Efforts to secure peace in northwestern Nigeria through dialogue and amnesty agreements have become a recurring strategy, yet the outcomes have consistently fallen short of genuine security. What often appears as a breakthrough in negotiations quickly unravels, leaving communities exposed to further violence and fueling public distrust of the government’s ability to provide lasting protection.
The release of schoolgirls kidnapped in Jangebe, Zamfara State, in 2021 remains a striking example of how these deals operate more as public theatre than as durable solutions. Nigerians watched with relief when over 270 girls were freed, paraded before cameras, and celebrated by officials as proof of successful negotiations. Yet community members who quietly welcomed the girls in Gusau knew the truth: the release was not an act of genuine repentance but a calculated spectacle by the armed groups to boost their credibility and secure leverage.
This pattern has since been repeated across Zamfara, Katsina, Sokoto, and Kebbi States. Bandit leaders, some notorious for mass killings and kidnappings, sit at negotiating tables, swear symbolic oaths on the Qur’an, surrender a handful of outdated rifles, and declare repentance. Captives are released in staged ceremonies, while state officials hail the events as victories. But within months, attacks resume, often deadlier than before. Far from dismantling these networks, amnesty deals have emboldened them by providing money, recognition, and breathing space to regroup.
The roots of banditry in the northwest trace back to cattle rustling within Fulani pastoralist communities, which eventually spread into farming districts. Ethnic tensions deepened when Hausa farmers turned to vigilante groups, the Yan Sakai, whose indiscriminate attacks on Fulani communities provoked retaliatory violence. What began as local disputes over land and resources evolved into sprawling armed networks with thousands of fighters, loosely organised but bound by economic interests in ransom, taxation, and smuggling. Today, more than 30,000 gunmen are believed to operate across the region, making it impossible to enforce any singular agreement.
The illusion of amnesty has been tested multiple times. In 2016, Zamfara under Governor Abdulaziz Yari struck a truce with Buharin Daji, one of the most feared warlords. Fighters handed over stolen cattle and a few weapons in exchange for cash, while Daji himself was put on a government stipend as an adviser. The deal collapsed when Daji was killed by rivals, plunging the region back into chaos. Governor Bello Matawalle revived the policy in 2019 with his “cows-for-guns” initiative. Hostages were freed, fighters posed for the media, but soon enough the bandits returned to their violent campaigns, closing markets, torching villages, and taxing residents under their control.
Katsina and Sokoto experienced similar failures. In one case, 70 captives were released in exchange for an amnesty deal, but only two rifles were surrendered. Within weeks, residents reported new attacks. Community leaders in Sokoto openly described these arrangements as opportunities for bandits to demonstrate their leverage over the state. Instead of breaking the cycle, the agreements reinforced the perception that armed groups could extract concessions through violence.
The notorious commanders driving this crisis illustrate why such deals rarely succeed. Bello Turji, among the most feared warlords, commands an estimated 200 fighters and has been linked to massacres that killed hundreds across Zamfara and Sokoto. Despite repeated attempts by clerics and officials to negotiate, Turji has remained defiant, framing his campaign as a defence of the Fulani community while continuing attacks that displace entire villages. Dan Sadiya, another commander, has launched raids with heavy weaponry, including anti-aircraft guns, while Ado Alero, controversially crowned with a Fulani chieftaincy title in 2022, has openly admitted to killings framed as acts of retribution. These men, and dozens like them, have built reputations on impunity, making reconciliation attempts fragile at best.
Beyond the high-profile figures, the structure of banditry itself makes peace talks unworkable. With no central leadership, multiple competing factions, and fluid alliances, agreements struck with one group rarely bind others. Armed groups exploit dialogue as breathing room to regroup, rearm, and extend their reach. Residents, who continue to witness these leaders strolling out of reconciliation meetings still armed, feel betrayed by a government that appears unable or unwilling to dismantle the networks preying on them.
The humanitarian consequences are staggering. At least 670,000 people have been displaced, with many forced into overcrowded camps or host communities. Farmlands lie abandoned due to insecurity, worsening food shortages across northern Nigeria. The northwest has become the country’s kidnapping hub, with ransom payments now an entrenched industry. Even government officials have admitted to transferring cash and supplies to armed groups as a stopgap measure. Former Kaduna State governor Nasir El-Rufai recently acknowledged that state authorities quietly delivered funds to secure temporary reprieves, effectively treating peace as a commodity to be purchased.
The repeated collapse of amnesty agreements underscores three persistent problems. First, the gunmen set the terms, retaining their weapons and mobility. Second, the state projects short-term optics of peace instead of building long-term security strategies. Third, impunity is reinforced, sending a dangerous message that violence pays. For communities living under the shadow of armed groups, these illusions of peace offer no protection.
If Nigeria is to break free from this cycle, policymakers must move beyond the façade of repentance ceremonies and token weapon handovers. A more comprehensive approach is required—one that combines sustained military pressure, investment in local security structures, reconciliation efforts grounded in accountability, and serious socio-economic reforms to address grievances within both pastoralist and farming communities. Without this, the northwest risks further descent into lawlessness, where peace talks remain a stage-managed performance and real security drifts further out of reach.
