By Amayindi Yakubu
Peace is not merely a distant goal that we seek, but a means by which we arrive at that goal.” Martin Luther King Jr, before his untimely transition, gave this thought as he canvassed support for the liberation of his people from the claws of racism in the United States. Without mincing words, the story of the hill country of Plateau and the farming communities of the Benue and Taraba in the middle belt areas of Nigeria is difficult to tell without painting a picture cycle of blood, survival, and resilience. Unlike Martin’s revolution in the States, which has gained impact, the journey of conflict resolution here is a long, endless pursuit.
Corroborating on the above assertion, in a shocking revelation, Plateau Governor, Caleb Mugtang, boldly revealed the root cause of what is now known as the genocide hills of Plateau “For over two decades, we’ve endured cycles of violence that are not mere clashes, but coordinated attempts at the annihilation of our people. Let us call it what it is—genocide, fueled by a land-grabbing agenda, masked as farmer-herder disputes.”
Over a long time now, the conflict, especially as witnessed during the former president Buhari Muhamadu regime, has revolved around farmers and herders’ grudges. Banditry and unknown gunmen were just about to happen, but the central message of the public sphere discussed in the majority of all circles has been the farmlands and the grazing reserves, which have been debated as the origin of both farmers’ and grazers’ dilemma.
The concept of grazing reserves dates back to the colonial period, when large areas of land were set aside in the Middle Belt for nomadic herders. As Nigeria became independent in 1960, the idea was to use these lands as a means to balance the interests of farmers and herders. However, decades of urban expansion, encroachment, and settlement have nearly wiped these areas out, with only a few remaining, struggling with neglect, lack of water, and veterinary care.
Like an ill omen, Buhari’s Ruga plan falls out of popular support among many states and a long draft of anti-grazing laws swept through various state legislative houses. Both parties in the conflict never slept well, as reprisal attacks prevail, claiming lives. Food product prices soared as limited food supplies were scrambled among millions of Nigerians. The uniqueness of the crisis is that it affects all Nigerians, whether you live in those regions or not, because many depend on food from such regions to complement the scarce commodities in their locality.
The idea of grazing reserves dates back to the days of the British colony, when vast tracts in the Middle Belt were carved out to allow nomadic herders to follow age-old routes in safety. When Nigeria gained independence on 1st October 1960, those lands were meant to serve as a bridge between farmers and pastoralists. The 1965 Grazing Reserve Edict and subsequent regional agreements sought to formalise that balance, yet decades of encroachment, unchecked settlement, and urban sprawl have all but erased those enclaves. Today only a handful scattered across Kaduna, Plateau and Benue remain, crippled by neglect, hungry for water and veterinary care, and unable to stem the confrontations they were meant to prevent.
On April 2nd, at the break of dawn in Hurti village of Munguna district, gunmen on motorbikes rode in like spirits of vengeance. They opened fire on farming families, killing more than fifty men, women, and children. Three hundred and eighty-three houses went up in flames. Around one thousand terrified villagers fled into the bush, clutching infants to their chests, abandoning the seeds they had sown for the planting season. And in that moment, Hurti became a ghost town of grief and ashes.
A fortnight later, as if death sought to outpace itself, the Zike community in Bassa Local Government Area cowered beneath the country night sky. At midnight, gunshots shattered the silence and flames licked timber walls. By morning, at least forty bodies lay strewn across once fertile fields. Survivors, dazed and bleeding, wondered how a peaceful place could transform so swiftly into a corridor of horror.
Benue State, long hailed as Nigeria’s food basket, has also been stained by this latest outbreak. On 3rd April, a Benue Link bus was ambushed at Ikobi in Otukpo Local Government Area, leaving three passengers dead. Days later, two farmers fell to gunfire in Gwer West; another three villagers in Mbasombo, Gwer East, met the same brutal fate. Then on 17th April, assailants stormed Otobi Akpa community in the glare of daylight, slaughtering at least thirteen men and women with guns and machetes. Forty lives lost, forty families shattered, and a community once alive with laughter now haunted by the echoes of their last breaths.
These killings remind us that beneath the surface of Nigeria’s vibrant heritage lies a fault line of fear and blood. In just a few harrowing weeks, Plateau and Benue states have seen at least one hundred and forty-four souls snuffed out, scores more wounded, dozens of homes reduced to smoldering rubble, and nearly two thousand people driven from their ancestral villages. How long will our nation bear witness to such sorrow before the cycle of reprisal is broken?
Officials have responded with edicts and curfews. Plateau’s governor has banned all night grazing and after-dark cattle movements, imposed motorcycle curfews from seven pm to six am, and bolstered military and police patrols. Makeshift camps sprouted in Hurti, Daffo and Gwande, where displaced families huddle in classrooms and church halls. Yet will these measures be enough to breathe life back into fields left fallow and hearts left empty?
For the victims, the toll is immeasurable. Mothers weep for children torn from their arms. Elders speak in tremors of memories burned along with their homes. Young men, once farmers and herders and custodians of a shared heritage, now eye each other with suspicion. How many more will perish before we find a path to coexistence? How many rains must come and go while the land remains soaked in blood?
Governor Alia, in a recent interview, describes the current wave of killings in Benue, “The appropriate captivating way to speak on what we are undergoing is that we are under siege. What we experience is the armed herders come in, before no, they could just come in with their herds and then to the isolated local governments and then do the attacks and then the people settle down.”
Alia went further to reveal how the attackers perpetrate their mayhem “They come in alone, Wear one dress and stay in the bushes as long as they can, until they do the attacks and then they disappear. After a week or two, then they come in with their folks to occupy those spaces. These attacks are very deliberate and calculated. They come in, attack, fully with the intent of killing and then occupation,”
“The attacks we have experienced are very deliberate and so calculated with the aim to come, kill, and landgrab. What we need is an emergency of help, now. We can’t go to the farm. There is less we can do. Our people want to take all this up themselves to defend themselves.”
There a manacles and shackles that suffocate life out of people in those regions that no one can see with physical eyes, yet the impact and the perpetual fear of thick darkness that lurks around them is evident. One will wonder whether the holy scripture of Isaiah sixty verse one prophesying that “For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth and gross the darkness people” is finding fulfillment in Nigeria. But thanks, that same verse concludes that “But the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee”.
The Pointer Newspaper Northern Nigeria Correspondent in an exclusive interview with Mr. Salisu Abdullah, a media expert and also an indigene of Plateau State, shared his thoughts on the recent happenings in the Middle Belt.
We hear stories of banditry and genocide. What do you think is happening in Plateau State and neighbouring states?
Salisu: Actually, what is happening right now is on a different dimension. Around 2000–2001, it was mostly viewed from the perspective of a religious crisis within Jos North and Jos South-Basa in the Jos metropolis. But now it’s spreading outside the main Jos metropolis to the villages, Mangu, and Bokkos.
Before, it was one of the most peaceful and calm environments; you wouldn’t even have incidents such as crises or roadblocks. Those local governments didn’t experience anything of that nature. Even between 2004 and 2015, when Plateau banditry in Wase arose due to mining, the then Deputy Speaker, Idris Wase, drew the attention of the federal government, which led to the stoppage of coal and mineral mining in Wase, Mangu, and Bokkos, resulting in peace.
Even the banditry farmers-headers crisis was mostly within Barkin Ladi, but now it’s almost in all the local governments. In Qua’an Pan, in Pankshin, you cannot farm far from your home. Last year, my brother farmed in Qua’an Pan, but some raiders came into the farm and spoiled almost everything.
What we have noticed is that the people disturbing those areas are not the former Fulani; they are attracted to the area because of the minerals. If you look not only at Plateau State but also at other states, for example, Zamfara and others, it’s mostly areas with minerals that witness issues of banditry and non-state actors ravaging and taking over places.
I also believe that people outside Plateau and even outside Nigeria are behind all this. It’s not different from what is happening in Zamfara or parts of Gombe. All these events are like a cycle in Nigeria; many places are affected, and it’s where there are mineral deposits that these activities occur. It is more like genocide; yes, they want to take people from their ancestral land.
With the current security architecture in Nigeria, do you think the call for people to arm themselves against these bandits is feasible, or should they rely on the security agencies to protect them?
Salisu: To some extent, I think the current security architecture in Nigeria needs to be readjusted because it is not working. In reality, it is not functioning effectively. Security must be more proactive rather than reactive, not only in Plateau State.
I’m a strong advocate of community policing because I don’t believe in letting people arm themselves. When people get guns to protect themselves, it will result in chaos, and they will start fighting each other. In the case of America, since guns have been allowed for purchase, there have been incidents of street shootings.
If there is a way, we can help without making ourselves vulnerable, we should do that. When we build synergy between communities and have an inter-socialised community security system, I think that will be a way to fight all of this. But if we simply arm ourselves, we know there is disunity among people some don’t even see others as brothers, so we will end up killing each other.
When we have a community-based security system institutionalised under the traditional system, in collaboration and coordination with national security, yes, I think that’s the way we can succeed. If we rely solely on agencies like the police and the army, they cannot do enough. So, it is our responsibility to protect ourselves, but it must be institutionalised. Christians, Muslims, Berum, Hausa, and Fulani are all victims. Therefore, we need to sit down and find a way to address the problem.
Who are these marauders? With the realization of numerous mineral resources in the gold and mineral rich communities of Zamfara, Taraba and the Plateau which since the colonial era house deposits of resources, there is a gradual shift of what we know as farmer-herders crisis to a new wave of unmask men armed with sophisticated weapon of mass destruction. The intent of these new guys which are yet at large in the forests is worth inquiring.
There is a pattern of crime against humanity that is not just bespoke to Nigerian crisis even happens in the west. Have you wondered why naturally blessed nations, communities and villages never experience the dividends of owning such precious resource? Rather a curse of destruction, killings or pollution becomes their consequence for inheriting or affiliating with their wealth. Let’s look at the story of communities in Plateau and Benue.
With the matter at hand, there are suggestions we cannot shy away from any longer. The idea of state and community policing that has long been institionlised in the south western part of the country should become a nationwide approach. Considering the option of providing grazing reserves for herders and providing security to locals must remain our priority before these unmasked men alienate us all.
