Absorb

On a hot Tuesday afternoon in Yola, Adamawa State, in northeastern Nigeria, 32-year-old Fidelis Mbai walked to a point-of-sale (POS) stand to withdraw ₦35,000. The POS operator, Abu Sani, collected his Automated Teller Machine (ATM) card and inserted it into a POS terminal. Fidelis entered his Personal Identification Number (PIN). Within seconds, he received a debit alert. The money had left Fidelis’ account, but Abu’s terminal showed that the transaction had not been completed successfully.

The two men stared at their screens. One had seen ₦35,000 withdrawn from his account; the other had received nothing. For nearly 30 minutes, they kept refreshing their mobile bank apps. “I was angry because the money had left my account immediately,” Fidelis said. “As far as I was concerned, the transaction was successful.”

Abu understood the frustration, but he had a problem of his own. “The customer was debited, but I didn’t receive the money,” he said. “If I gave him cash and the transaction eventually failed completely, the loss would be mine.”

Eventually, Fidelis left without cash. His money would later be reversed. But for several hours, ₦35,000 simply disappeared into Nigeria’s digital payment infrastructure. 

This experience has become familiar to many Nigerian residents. As digital payments increasingly replace cash, it is ordinary citizens, not institutions, who bear the cost of failed transactions. The consequences often extend beyond the value of the failed transaction itself. Delayed payments can prevent traders from restocking goods, force customers to borrow money while waiting for reversals, disrupt access to healthcare, transport, or other essential services, and erode trust in digital financial systems. For small businesses and low-income households that depend on immediate access to funds, even a short delay can translate into lost income, missed opportunities, and significant financial stress.

Nigeria’s digital payment revolution

Nigeria’s digital payment ecosystem has expanded rapidly over the past decade. According to data from the Nigeria Inter-Bank Settlement System (NIBSS) – which operates the core infrastructure that processes and settles electronic payments and fund transfers between banks, discount houses, and card companies in Nigeria, and is jointly owned by the Central Bank of Nigeria and all licensed banks – the value of instant digital payments reached ₦1.07 quadrillion in 2024, up from ₦600.36 trillion in 2023. The data also showed that Nigerians conducted 1.38 billion POS transactions worth ₦18.32 trillion during the same period. 

These numbers reflect one of the most successful examples of digital public infrastructure (DPI) in Africa. At its core, DPI refers to the digital rails that allow citizens to identify themselves, make payments, and access services. In Nigeria, these rails include bank transfer systems, mobile money platforms, POS networks, identity systems such as BVN and NIN, and shared payment infrastructure.

Together, these systems enable millions of transactions every day. For most users, the process appears simple: send money, receive money, and move on. But when something goes wrong, the burden often shifts away from the infrastructure and onto the people who rely on it.

While there is no official national estimate of the total amount Nigerians lose annually to failed digital payment transactions, the scale is substantial. During the 2023 cashless transition, industry reports indicated that as many as 40 per cent of failed e-payment complaints remained unresolved for extended periods, with affected transactions running into millions of naira. 

Given that Nigerians processed over ₦1.07 quadrillion in instant payments in 2024 alone, experts say that even a failure rate of less than one per cent could leave billions of naira temporarily trapped in failed, delayed, or disputed transactions each year.

The last mile bankers of Nigeria

Every morning, Abu begins work with a few simple calculations. How much cash does he have? How much electronic value is in his account? And how much of that money is trapped in pending transactions?

“Almost every week, we experience failed transactions,” he said. “Sometimes two or three times. During network problems, it can happen many times in one day.”

Officially, Abu’s role is to provide financial services. Unofficially, he has become something else: a lender, a mediator, and a shock absorber. He is one of an estimated 1,600 POS operators per square kilometre in Nigeria, according to the International Monetary Fund (IMF). As banks have reduced their physical footprint in some communities, these agents have become the last-mile providers of financial services, connecting millions of Nigerian residents to the formal financial system.

One afternoon, a regular customer named Musa Ibrahim arrived to withdraw ₦50,000. The debit alert arrived immediately, but Abu’s account was not credited. Musa needed the money urgently for a hospital bill, and Abu had to choose between trusting the system and trusting the customer. “I knew him very well,” Abu said. “So I gave him the money from my own cash.”

The confirmation took two days to arrive. For 48 hours, Abu had effectively given Musa an interest-free loan. Nobody paid him for the risk. Nobody compensated him for the anxiety. Yet this informal lending happens every day across Nigeria. Thousands of POS operators use their own money to bridge gaps created by delayed transactions. 

At Jimeta Modern Market in Yola, 38-year-old Aisha Mohammed sells food items. More than half of her customers now pay by bank transfer. Like many traders, she has adapted to Nigeria’s cash-light economy, but that adaptation comes at a cost. Several months ago, a customer purchased a bag of rice worth ₦80,000. He presented a transfer receipt. The money did not arrive. 

“The customer looked genuine,” Aisha said. “He showed me everything on his phone.”

She released the goods. The payment did not arrive until the following day. That night, she barely slept. “You start asking yourself whether you have been scammed,” she said.

Delayed transactions create a dilemma for traders like Aisha. If they reject digital payments, they risk losing customers; if they accept them, they risk losing money. Many solve the problem through selective trust. “If I know the customer, I may release the goods,” she explained. “If I don’t know them, I wait until I see the money myself.”

This has created a parallel trust economy operating beneath Nigeria’s digital economy. In theory, transactions are guaranteed by technology; in practice, they are often guaranteed by relationships.

Dr Ibrahim Sule, a financial inclusion expert at the Adamawa State Ministry of Finance described it as a hidden feature of Nigeria’s digital economy. “It shows that people are finding ways to compensate for weaknesses in the system. Personal trust often fills the gaps where technology falls short,” he said. 

Borrowing money while waiting 

For Ibrahim Yusuf, a resident of Damilu, a community in Jimeta, the consequences were far more serious. In October 2025, he transferred ₦43,000 to a shop owner as payment for foodstuffs he had purchased. The money left his account instantly, but the shop owner never received it.

One day passed, then two, three, four, five, and six. During that period, Ibrahim had no extra money with him. “The money was meant for foodstuffs, but I couldn’t leave the market with what I bought because the shop owner didn’t receive an alert,” Ibrahim said.

By the third day, Ibrahim borrowed ₦20,000 from a friend. The irony was difficult to ignore. His own money existed somewhere inside the banking system, yet he needed someone else’s money to survive. “It wasn’t even the financial loss that hurt the most,” he said. “It was the uncertainty. Nobody could tell me exactly where the money was.”

His experience illustrates a hidden cost rarely captured in transaction statistics. When payments fail, people do not simply lose access to money. They lose opportunities, business deals collapse, and relationships become strained.

The financial system eventually restores the funds. But it rarely restores the time, trust, or opportunities lost along the way.

How the money moves

While a bank transfer feels like a simple process for customers, financial experts say that transactions often travel through multiple systems. According to Hakeem Abdulkareem, a tech expert at NIBSS, “When you initiate a transfer on your bank app or through your bank, your bank first authenticates the transaction and verifies the beneficiary’s account details. The payment instruction is then routed through the NIBSS Instant Payment (NIP) platform to the receiving bank, which validates the request before crediting the beneficiary’s account. For the transfer to succeed, each of these systems – the sending institution, the NIP switch, and the receiving institution – must exchange information correctly and in real time,” he explained. “Each stage must communicate properly for the transaction to be completed.”

Any disruption along that chain can create problems. Not every failed transfer originates from NIBSS. Payment experts note that delays can occur at the sending bank, the receiving bank, a fintech platform, telecommunications networks, or the central payment switch. One way to determine where a transaction stalled is through the unique ‘Session ID’ generated for every transfer, which allows institutions to trace the payment through the system.

“Delays often occur when there are network issues, system outages, or communication problems between institutions involved in the transaction,” Hakeem added, noting that NIBSS continues to work with banks and fintech companies to improve transaction monitoring, automate reconciliation processes, and strengthen the resilience of the NIBSS Instant Payment (NIP) platform as transaction volumes continue to grow.

In the first quarter of 2025, electronic payment transactions reached ₦284.99 trillion, a 17.7 percent increase from ₦234.49 trillion recorded during the same period in 2024. POS transactions alone rose to ₦10.45 trillion during the same period, more than double the ₦3.62 trillion recorded in the first quarter of 2024. 

While these figures highlight growth, Hakeem noted that “as transaction volumes increase, maintaining system efficiency becomes even more important.” 

The institutions behind Nigeria’s digital payment system agree on one point: public confidence depends on reliability. As transaction volumes continue to grow, banks, fintech companies, and regulators say they are investing in infrastructure, monitoring systems, and consumer protection to reduce delays and strengthen trust.

Adi Dansanda, Customer Protection Officer at the Central Bank of Nigeria, Yola branch, told HumAngle that “Consumer confidence is critical to the success of Nigeria’s digital payment ecosystem. We continue to work with financial institutions and payment service providers to strengthen compliance, improve service quality, and ensure that customer complaints are resolved within established timelines.”

Despite these commitments, the experiences of everyday Nigerian residents suggest that the gap between policy and practice remains significant. For them, confidence is built every time a transfer arrives on time, every time a complaint is resolved quickly, and every time money moves when it is needed most.

Lessons from elsewhere

Building a reliable real-time payment system is not unique to Nigeria. Countries with some of the world’s most advanced digital payment platforms have also experienced outages and technical failures as transaction volumes increased.

In India, the Unified Payments Interface (UPI), which processes more than 18 billion transactions each month, experienced several nationwide outages in 2025. An investigation by the National Payments Corporation of India (NPCI) traced one of the largest disruptions to excessive transaction-status requests from participating banks that overwhelmed the system. In response, the regulator tightened technical protocols, limited repeated status checks, and strengthened monitoring to reduce the risk of similar failures.

Brazil’s Pix platform has also experienced periodic service disruptions linked to participating financial institutions and network issues. Rather than eliminating failures entirely, authorities have continued to improve interoperability, operational resilience, and incident response as usage has expanded.

Nigeria has already built one of Africa’s largest real-time payment systems through the NIBSS Instant Payment platform. Experts who spoke to HumAngle say the lesson from other countries is not that payment systems can avoid failures altogether, but that maintaining public trust depends on continuously strengthening infrastructure, improving coordination among participants, and responding quickly and transparently to disruptions.

This report is produced under the DPI Africa Journalism Fellowship Programme of the Media Foundation for West Africa and Co-Develop.

For the Islamic State (IS) and its West Africa Province (ISWAP), the third week of May 2026 began with a compound disaster and ended with a theology lesson. The group faced one of its most shocking moments, at least in West Africa or, more specifically, Nigeria. 

With its headquarters in Nigeria, ISWAP has been the most active wing of the Islamic State globally, claiming more attacks than any other IS province since its central operations in Iraq and Syria were largely overpowered. Following the call for its members to migrate to Africa, ISWAP has, in the past two years, temporarily overran Nigerian military installations, including at least one super camp. The group was enjoying relative success when a turning point came: one of its most important first-generation commanders was killed. 

The operation that killed Abu Bilal Al-Minuki between midnight and 4 a.m. on May 16 was described by the Nigerian military as “meticulously planned and highly complex”. It not only left the terrorist dead, but it also caused a crisis of morale that ISWAP’s propaganda machine would spend the following days trying to contain through a theological message. 

Ahmad Salkida, a leading conflict analyst who has been observing the situation since it emerged, described the killing of Al-Minuki as a “serious disruption” to the activities of ISWAP in the Lake Chad region.

Airstrikes and special forces raids followed. More people were killed, and confusion reportedly descended. The operations, according to some reports, may also have killed the likely successor to Al-Minuki, another terrorist commonly known as Ba Shuwa, opening a new and, perhaps, unplanned chapter in the insurgency.

By May 19, Nigeria’s Defence Headquarters reported that 175 ISWAP and Boko Haram militants had been killed since the joint offensive began. According to the report, at least 20 died in a single engagement. By the time Nigerian authorities stopped counting, the joint operation had become the most lethal week the group had faced in years.

The theology of a bloody week

Within that catastrophic week, the Islamic State released its Al-Naba newsletter with a pointed editorial. Although it did not mention Al-Minuki or the numerous fighters killed, the editorial retold a story of a battle that happened 14 centuries ago to boost the morale of a group in disarray.

Reports suggest there was internal suspicion, even before the death of Al-Minuki, that some fighters may have leaked information leading to his death, driven by internal discontent over the unequal treatment between foreign fighters who migrated to the ISWAP and the local fighters in Nigeria. However, the editorial tried to shift away from that and present the losses as a normal sacrifice. 

Everything in the editorial is deliberate. The piece opens on Talha ibn Ubaydullah, a companion of the Prophet Muhammad, at the Battle of Uhud. The selection is pointed in ways that any reader with a classical Islamic education would immediately recognise. 

Uhud was a near-disaster for early Muslims because of an internal division. It was a battle in which archers abandoned their positions, turning a momentary advantage into a rout that left dozens of companions dead and the Prophet himself wounded. 

What Islamic tradition preserved, and what the Al-Naba propaganda wanted to convey from that valley, however, was not only the memory of tactical failure but of individual men who placed their bodies between the Prophet and death – an important sacrifice for the existence of Islam. 

The editorial tells ISWAP fighters who have fallen into fear, confusion, or doubt after the loss of Al-Minuki and other fighters that a similar situation occurred during the Battle of Uhud. However, because the Prophet’s companions believed they were fighting for Islam, they did not see it as a problem.

In essence, the message is that they may ultimately be killed, suffer injuries, or even think they have already achieved victory and begin collecting spoils of war, only for circumstances to turn against them. Yet, regardless of whatever hardships or setbacks they face, they should not regard themselves as having lost, because they are fighting for their religion.

“Your role, O my mujahid brother, is to make your chest a sanctuary for the religion of Islam and guard it with your body,” the editorial reads. 

This is a recognisable pattern in IS editorial strategy. After senior commanders are killed, Al-Naba invokes early Islamic battles such as Badr, Uhud, and Khandaq as mirrors, casting present losses as the preconditions for eventual triumph. The rhetorical architecture is consistent and has appeared after every major command-level strike against the organisation. What changes each time is only the particular story pulled from the tradition.

In 2019, when Abubakar Al-Baghdadi, the former leader of Islamic State, died, Al-Naba compared the situation with that of early Muslims after the death of Prophet Muhammad, in which many of his companions fell into disbelief until they were calmed by the first caliph Abu Bakr As-Siddiq. Al-Naba issue 207 argued that if Islam could survive the death of the Prophet Muhammad, the Islamic State could also survive the death of Al-Baghdadi. 

The choice of Talha in the recent issue of Al-Naba, specifically after the death of Al-Minuki, adds a layer to the editorial. Talha survived Uhud and fought many more campaigns. The editorial addresses not only those who died but also those who lived through the week. The message to fighters still alive in the Lake Chad Basin, still holding ground, is legible between every sentence. 

“It is the duty of my mujahid brother to walk those same paths in defence of the religion of Islam, its honour, and its sovereignty,” the editorial says. 

The crisis of succession 

The theology in the Al-Naba editorial could steady nerves or explain deaths. It could also transform defeat into sacrifice. However, it could not answer the practical question now hanging over the movement: who would lead after Al-Minuki?

For years, ISWAP’s resilience has rested on its ability to survive leadership decapitation. Commanders and factional leaders have died, been assassinated, or removed. Yet the organisation endured because a pool of experienced first-generation figures remained available to absorb the shock. However, this time may be different.

A HumAngle analysis observed that Al-Minuki’s most likely successor was Ba Shuwa. However, he too may have been killed in the subsequent strikes; if confirmed, the movement would lose not only its most influential commander but also the man widely expected to replace him.

Al-Minuki belonged to a shrinking class of terrorists who entered the movement before the 2009 uprising transformed Boko Haram from a fringe extremist religious organisation into a regional insurgency. He embodied institutional memory, battlefield experience, and personal relationships that spanned multiple generations of fighters. 

Ba Shuwa, although younger in status within the movement, still belonged to that older ecosystem. Their simultaneous deaths would accelerate a transition that many inside ISWAP had anticipated but few expected to happen so suddenly. The names now circulating inside insurgent circles to replace Al-Minuki and Ba Shuwa show the scale of that transition.

Among the strongest contenders, as HumAngle gathered, is Abu Salem, a commander who grew up entirely within the insurgency’s wartime environment.  He reportedly combines military authority with religious credentials, a combination that carries considerable weight inside ISWAP’s hierarchy.

Another frequently mentioned figure is Bana Chingori, long regarded as a close associate of Ba Shuwa and an influential commander in his own right.

However, beneath the movement’s ideological claims lies a complex web of battalion loyalties, personal networks, ethnic affiliations, and historical rivalries. Fighters speak the language of the caliphate, but leadership legitimacy is often negotiated through social structures that long predate the insurgency itself. The question is not merely who is capable of leading, but who can command obedience across the various factions that make up the movement.

This is where the editorial in Al-Naba becomes more interesting. The Islamic State understands that leaders can be replaced. What is more difficult to replace is cohesion.

The editorial’s invocation of Uhud was not simply a sermon about perseverance. It was also an attempt to create continuity at a moment when continuity is under threat. By reminding fighters that early Muslims endured confusion after battlefield losses yet remained united, the editorial implicitly addresses the danger of fragmentation.

For nearly a decade, ISWAP distinguished itself from rival jihadist factions partly through its ability to maintain organisational discipline. While Boko Haram under Abubakar Shekau frequently splintered under pressure, ISWAP developed bureaucratic structures capable of surviving individual losses. The current transition will test those structures more severely than any succession crisis since the death of Abu Musab al-Barnawi and the removal of other senior figures from the Muhammad Yusuf generation. 

The paused migration 

Beyond the succession question lies another bigger development. ISWAP has announced that the flow of fighters migrating from Iraq and Syria to Nigeria has been effectively paused.

For years, the Islamic State’s call for migration to Africa was one of ISWAP’s most reliable sources of experienced foreign fighters. Foreign fighters who had trained and fought in the central theatre arrived in Lake Chad with tactical knowledge, ideological authority, and direct personal connections to IS central command. 

Al-Minuki himself was a product of that ecosystem. The suspension reflects the bigger issue that ISWAP is facing, in which local ISWAP members feel foreigners are given more priority in the insurgency, and they’re being relegated. This, according to some sources, was one of the reasons that opened a loophole that led to the intelligence leading to the killing of Al-Minuki. 

Al-Naba issue 550 addressed the question of migration indirectly. The editorial, titled “Africa Between Yesterday and Today”, spoke in the past tense about those who had already made the journey. “Those who came before you from Iraq walked this path,” the editorial told terrorists currently in Africa, “and they carried the weight of this religion on their shoulders.”

The joint US-Nigeria strike that killed Al-Minuki demonstrated a targeting capability that ISWAP had not previously faced at this intensity in the Lake Chad theatre. The use of American intelligence assets alongside Nigerian special forces created a surveillance environment that makes the movement of senior figures, especially those arriving from abroad,  significantly more dangerous than before. 

For IS central, sending experienced insurgents into a degraded environment risks losing irreplaceable assets to an adversary that has now demonstrated it can find and kill the most protected figures in the organisation. The pause in migration is both a strategic retreat and a rational response to changed targeting conditions.

The commanders now being discussed as replacements for Al-Minuki are men who grew up entirely inside the Nigerian insurgency. Whatever their capabilities, they appear to lack the cross-theatre experience and IS central relationships that figures as Al-Minuki carried. The migration pause has narrowed the field of who can credibly lead it.