” said Saddam. “They are freely and widely sold at Molai,” added Lawan-Adamu. “A fully grown warthog can fetch as much as ₦200,000 [$125],” Saddam said.

“Some hunters used to cut off the tusks before selling the carcass. Traders often did the same,” Saddam noted. “I know the hunters sold the tusks, but to whom and for what purpose—we never knew.”

Though smaller, warthog tusks are made of the same dentin as elephant ivory. When polished, they closely resemble it. Their growing demand quietly fuelled an illicit economy that had already adapted.

Warthog ivory proved easier to source. The animals reproduce quickly, are less protected by conservation laws, and can be hunted with far less risk. The tusks, sold discreetly, are often absorbed into larger smuggling operations moving westward.

“The meat is processed in Molai, in Baga Road, and in an area called Low-cost B, near Maimalari Barracks,” Saddam said. From there, it is packaged and transported to southern Nigeria. As for other parts—horns, bones, antlers—they are shipped to Kano, then to Dawaki Market in Jos, and finally to Lagos, where many are smuggled abroad, he added.

This shift illustrates not only the adaptability of illicit networks but also how deeply embedded they are in the region’s insecurity. In some instances, warthog ivory now supplements funding for insurgent groups—yet another commodity fuelling Nigeria’s conflict economy.

What begins as a story of animal trafficking unravels into something much bigger: a tale of how war, poverty, and organised crime collide to endanger biodiversity, destabilise local economies, and threaten livelihoods in one of Nigeria’s most fragile regions.

How warthog ivory fuels terrorism?

The illicit trade in wildlife products has long been a source of funding for terrorist organisations across Africa.

A 2014 report by EnviroNews observed that illegal wildlife trade, including ivory poaching, was a significant funding source for Boko Haram. The report estimated that the illegal trade in wildlife products generated approximately $20 billion annually, with a portion of these funds used to support terrorist activities.

The United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) has expressed concern over Nigeria’s role in the trafficking of illicit wildlife. Despite efforts by the National Environmental Standards and Regulations Enforcement Agency (NESREA), Nigeria remains a significant transit point for ivory destined for Asian markets.

To tackle this, the government revised the Wildlife Conservation Act in 2016. “It’s now being enforced effectively by the NPS and NESREA,” Goni, the Nigerian NPS boss, said. He added that this is done with support from relevant government bodies like the Nigerian Customs, Nigerian Maritime Administration and Safety Agency (NIMASA), Nigerian Financial Intelligence Unit (NFIU), Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), and Independent Corrupt Practices and Other Related Offences Commission (ICPC).

Successes have been recorded in this regard. In January 2024, NESREA destroyed 2.5 tonnes of confiscated elephant ivory worth approximately $9.9 billion. The Nigerian authorities also recently, in April 2025, seized over three tonnes of pangolin scales.

However, the destruction of ivory stockpiles alone may not be sufficient to curb the illegal trade. The demand for ivory in international markets, particularly in Asia, continues to drive poaching and trafficking activities. As long as there is a lucrative market for ivory, insurgent groups and criminal networks will find ways to exploit wildlife resources to fund their operations.

The shift from elephant to warthog ivory illustrates the adaptability of illegal wildlife trade networks and their ability to find new sources of revenue. This adaptability poses a significant challenge to conservation efforts and highlights the need for comprehensive strategies that address both the supply and demand sides of the illegal ivory trade.​

READ MORE: https://humanglemedia.com/from-elephants-to-warthogs-the-shadow-wildlife-trade-financing-boko-haram-in-nigeria/

It was a calm night until just before midnight. And when Mary John had dinner and shared tales by moonlight with her children and grandchildren that Sunday evening, she thought what would follow was sleep and farm work the next morning.

Mary said she heard the first gunshots pierce through the silence.

“Before we could go out, the house was already surrounded,” she said. She lives in a modest zinc-roofed mud house with three bedrooms and a sitting room. That night, inside were her son, daughter, daughter-in-law, and three grandchildren.

“They entered my son’s room,” she told HumAngle. “They were sleeping. They killed him, his two children, and cut off his wife’s hand. They also injured the other child. Then they entered the other room where my daughter was sleeping and they killed her too.”

The surviving daughter-in-law and grandchild are currently receiving treatment.

For reasons Mary still cannot explain, the attackers never broke into her room. “I wish they killed me with my children,” she said, then broke down in tears. She sat on the dusty floor, hand to chin, lost in grief. Nothing else seemed to matter—her world had fallen apart.

Mary’s son, Stephen, was 28 years old. One of her grandchildren, who was killed, Nenna, was just four. HumAngle could not confirm the names and ages of the two other victims in her family; Mary was too broken to continue speaking, and mourners around her had limited information. We cross-checked the details with the list of deceased persons released by the Irigwe Youth Movement (IYM), a local youth organisation. The names and ages matched.

As she wept in the darkness that night, Mary recounted, she heard the men chanting in her compound. Their voices filled the air, mixed with screams and gunfire. She told HumAngle that she could identify some of their words, including Fulfulde and English and another language she had never heard before.

Mary’s family, her children and grandchildren, were four of the 52 people massacred that night between April 13 and 14 in Zike village, Kimakpa/Kwall District, Bassa Local Government Area, Plateau State, North-central Nigeria.

Read full story: https://humanglemedia.com/zike-tragedy-survivors-mourn-counting-lives-lost-in-plateau-attack/

In recent weeks, the extremist group has launched attacks on villages, military installations, and transportation routes while also intensifying its online presence—leveraging TikTok, a popular social media platform, to spread propaganda and justify its ideology. This tactic was previously more associated with terrorists operating in Nigeria’s northwestern region.

Open-source monitoring conducted by HumAngle reveals multiple TikTok accounts hosting live sessions where radical individuals and self-acclaimed jihadists spread propaganda, justify killings, and lecture young audiences about extremist ideologies. Some of these sessions are interactive, with viewers debating, supporting, or condemning the rhetoric.

Some TikTok accounts, like @muhammad.musa336, continue to upload recorded videos of sessions promoting teachings and lectures supporting or justifying their radical ideologies. The TikTok account has amassed over 500,000 views and more than 20,000 likes across all videos published on the account, showing the level of reach they have.

Of advanced technologies and high-profile abductions
ISWAP has undergone several technological advancements, aiding its expanded attacks and operations. For example, the group now deploys artificial intelligence (AI) for video editing and the editing of written electronic communications; uses surveillance technology and high-speed satellite internet like Starlink; and employs weaponised drones, primarily for recording footage of their prayers and sermons for use by their public relations unit.

The group is believed to have relied on some of these advancements to orchestrate a series of kidnappings, including the abduction of the now-released Borno high court judge and his wife, a magistrate judge. More recently, on March 2, Abubakar Eljuma, a prominent professor and dean of the Faculty of Engineering at the Nigerian Army University, Biu, in Borno State, was abducted and remains in captivity.

These abductions have also proven to be a major funding source for the group. According to a source with knowledge of several ransom negotiations in Borno and Yobe States, the group has amassed more than ₦1 billion from abductions since 2024.

HumAngle’s investigations reveal that recent coordinated attacks, which have resulted in fatalities, instilled fear, and displaced families, are characterised by ambushes, the planting of improvised explosive devices (IEDs), and nighttime raids on communities. There have also been instances where insurgents entered villages under false pretences, only to unleash chaos and violence.

This increase in insecurity has threatened the government’s efforts to repatriate displaced communities and refugees, and it also destabilises the ongoing peace-building efforts in the region. The regional stabilisation efforts strongly promoted by the recent Lake Chad Governors Forum have also been undermined since achieving lasting security is difficult.

The resettled communities that are seen as symbols of recovery from the decade-long insurgency in the region are now at greater risk than when the process began two years ago.

Read: https://humanglemedia.com/boko-haram-iswap-resurgence-in-lake-chad-region-sparks-alarm/

The resurgence of Boko Haram and Islamic State West African Province (ISWAP) activities in Borno State, northeastern Nigeria, and parts of the Lake Chad region has raised concerns about the fragility of the grounds gained in the fight against insurgency in the area. The incidents have been marked by more sophisticated operations, incessant small-scale abductions, and major funds generation from high-profile abductions.

“It is unfortunate that the renewed Boko Haram attacks and kidnappings in many communities, almost on a daily basis without confrontation, signalled that Borno State is losing ground,” Babagana Umara Zulum, the Borno State governor, decried at a recent security meeting in Maiduguri.

Locals and officials alike are also voicing growing alarm as a wave of terror resurfaces across the state, echoing the darkest days of the insurgency.

“I am really scared of the state of security in Borno these days because of the magnitude of reports and news I see online about attacks by Boko Haram,” Victor Moses, a car parts dealer in Maiduguri, told HumAngle. “It is too much. Every day, I scroll through my Facebook feed and see reports of Boko Haram attacks. What worries me most is that it’s happening right on our doorstep.”

Communities are witnessing fresh assaults by Boko Haram and, more prominently, its more sophisticated offshoot, ISWAP, which has escalated its operations on the ground and in the digital realm.

Read here https://humanglemedia.com/boko-haram-iswap-resurgence-in-lake-chad-region-sparks-alarm/

Falmata Abba, a 24-year-old woman who Boko Haram forcibly took during an attack on her village in Konduga eight years ago. She was transported to the Sambisa Forest, where, as a captive and young woman, she was forcibly married to a man. Over the years, they had four children while living in the sprawling forest.

“Despite the circumstances, my life in Sambisa was more comfortable than my current life,” Falmata said. “I worked as a tailor and could afford my basic needs. I didn’t have financial problems.”

Falmata and others managed to leave the forest two years ago during a daring attack by the Nigerian Army on their makeshift settlement.

“While several of us ran away during the attack, others were rescued by the military and brought back to their villages. Alongside others, we escaped and returned to our village close to Bama,” she recalled.

Since she returned, she has been haunted by many things, including poverty, discrimination, and stigma. “If I had the chance to return to Sambisa, I would. I am not happy with my life here,” Falmata told HumAngle.

Like many others, she did not pass through any form of rehabilitation, and it has affected her psychologically and socially. “My dream now is to return to my normal life, just like I had in Sambisa,” she added “I didn’t stay in the Hajj Camp rehabilitation program, so I haven’t received any support from the government.”

Falmata said that living with her four children is tough, and she still believes going back to meet other members of Boko Haram in the forest will give her the life she aspires to with her children.

Falmata is painfully aware of how tough life is for someone who had once taken part in atrocities against her own people, particularly given her active role in logistics operations and teaching radical ideology to young people and recruits.

“Since returning, I have faced multiple harassment from community members. For that reason, I have isolated myself, staying mostly at home and avoiding contact with people,” she said.

As the days pass, Falmata counts down to what she believes is her only option: returning to the forest. Isolated and ostracised, she and her children remain on the fringes of their community.

Aisha Mohammed’s story shares echoes of Falmata’s, but with its own harrowing details.

Aisha, now 30, was captured by Boko Haram insurgents during a brutal attack at Bama, where she was born and raised, a decade ago. At just 20 years old, she was forced into captivity in the harsh wilderness of Sambisa Forest.

“Life in Sambisa was far from enjoyable,” Aisha said. Survival was a daily battle, made worse by attacks from military and rival groups. “There was never a moment of peace,” she told HumAngle. “We were constantly under attack, forced to flee into the forest and return only when the attackers left. I had no family there, no one to turn to for support.”

Amid the desperation, Aisha adapted to her grim reality, though not by choice. She was forcibly married to a fellow captive who later became an active member of Boko Haram. Over time, her husband rose to become a commander in the group. Together, they had children, forging a bond under the most challenging conditions.

“He was a captive like me before joining the group. He is my husband even now,” Aisha said.

After nearly a decade in captivity, Aisha’s chance for freedom came unexpectedly. The Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF) launched an operation that created a window of opportunity for her and others to escape. Aisha and her husband ran separate ways when the attack happened. “We were routed to the town by the CJTF personnel that attacked our makeshift camp somewhere in Sambisa. We followed them back to Bama,” she said.

She returned directly to Bama and began the difficult process of rebuilding her life from scratch.

Life outside Sambisa, while better, has not been without its challenges. To make ends meet, Aisha took up sewing local caps, a small business providing her a modest income.

Although far from her reach, Aisha dreams of acquiring new skills, mainly through vocational training programs. “I’ve heard they provide training in various skills. That would greatly enhance my employability and economic prospects,” she said, regretting why she was not able to pass through the rehabilitation process.

Her ultimate goal is to secure a paying job, whether in the public or private sector, to ensure a stable future for her family.

https://humanglemedia.com/surrendered-terrorists-evade-official-rehabilitation-programme-reinfiltrate-nigerian-communities/

Surrendered Terrorists Evade Official Rehabilitation Programme, Reinfiltrate Nigerian Communities

The journey of a typical Boko Haram/ISWAP member often begins with recruitment, which may be voluntary or coerced.

Once enlisted, the individuals serve either as fighters or in non-combatant roles. Life in the forest encampments where these groups operate varies, shifting between periods of relative stability to episodes of intense chaos. Over time, many eventually leave the group due to unfavourable conditions or a change in personal conviction. Those who surrender typically go through the Operation Safe Corridor programme, a code name for Nigeria’s official rehabilitation process for terrorists who surrender. Over 50,000 people have reportedly surrendered to Nigerian authorities through it.

Abubakar Adam’s story, unlike many others, is different. He voluntarily joined Boko Haram in Borno State, northeastern Nigeria, in 2014, a period when the group was at the height of violent operations seeking to establish what it believed to be an Islamic State.

When his hometown, Bama, was recaptured by the Nigerian military from the control of Boko Haram, Abubakar, alongside other members, fled to Banki, a border town between Nigeria and Cameroon. According to Abubakar, the border town was already occupied by Boko Haram at the time, and so life was simple for him.

“When we arrived at Banki, we were offered a good reception,” he recounted. “They took us in, providing us with food and shelter.”

At first, Abubakar was sceptical about his decision to join the extremist group. For days, he wrestled with doubts, wondering whether life as a terrorist was worth the choice he had made. Eventually, survival instincts outweighed his hesitation. “I had no choice but to join them fully, as we were desperate for survival. That’s how I became a Boko Haram member.”

Banki became the place where Abubakar embraced his identity as a member of the group. He took part in several fierce battles with the Nigerian military and other pockets of violent operations in the area.

“As a Boko Haram member, my life was boring and unfulfilling,” he said. “We spent most of our days in the forest, moving from one location to another and engaging in farming activities to sustain ourselves. However, I never struggled financially, as the group provided us with basic necessities and some financial support.”

Occasionally, Abubakar found himself reflecting on the cause he was part of, especially as each day brought uncertainties, violence, and the constant threat of death. “I knew that our actions were causing harm to innocent people and that our ideology was flawed. I began to question the legitimacy of our cause and the true intentions of our leaders.”

Life for Abubakar became a relentless cycle of evading aerial and land assaults by the state military, searching for sustenance, and grappling with food crises that plagued their isolated group. Eventually, he joined a smaller faction of about 400 people, including women and children, who travelled in vehicles armed for protection. They relocated to a remote area in Cameroon, where Abubakar’s primary responsibility was overseeing their makeshift settlement, which consisted of huts and farmlands.

Describing what life looked like, he said, “I worked as a farmer during our stay in Cameroon, buying and selling farm produce. We had a large population of over 400 people, including women and children. We established Islamic schools for our children.”

Abubakar added, “I never participated in war operations, as my role was to oversee our base when others went out on missions…We had spies who informed us of potential attacks, allowing us to take necessary precautions. Our base was well-organised, with a clear hierarchy and division of labour. We had a system of governance, with leaders who made decisions on our behalf.”

Despite occasional feelings of guilt, Abubakar admitted there were moments he appreciated, such as the sense of camaraderie and shared purpose within the group.

The decision to leave, however, was fraught with danger. Escape under the watchful eyes of a tightly controlled environment was nearly impossible. It was risky, as failure could cost him his life. Abubakar told HumAngle that people who had been caught attempting to escape were brutally executed or served severe punishment.

After countless sleepless nights, a simple yet daring idea came to him. “I pretended I was going to the market,” he explained. “I acted as if it was just another routine trip, but this time, I never returned. I made my way back to Bama.”

The journey was dangerous for so many reasons. Every step felt like a gamble, but the thought of freedom and the chance to rebuild his life gave him the courage to push forward. Using a commercial vehicle, as any local traveller might, Abubakar paid his fare and travelled from a remote village in Cameroon to Bama, a town in northeastern Nigeria.

When he arrived in his hometown in 2021, he was struck by how much the town had changed. Once a place ravaged by conflict, it had transformed into a bustling town with military personnel carrying rifles, people everywhere, and resurrected buildings.

“I did not know where to go,” Abubakar said.


As he wandered, he was shocked to recognise familiar faces—people he had once encountered in the forest, some of whom had been involved in terrorist activities. Despite the overwhelming changes, he headed to his old neighbourhood, where his home had once stood. His family, friends, and neighbours had not known his fate after he fled Bama. At the time of his departure, many assumed that those who disappeared were either killed or lost forever.

A day after his arrival, Abubakar had an unexpected reunion with Sawayi*, an old acquaintance he had known at Banki, the border town where his journey into Boko Haram had begun. Sawayi warmly welcomed him and offered to show him around the town and introduce him to lively places. He even advised Abubakar on how to blend into the society.

Unlike Abubakar, Sawayi was reintegrated into society through an official rehabilitation program. He attended the Hajj Camp rehabilitation centre in Maiduguri, the capital of Borno State. As Sawayi took him around the town, he told him about the reintegration programme.

“I didn’t go through the Hajj Camp rehabilitation program, as I had heard mixed reviews about its effectiveness,” Abubakar said. “After the first week of my stay, I met several surrendered Boko Haram members, and we used to live together in the forest. I consulted with those who had surrendered and gained insight into the rehabilitation program.”

As he settled into Bama, Abubakar found himself appreciating the freedom to start afresh. “I decided to present myself as someone returning from a trip. I dressed well and acted as though I had been away on personal business. Since people in Bama didn’t know I was a Boko Haram member, reintegration was straightforward,” he said.

Eventually, Abubakar married a former Boko Haram member he had met earlier during their stay in the forest. They have two children and are building a life together in Bama. “They are the centre of my universe,” he said of his family.

He works as a carpenter, a trade he learnt from his new friends after his return. His modest income helps him feed his family, but he is ambitious and determined to achieve more. “I need support from the government to start a business, and I’m considering returning to Cameroon to establish a business there,” he said.

https://humanglemedia.com/surrendered-terrorists-evade-official-rehabilitation-programme-reinfiltrate-nigerian-communities/

Weeks after Rasheed Adewoyin* submitted his CV at the Dangote refinery’s security post, he was offered a job as a scaffolder at the fertiliser plant by an Indian company, Onshore Construction Company Pvt. Ltd (OCCPL), which was in charge of structural engineering, large-scale piping, and heavy equipment erections.

The company offered to pay him ₦75,000 ($60) per month when he assumed the role in May 2019. He recalled that every morning when they resumed work, over 500 employees were mandated to queue as private security personnel, police officers and soldiers screened them before allowing them into the site. Even when they were thirsty, hungry, and had aching muscles, the queue was maintained.

One morning in July 2019, the queue was so long that many people were already tired of standing in the cold. A concerned soldier then ordered the workers to divide the queue into two.

“I was among the first set of people who left the single line to create another one following the instruction,” Adewoyin said. “But the soldier’s colleagues, who did not hear when he gave the instruction, asked us to sit on the floor and started beating us. I was injured with the butt of their guns on my right eye. I wanted to report to the Chief Security Officer (CSO), but the security agents did not allow me.”


He took his grievance to Twitter (the social media platform now known as X).

The public outrage that followed his post got to his employers at OCCPL and the CSO of the refinery, who later apologised on behalf of the undisciplined soldiers. He visited an eye clinic in the Victoria Island area of Lagos the following day and also took three days off to heal properly.

“The CSO returned half of the money I spent on my treatment.”


Rasheed Adewoyin receiving treatment after soldiers securing Dangote Oil Refining Company Limited assaulted and injured him in 2019.
Adewoyin’s case was neither the first nor the last.

Despite being Africa’s largest producer of oil and gas, Nigeria spends billions of dollars annually to import fuel because the four major oil refineries in the country have long been shut down due to poor maintenance. To mitigate the social impacts of sending crude abroad to be refined before shipping it back, the federal government introduced fuel subsidies which made petrol cheap for citizens while the government covered part of the cost of importation. The system would later become a burden as it was exploited and the subsidy became difficult to remove.

When it was obvious that the government was spending the bulk of its revenue to pay fuel subsidies, having a functional refinery became the heart of debates over other policies in Nigeria. Africa’s richest man, Aliko Dangote, stepped in to solve the yearly fuel problems when he announced plans in 2013 to build a local refinery. He also built a multi-billion dollar fertiliser plant in the same compound with the refinery at the Ibeju-Lekki area of Lagos, South West Nigeria — a project that was commissioned in March 2022.

HumAngle investigated cases of gross abuse of rights allegedly perpetrated by security personnel and contractors during the construction of the two projects.

A few days after Nigeria’s ex-president, Muhammadu Buhari, commissioned the 650,000 barrels per day Dangote refinery in 2023, many people took to social media to give accounts of distressing incidents that unfolded at the construction site.

Weeks after Rasheed Adewoyin* submitted his CV at the Dangote refinery’s security post, he was offered a job as a scaffolder at the fertiliser plant by an Indian company, Onshore Construction Company Pvt. Ltd (OCCPL), which was in charge of structural engineering, large-scale piping, and heavy equipment erections.

The company offered to pay him ₦75,000 ($60) per month when he assumed the role in May 2019. He recalled that every morning when they resumed work, over 500 employees were mandated to queue as private security personnel, police officers and soldiers screened them before allowing them into the site. Even when they were thirsty, hungry, and had aching muscles, the queue was maintained.

One morning in July 2019, the queue was so long that many people were already tired of standing in the cold. A concerned soldier then ordered the workers to divide the queue into two.

“I was among the first set of people who left the single line to create another one following the instruction,” Adewoyin said. “But the soldier’s colleagues, who did not hear when he gave the instruction, asked us to sit on the floor and started beating us. I was injured with the butt of their guns on my right eye. I wanted to report to the Chief Security Officer (CSO), but the security agents did not allow me.”

He took his grievance to Twitter (the social media platform now known as X).

The public outrage that followed his post got to his employers at OCCPL and the CSO of the refinery, who later apologised on behalf of the undisciplined soldiers. He visited an eye clinic in the Victoria Island area of Lagos the following day and also took three days off to heal properly.

“The CSO returned half of the money I spent on my treatment.”

Adewoyin’s case was neither the first nor the last.

Read full story here: https://humanglemedia.com/hazards-maltreatment-and-human-rights-violations-at-dangote-refinery/