By Chidi Omeje
Dateline: Illela, Sokoto State; Saturday, May 31 2025. At first light, the convoy pulled out of Illela, engines humming with intent. We headed into the heart of Tsauna forest where troops of the Nigerian Army were combing to smoke out bandits, particularly the so-called terror group called Lakurawa.
For the troops of the 248 Recce Battalion of the Nigerian Army, it was another patrol. For us, three reporters and one cameraman, embedded for a day, it was an initiation into the daily routine of the gallant troops whose dedication, exploits and sacrifice are dangerously underreported.
Our journey actually began at the battalion’s headquarters, a modest structure tucked into this otherwise bubbly town of Illela that shares its northern edge with Niger Republic. Inside the office, Colonel Abdullahi, Commanding Officer 248 Task Force Battalion and also Head of the Defence Headquarters Special Operations Brigade, briefed us with the composure of a rugged officer who has seen it all.
“This so-called Lakurawa group,” he explained, “have been effectively denied any respite or sanctuary anywhere in this area by the troops. Our job is to pursue them and destroy”.
He described the ongoing operations as decisive, sustained, and fully supported by the Nigerian Army high command.
“Before our deployment about five months ago, the Lakurawa insurgents had taken advantage of the porous border with the Niger Republic and were terrorizing border communities in Binji, Gada, Gudu, Silame, and Illela. Today, the story is different,” Col. Umar said.
“Our mission is to make sure they no longer exist nor pose any threat to Nigerian communities. That is the charge given to us by the Chief of Army Staff, Lt. Gen. Olufemi Oluyede; he told us to do things differently and expect better result. He asked us to tell him whatever we needed in terms of support and logistics and within two weeks, they were all provided to enable us to do the job”.
According to Umar, flanked by COAS Special Intervention Battalion, 248 Task Force Battalion and the Defence Headquarters Special Operations Brigade, embarked on a decisive and relentless clearance operations in the last few months and improved cross-border coordination with Nigerien security forces has drastically degraded the operational strength of the Lakurawa.
“They no longer have the capacity to launch any attack. We’ve forced them into retreat. Most of their fighters are on the run,” he said.
The story of Lakuawa group is stranger than fiction: trained initially under the regime of former Nigerien President Ibrahim Baré Maïnassara in the late 1990s, the group was created to protect rural communities in Niger from cross-border cattle rustling, especially from Malian bandits.
However, over the years, especially after Maïnassara’s assassination, the group splintered, radicalized, and drifted across the Sahel into Nigeria, where it found sanctuary in ungoverned border spaces.
“Once in Nigeria, they exploited shared cultural, linguistic, and religious ties to gain the trust of locals,” Umar said. “They began recruiting youths and engaging in cattle rustling to fund their operations. Some communities even offered them shelter.”
By late 2024, the Defence Headquarters in Abuja formally announced their existence as a terror group. It said the group was a new terrorist group without ideology, without allegiance but with training and intent to destabilize. The statement continued that the group has infiltrated Sokoto and Kebbi states through Niger Republic following the coup in Nigeria’s neighbor and are exacerbating insecurity in the north west region.
Heading to the Forest
Our patrol formation was tight and fully fortified. I rode in the MRAP in the middle; its interior a metal womb of tension. Each truck bristled with soldiers: stoic men seated inside, gunners perched like sentinels above. We weren’t just patrolling; we were baiting the terrorists who we understand often ride in convoys of well-fortified motorcycles.
The drive into Tsauna forest was grueling. Marshland turned to sand dunes. Mobile telephone network unsteady. We were not just battling bandits, one soldier quipped; we were at war with the elements.
Then, suddenly we ran into a significant setback.
About fifteen kilometers in, the convoy split for tactical deception. Our unit veered right, but the terrain had other plans. Less than a kilometer into the diversion, our MRAP sank into a soft dune. The more the driver revved to push through, the deeper the truck sank. Radio chatter grew tense. Soldiers were at alert.
“This area is known for ambushes,” he said. “Lakurawas stalk around these areas.”
The driver put off the engine and alighted from his seat. The troops inside jumped down and took positions. I jumped down too and ducked one side. No movement. Conversation ceased, except the low murmur of uncertainty as the soldiers tried to figure out the situation.
A few local children emerged from the bushes and some others from mud houses from afar; their faces unreadable. Were they mere spectators, curious locals or hideous moles who snitch on troops’ movements and positions? One couldn’t be sure in places like this. Time moves slowly, the kind of slow that can kill. The other team had continued their movement, or so I thought.
I tried calling my colleague but the mobile network was playing up and we couldn’t hear each other. I hung up. He called back after a little and asked where we were.
“We are stuck”, I thundered in a tight voice. “The MRAP is stuck in the sands; please tell the commander”.
“Don’t worry Chidi; he is already aware and has dispatched a gun truck to come pick you up”, he offered.
“I should not worry ke?”, I asked. Sensing that I was shaking with fears, he burst into laughter and asked if I was afraid.
“Bro, it is not a laughing matter o. Please let them hurry up and come pick me from here”.
My trepidation actually stemmed from the conversation I had with the troops inside the MRAP about how the terrorists could spring up ambush attacks from that general area.
In no time after the call, relief came: a gun truck meandered its way into view. I ran across the hedges and jumped aboard and we took towards a makeshift Forward Operating Base outside Tsauna community. The rest of the soldiers in our MRAP and another gun truck stayed behind to figure out how they will extricate the armoured vehicle from the sands.
The patrol resumed, pushing past Tsauna towards the border village of Sarma, the final stop before Niger Republic. But the Lakurawa never showed.
“They don’t wait around,” Col Umar had said. “Since the induction of 248 Battalion into operations, the terrorists knew better than to wait around. Mobility is their doctrine.”
Indeed, the day’s patrol bore no fruit. No gunfire. No contact. Just wind, heat, and the constant reminder of the unpredictable nature of the asymmetric warfare that our troops in many parts of the country are engaged in. But the real revelation came on the way back at Tsauna village.
Tsauna the forgotten Village
Tsauna is utterly forgotten by both the local and state government. There is a complete absence of governance in their community. No school (closed). No clinic. No police outpost. No access road. No light, no waterworks nor boreholes, not even a chemist’s kiosk. Just onion farms and dust. The only presence of government here are the troops who now make it a point of duty to patrol the general just so to ward off the bandits who often find such “ungoverned spaces”, a veritable sanctuary.
“It’s no surprise terrorists love places like this,” one officer said to me. “Here is just a forgotten area. How can help even reach these people easily if they come under attack? No access to the village, no nothing. Just look at the condition of the environment”.
I agreed with him and wondered to myself if the state government even knew that this community and some other settlements around it even exist. How come these areas are so cut off from any presence of the government? If the government is all about the security and welfare of the people, what welfare programme or project has the people of Tsauna ever enjoyed?
Appreciative Villagers
As the convoy rolled into what looked like the village square or market, the crowd emerged like a sudden tide: hundreds of villagers, waving, smiling, praising the troops.
“Inda Rabbana; ba wahala” (loosely translated: if there is God, there’s no problem), they chanted in unison over and over again with their hands up in the air.
I was stunned. Tsauna, just 25 kilometers from Illela, had appeared almost lifeless from afar. But here they were: children barefoot and bright-eyed, elders clutching prayer beads, women clapping in gratitude.
The convoy slowed down. The Commander stepped out of the gun truck. Soldiers alighted and teamed up to follow him into a warm and excited embrace of the cheering members of the community. I followed too, camera in hand but quickly forgetting to snap photos. The emotion was overwhelming. These were utterly forgotten Nigerians who minded their business but now have to bear the brunt of banditry and lately, the predatory activities of the Lakurawas.
The people are completely weary but resilient and grateful to the troops of the Nigerian Army who have become their constant companion and guardians.
But the spontaneous show of appreciation to the troops by the locals was a genuine reflection of the villagers’ relief and admiration for the courage, compassion and sacrifices of the troops. It was made possible by the way the troops relate with them.
According to the Maigari of the village (community leader) Magaji Garba, who spoke to me through an interpreter, the village was deserted before the coming of the troops. “Since they came to Tsauna, peace has returned, here and even the neighbouring communities, there have not been any single attack. We therefore remain grateful to the Nigerian Army”. Garba said that Tsauna had no school, no road, no hospital, no mosque or presence of any social amenity and pleaded with the state government to intervene.
He said the people will keep supporting the troops to ensure they are protected from those who do not mean well for them.
More than a morale booster, this public show of support points to a vital, often understated factor in the success of military counterterrorist operations: the unwavering backing of the local population. In the fight against terrorism, where insurgents often hide among civilians, exploit local fears, and manipulate social fractures; the support of the community can be the deciding factor between mission success and failure.
Col Umar told me how he often encouraged the locals to cooperate with and support the troops in order to ward off the predators. The villagers not only welcomed the military presence but had also actively contributed to the campaign against the Lakurawa terrorists.
The bond of trust between the soldiers and the villagers are paying off as the socioeconomic activities have started to pick up again. The rains have also started falling and farm works are gaining momentum at the moment. The villagers have returned to the farm and are no longer living in mortal fears as they were before the troops came.
The scenario at Tsauna is a powerful reminder that counterterrorism is not won by arms alone. It is won in the hearts and minds of the people. When communities stand firmly with their defenders, they become an impenetrable front against terror.
The soldiers may carry the rifles, but it is the people who carry the resolve. And together, they reclaim peace from the shadows of fear.
Chidi Omeje is Senior Editor at the Zagazola Media Network
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