Nigerias

Jadon John keeps a diary in which he records reference numbers for government-mandated registrations. Based in Jimeta, a commercial district in Adamawa State, northeastern Nigeria, one page of Jadon’s diary contains his voter registration details and another lists his Bank Verification Number (BVN). The 34-year-old has also noted down his National Identification Number (NIN), records for Subscriber Identification Module (SIM) registration, and information for his driver’s licence renewal. 

All of these are national digital identifiers that Nigerians require for most official documentation. For him, these entries feel like variations of the same repetitive process. 

“It has been stressful from the beginning,” he said, sitting outside a phone repair shop near the Jimeta Modern Market in Adamawa. “I first registered for my voter’s card, then later did BVN at the bank, and after that, I spent almost two days trying to get my NIN. Every place asked for almost the same information and biometric capture.”

The queues were always long, he said, and sometimes the network would fail after hours of waiting. His experience has become a normal routine for many people in Nigeria, a country that has devoted years to developing digital identity systems aimed at modernising governance, enhancing financial inclusion, and minimising fraud. 

Experts have described the government’s efforts as Digital Public Infrastructure (DPI), which encompasses the collective digital frameworks that facilitate effective online interactions between governments and citizens. Despite the government’s investments in identity infrastructure, many citizens experience cycles of repeated registrations, record mismatches, and fragmented databases. At the heart of the problem is a simple contradiction: Nigeria now has multiple powerful identity systems, but they do not fully connect with one another.

One person, many registrations

Jadon, for instance, says he struggles to remember how many times he has submitted his fingerprints for similar digital identity registrations. “Every agency takes my fingerprints, passport photo, phone number, and address again, as if I have never registered anywhere before,” he complained, especially about how repetitive and tedious these processes can be.

Nigeria has multiple agencies managing different biometric databases for identity verification, banking security, voting, and driver licensing. The National Identity Management Commission (NIMC) manages the NIN database to build Nigeria’s foundational identity system. The Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN) introduced the BVN in 2014 to secure the banking sector and combat fraud. The Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) maintains its own voter register for elections, while the Federal Road Safety Corps (FRSC) operates another biometric database for driver licensing. Each system has its own valid purpose, but when combined, they frequently function in isolation. Experts say this lack of coordination can sometimes lead to significant problems.

Jadon said that on many occasions, he has suffered service disruptions due to identity mismatches. His bank account was once restricted because his NIN details did not exactly match the BVN record. One system had his middle name fully written, while another used only initials. A similar incident occurred in 2020, when his SIM was blocked amid the government’s NIN-SIM linkage policy.

“When my SIM was blocked because of the NIN-SIM linkage issue, I lost customers because people could not reach me,” he recalled. “I could not receive calls, bank alerts, or access mobile banking for days simply because my records did not match properly across the systems.”

As with the NIN-SIM linkage policy, people also face difficulties linking their BVN to their NIN records. The BVN was introduced in 2014, when Nigeria’s national identity system was not yet fully developed for seamless nationwide interoperability. Abubakar Nuhu Buba, the Deputy Manager of the Currency Operations and Branch Management Department at the CBN in Yola, said the BVN emerged during a period when Nigerian banks urgently needed stronger identity verification systems.

“The original goal of the BVN system was to address the absence of a unique identifier across the Nigerian banking industry,” Abubakar noted. “The banking industry faced an urgent security crisis that the national identity system was not yet equipped to handle.”

The CBN official revealed that the current BVN-NIN integration presents a complex dual effect on financial inclusion. While it builds a more secure foundation for credit and digital banking, he said, it also creates significant friction that risks pushing vulnerable rural populations back into the informal sector. That friction is often felt most sharply in rural communities where internet access is weak, enrolment centres are scarce, and transport costs are high.

The unified identity dream

Nunaya David, a senior enrolment officer with NIMC in Adamawa, said the NIN is intended to serve as Nigeria’s official foundational identity number. Its primary goal is to establish a unique identity for every Nigerian and legal resident, serving as a central reference point across various platforms and services.

“The long-term goal is one person, one identity across all sectors,” he noted.

In theory, that would mean a citizen registers biometrics once, and authorised institutions securely verify identity digitally, rather than repeatedly capturing fingerprints and photographs. But in practice, the systems continue to function as separate databases.

Nigeria’s broader digital interoperability efforts are also coordinated by the National Information Technology Development Agency (NITDA), which has developed frameworks to improve secure data exchange and interoperability across government institutions. Through initiatives such as the Nigerian e-Government Interoperability Framework (Ne-GIF) and the Nigeria Data Exchange framework, NITDA seeks to enable Ministries, Departments, and Agencies (MDAs) to securely share and verify data across platforms rather than operate disconnected databases. The agency has repeatedly stressed that interoperability is essential to achieving Nigeria’s “One Citizen, One Identity” vision.

“The main reason citizens still repeat biometric registration is that most agencies still maintain independent databases and legal mandates,” Nunaya said. He identified several challenges affecting Nigeria’s digital identity systems, including varying database architectures, inconsistent data formats, outdated legacy infrastructure, network disruptions, and issues regarding data ownership.

“Many citizens have different names, dates of birth, or phone numbers across BVN, voter registration, passport, and NIN records,” he added, noting that minor spelling differences can prevent systems from recognising the same person.

Registration for a voter’s card through the Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC) also presents similar interoperability challenges. INEC officials in Yola told HumAngle that their biometric registration process serves a different purpose from the NIN database. Grace Akpan, an electoral officer in the state, said the electoral body is mandated to conduct its own biometric registration because the voter register is legally separate from the NIN and BVN databases. The commission also captures biometrics specifically for the Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS) used during elections.

“INEC currently does not use NIN as a mandatory verification requirement during voter registration,” Grace said.

Citizens can still register to vote without a NIN because the law allows other forms of identification, including passports, birth certificates, and driver’s licences. The official said that while discussions on collaboration exist between INEC and NIMC, real-time nationwide interoperability has not yet been achieved.

It is the same challenge of duplicated effort for Nigeria’s road safety administration. Samuel Danladi, an Assistant Corps Commander of the FRSC in Adamawa, said biometrics are collected during driver’s licence registration to prevent fraud and maintain unique driver records. Although most applicants already possess NIN or BVN records, the FRSC still performs separate biometric capture.

“Nigeria’s identity systems were developed independently by different agencies with separate mandates,” Danladi argued. “Systems are not fully interoperable, biometric standards differ, and agencies lack full real-time access to one another’s databases.”

Since December 2020, FRSC has made the NIN compulsory for driver’s licence applications and renewals, but citizens still submit fingerprints and photographs during the licensing process. “What exists now is mostly verification-based connectivity, not full data-sharing interoperability,” Danladi said.

The human cost 

For ordinary Nigerians, however, the consequences go beyond inconvenience. The burden often falls hardest on people who depend on daily income and cannot afford to spend days correcting identity records. Mercy Barka, a caterer in Yola, encountered an issue while attempting to transfer money to a supplier via her bank’s mobile app. The transaction repeatedly failed despite sufficient funds in her account.

When she visited her bank branch, she was told that her account name did not exactly match the name attached to her BVN records. One database contained her full middle name, while another used an abbreviated version. “The bank told me I needed to correct the information with NIMC first or obtain an affidavit before they could update the records,” she said.

What appeared to be a minor discrepancy eventually took five days to resolve. The resolution required Mercy to shuffle between the bank, a court registry, and the NIMC enrolment centre. “I spent money on transport, affidavit fees, and photocopies,” she said. “The amount I spent trying to correct the problem was painful because I was only trying to access my own money.”

Identity mismatches do not merely create administrative inconvenience; they can interrupt business activities, delay transactions, and impose additional costs on already strained incomes. “It affects everything,” Jadon said quietly. “I lose workdays anytime I have to visit these offices. I spend money on transport, passport photographs, and photocopies.”

Throughout Nigeria, individuals frequently undertake long journeys to resolve discrepancies in records between various databases. This can occur due to a missing middle name, an incorrect birth date, or issues with fingerprint synchronisation during verification. Sometimes, entire systems may just go offline.

“Sometimes one office tells you their server is down after waiting for long hours,” Jadon said. “Other times, they say your information does not match another system. You keep moving from one office to another, trying to correct problems you do not even understand.”

For Charles Anthony, a student who secured a scholarship under the Adamawa State Government, the frustration came during the renewal of his passport. Although immigration authorities already possessed biometric records linked to his previous passport, he was required to submit fresh fingerprints and another facial photograph during the renewal process.

“I thought renewal meant they would simply verify the information they already had,” Charles said. “Instead, it felt like starting the registration process from the beginning.”

The repeated capture was not unique to passport services. Charles noted that he had previously submitted similar biometric information during NIN registration, voter registration, and banking enrolment. “Sometimes it feels like the offices do not know that they are dealing with the same person,” he said.

The privacy question

Beyond the interoperability problem facing Nigeria’s digital identity systems, a growing concern over data protection has also emerged among citizens and digital governance experts. Different government agencies now hold enormous amounts of biometric and demographic information about citizens, including fingerprints, facial scans, phone numbers, home addresses, and financial records. Yet many Nigerians remain uncertain about how securely that information is managed.

“I worry about it sometimes,” Jadon said. “Different agencies already have my fingerprints, face, phone number, and personal details, but nobody explains clearly how the data is protected or who can access it.”

Data protection experts say the concern is legitimate. Vincent Olatunji,  the National Commissioner of the Nigeria Data Protection Commission (NDPC), believes that effective identity management requires “harmonised policies, secure technologies, and inclusive systems.” Vincent warned that identity systems must align closely with privacy and data protection frameworks to build public trust. He also said that disconnected databases can increase security vulnerabilities because agencies often duplicate sensitive information rather than securely verify identity through shared infrastructure. He noted that the risks include inconsistent records, unauthorised access, identity theft, and data breaches across multiple systems.

Mohammed Bello Buhari, a digital governance and democracy expert, noted that as Nigeria develops its Digital Public Infrastructure, the primary challenge is ensuring efficient information exchange across systems without repeatedly collecting the same personal data. Mohammed argued that the purpose of modern digital identity systems is not to create more databases but to enable trusted verification across institutions.

“The goal is not to collect more data about people, but to create trusted ways of verifying identity while minimising unnecessary data sharing,” he said, warning that when agencies continue collecting the same information independently, citizens are exposed to greater privacy and security risks because sensitive personal data is duplicated across multiple databases rather than verified through interoperable systems.

Alan Gelb, a senior fellow at the Centre for Global Development and a long-time researcher on identification systems, also argued that global digital identity systems create the greatest value when they are interoperable and trusted across sectors rather than operating as isolated databases. According to him, fragmented systems often increase costs for both governments and citizens while reducing the efficiency that digital identity programmes are meant to achieve.

The World Bank’s Identification for Development (ID4D) programme advocates that trusted digital identity systems should be accompanied by strong safeguards for privacy and data protection. The World Bank noted that digital identity reaches its full potential when combined with secure data-sharing frameworks that allow institutions to verify information without repeatedly collecting it from citizens.

For Jadon, however, those debates remain far from everyday reality. His concern is that several government agencies already possess the same fingerprints, photographs, and personal records, yet he is still asked to provide them.

Learning from other countries

Countries around the world have faced similar identity challenges, but several have moved further towards interoperability. In India, the Aadhaar system allows citizens to authenticate identity across banking, telecoms, and public services through a shared digital identity infrastructure. In Estonia, a European country in the Baltic region, the digital identity ecosystem enables citizens to access healthcare, taxes, voting, and banking through interoperable platforms connected by secure data-sharing systems. The ID4D programme also encourages countries to build interoperable identity ecosystems as part of Digital Public Infrastructure.  

As of early 2026, Nigeria had already issued more than 127 million NINs, according to figures released by NIMC, which shows the massive scale of the country’s digital identity expansion. Meanwhile, Nigeria aims to issue up to 180 million NINs by December 2026 and has begun upgrading its identity infrastructure under the NIMS 2.0 platform, which is supported by the World Bank. 

Despite the current frustrations, officials across agencies agree on one thing: the future lies in interoperability.

“The key reform needed in Nigeria’s identity system is establishing the NIN as the single foundational identity across government services,” Samuel of the FRSC said, calling for stronger interoperability standards, reduced repeated biometric capture, improved digital infrastructure, and stronger cybersecurity protections.

The CBN official also told HumAngle that Nigeria would soon achieve interoperable digital systems. “There are major plans to move towards a single, unified identity system by December 2026,” the official claimed. 

For citizens like Jadon, however, reforms cannot come soon enough. He says he is tired of standing in endless queues to repeatedly provide the same fingerprints. “If the government already has my information, why should I still start from the beginning every single time?” he asked.

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

Sokoto, Nigeria – Each time her curious seven-year-old child returned home from school with homework, 28-year-old Habiba Abubakar knew it was time to take him to her neighbour, whom the child called “aunt”, even though they were not related by blood, who had been his saviour every time he wanted to stand in front of his class and receive a standing ovation.

But that changed in 2021, when Abubakar enrolled herself in the Women Centre for Continuing Education (WCCE) in Sokoto State, northwest Nigeria.

“I’ve always felt ashamed when Muhammad told me that they’ve been given another assignment,” she told Al Jazeera.

This frustration, coupled with her enthusiasm for learning English, pushed her to return to the classroom 13 years after she left.

Now, the mother of four said she helps all the children with their assignments.

The interruption in Abibaker’s studies is not uncommon across northern Nigeria, especially in rural communities, where girls are more likely to drop out of school due to cultural practices, such as early marriage, or poverty, which forces parents to make gender-biased decisions by enrolling male children over females.

UNICEF reported that more than half of the girls in the region are not attending school.

Jennifer Agbaji, a social accountability professional and the executive director at Basileia Vulnerable Persons Rights Initiative (BVPRI), a Nigerian nonprofit dedicated to advancing the rights of women, girls, and other vulnerable populations through education and leadership development, viewed the initiative as a positive and necessary intervention.

Nonetheless, she said second-chance education should not be limited to classroom-based learning alone.

“If access to education depends solely on physical attendance, many women who face mobility, childcare, economic, health, or security challenges may still be excluded.”

How the system works

WCCE, commissioned by the then-military governor of Sokoto State, Navy Captain Abdul Rasheed Adisa Raji, was founded in 1997 to provide adult education and vocational skills to women in the state.

Since then, Nuraddeen Ladan Dogon Daji, a physics teacher, told Al Jazeera that the centre has trained many students, some of whom now practise professions, such as teaching and nursing, helping to address the country’s shortage of skilled professionals.

Unlike other public schools, where pupils spend six years, the centre designed a three-year curriculum for its primary section, from adult one to three.

In the secondary sections, students spend three years each in the junior and senior levels.

In their final years, they also sit for the mandatory Junior Leaving School Certificate of Education (JLSCE) and Senior School Certificate of Education (SSCE) examinations.

To help these students realise their dreams, the centre also offers free education, benefitting from the state government’s effort to reduce the number of out-of-school children.

This has helped students like Abubakar, who, following her divorce, relied heavily on her father’s support to stay in school.

“We used to pay 5,000 naira ($3.5) per term, but were later told to stop because the state government has given us a chance to study for free,” Abubakar told Al Jazeera from her home in the Kofar Atiku neighbourhood.

But free tuition does not eliminate all costs. Students still have to pay for transport, books, and other daily expenses.

The challenges

According to Agbaji, beyond poverty and early marriage, there are several structural barriers, including restrictive gender norms that prioritise domestic responsibilities over education.

She said many women lose confidence after years away from formal education, and in some communities, education is still viewed as an investment for boys rather than a lifelong right for women.

In her opinion, these norms often combine to make re-entry into education difficult, even when opportunities exist. In her journey to becoming a nurse, Fatima Attahir, who left school after primary school 12 years ago, found it necessary to go back to the classroom and start afresh.

To support herself while studying, she helps with her family’s trading activities when she is not in class.

She said that although some of her friends already saw the decision as time-consuming, she is not satisfied with the system’s duration.

“I wish the primary section was also up to six years,” she said.

“Because to become a nurse, I need to have a solid background in the core subjects.” Some of the students Al Jazeera spoke to said their greatest challenge is juggling academic activities with household responsibilities.

Before her divorce, Abubakar said she would wake up earlier than usual to prepare breakfast, clean the house, and get herself and her children ready for school.

“When I finally set my foot in class, I was already tired, and as the lectures went on, I would start slumbering because I hadn’t had enough sleep.” She said the pressure became worse when her youngest child frequently fell ill, sometimes forcing her to leave class before lectures ended.

After her divorce, transport costs became another obstacle. “Since I was no longer married, my parents were the ones paying for the transport fares, but when they couldn’t, I would not go to school because I couldn’t afford it myself,” she said.

Later, her father gave her 10,000 naira to start making and selling local snacks and small chops.

The small business now helps her cover transport costs and other school-related expenses. Abubakar still credits the neighbour who used to help her son with homework before she returned to school.

When transport costs became difficult to afford after her divorce, her parents stepped in when they could, while her father later provided the capital that helped her start a small business and continue her studies.

Her experience is not unique.

Another student, Hafsat Aliyu, said she leaves her two-year-old child with her in-laws whenever she attends classes to avoid disrupting lessons.

Her husband pays for books and other occasional school needs, while she sells local pastries during break time at the centre to earn money for daily transport and personal expenses.

During examination periods, she studies late into the night after completing household chores and putting her children to bed.

“My husband does his best, but I thought it was time for me to get a source of income, too,” she said.

“Now, I pay for my transport and a few other daily needs.”

However, the physics teacher, Dogon Daji, said that in his seven years of teaching at the centre, a recurring challenge among students is the pace of learning.

“I’ve taught young people, and the level of their understanding is quite different,” he said.

But he added that there are still outstanding students among them; one recently won this year’s Usmanu Danfodio Week, an annual quiz competition organised for secondary school students in the state.

On the other hand, the vocational section of the centre, which was designed to equip students with practical skills such as tailoring and soap-making, now offers only tailoring.

Students are required to provide tools, such as scissors, including those whose interests may lie in other trades.

The way forward

Agbaji acknowledged that for Nigeria to bridge the gender disparity in education, the country must adopt a lifelong learning framework that recognises education as a continuous right and opportunity.

This requires increased investment in adult education, digital and remote learning platforms, community-based education, and flexible pathways for women who missed formal schooling, because the long-term consequences are significant.

She added that many women pursuing second-chance education continue to balance childcare, household responsibilities, and income-generating activities, often relying on family and community support networks to remain in school.

“Educational exclusion perpetuates poverty, limits economic opportunities, increases vulnerability to abuse and exploitation, and restricts women’s participation in governance and public service. It also affects future generations because children of educated mothers are generally more likely to enrol in and complete school,” Agbaji clarified.

In one of the world’s most deprived and volatile regions, HumAngle’s reporting and experience reveal that journalists in Nigeria are not just observing suffering but are pulled into it as they try to report it. Consequently, they say, they find themselves paying out of pocket to feed the people whose stories they are trying to tell.

In theory, the profession is expected to observe some emotional distance from its sources and the stories they tell. However, that model is inoperable in conflict-affected regions of northern Nigeria and the Sahel.

Journalism here is embedded in environments shaped by violence, poverty, and dense social networks. Since these variables affect people at random, the reporter is not an outsider; sometimes, the conflict directly affects them as well. Ethical decisions are then made under pressure, repeatedly, and often without the comfort of certainty.

HumAngle operates in this space. Its work across Lake Chad, Central Africa, Nigeria’s Middle Belt, the North West, the South East, and other conflict zones forces a confrontation with a difficult question: What does ethical journalism look like when the people you report on are not just sources, but individuals whose survival may intersect directly with your presence?

The limits of imported ethics

Global journalism standards discourage payment for information, and while exceptions exist, they do so under strict editorial oversight, a clear public-interest justification, and transparency. Journalism teachers say that, though these frameworks are expected to provide clarity, they don’t in conflict-affected Nigeria, where the assumed context doesn’t apply. The ideal context has clear distinctions between sources and service providers and functioning identity systems. This is hardly obtainable in conflict-affected environments.

Dr Kabiru Danladi, a Mass Communication scholar with the Ahmadu Bello University in northwestern Nigeria, says, “Our curriculum borrows heavily from Euro-American ethical frameworks – objectivity, detachment, neutrality – principles rooted in relatively stable societies. The failure becomes evident when our graduates are deployed to cover issues that weren’t directly taught in class, or they are sent to cover conflicts in places like Zamfara, Sokoto, Kebbi, Borno, Yobe or Benue, where journalism is not just a profession but a survival exercise.”

Dr Obiora Chukwumba, a researcher and media expert in Abuja, identifies the same problem in the moral obligation created by field contact. “There is no ethical barrier to a journalist intervening on grounds of goodwill to assist a source who is in a vulnerable position,” he said.

The reality of field reporting

A fixer in Zamfara, where terror groups continue to kill, abduct, and loot, is not simply an access broker but may also translate, assess risk, and act as a negotiator in certain environments. A driver in Borno, North East Nigeria, may carry more situational intelligence than any formal briefing. An intermediary in the southeast may navigate relationships across vigilante groups and separatist networks.

These individuals are essential. Without them, our reporters’ access vanishes. But they are also embedded in the same systems the journalist is trying to understand, which creates layered risks, including legal risks that emerge when payments made for legitimate services are later interpreted as material support. 

Barrister Joseph Danboyi, a senior lawyer in Jos, North Central Nigeria, says, “Payment to a fixer creates liability if the journalist knew his connection with criminals. Ordinary payment for information is insufficient. The journalist will be aiding and abetting when payment is purposefully linked to criminal conduct.”

He goes further to add, “The practical bottom line is that a journalist who unknowingly pays a criminal for information is generally not liable… liability requires knowledge… and intent to help or further it.”

This distinction between knowledge and intent anchors the legal reality that sits beneath field decisions. 

Dr Obiora also treats fixers and access arrangements as part of newsroom operations, not automatically as ethical breaches. “Parts of the routine (investigative) costs tied to the operations of a newsroom include such services as engaging fixers, obtaining access to a reasonably considered newsmaker, and appreciation handouts,” he said. “They are all legitimate operational costs.”

There is no procedural checklist that eliminates these risks. What exists instead is a need for structured awareness and disciplined judgment in newsrooms.

The Knifar women: A case that reshapes the debate

HumAngle’s engagement with the Knifar movement brings these tensions into focus. The Knifar women are part of a grassroots movement shaped by prolonged suffering. Their husbands, sons, and brothers were detained during military operations, often for years, without trial. In many cases, these men were the primary providers, and so their absence triggered cascading consequences for these women, including food insecurity, poverty, and social fragmentation. The women organised into a pressure group to demand accountability for the detention of their male relatives.

HumAngle’s reporting amplified their efforts, influencing outcomes that ultimately led to the release of over a thousand men that the women were advocating for. 

Our work required prolonged engagement with the women, whose daily reality was defined by deprivation. In some instances, our journalists provided stipends. In other cases, some of these women became part of the reporting process as fixers and contributors with fixed incomes in our newsroom. We have even given some of them ‘additional reporting’ credit for their work. Since they are both sources and resource persons for our newsroom, we are often clear about what we are paying them for – their work, not their information. We have spoken publicly about the dynamics of our relationship with these women, including in a Pulitzer Centre-supported documentary.

Kunle Adebajo, a renowned award-winning investigative journalist, reflects on his own experience in being moved to provide money to vulnerable sources: “I’ve often had to pay vulnerable sources. This is because the majority of them live from hand to mouth and rely on wages from daily labour to get their sustenance, and so such interviews could be very disruptive and uncomfortable for them. Oftentimes, they also have to transport themselves to meet at the interview location. The sums given were trifling, and there was never an understanding that the interview itself was transactional. 

Dr Obiora agrees that the understanding must always be clear. “If the source or interviewee presents the personal need to overshadow the reason for the meeting with the journalist, then that could be a red flag,” he said, “pointing to potential compromised narrative or ‘adjusted facts’ from the source or interviewee.”

When observation is not enough

Journalists are trained not to pay sources because it could risk distortion and affect credibility, but what happens when the people you are interviewing live in destitute conditions?

“I met residents, elderly men and women who could not feed themselves, who could not afford basic healthcare. I met a father who lost his wife to a particular ailment, and whose two kids are still suffering from the same ailment. Yet, he could not help.”

The award-winning journalist said he felt compelled to help. “I offered to buy meals for some of them through my fixer. Yes, I offered them some cash to buy what they needed. When I got back to my hotel room that evening, I actually cried. I felt the depth of these people’s suffering.”

He is not unaware of the ethical grey spots in giving money to sources. “Ethically, I did not really care at that point whether offering them some cash would be seen as an inducement. I told myself that I had to act as a human being at the moment and drop the toga of ‘a journalist’ at that point.” 

Dr Danladi understands this and says that “Students must be taught that they are a journalist, yes – but they are also human beings. Refusing to help in the name of ‘objectivity’ can itself be an ethical failure.” He says that liability only becomes possible “where the journalist knows or is willfully blind to criminal activity… or where the payment itself is tied to illegal conduct.”

Another journalist from southwestern Nigeria, who declined to be named, described facing similar situations in which his sources were suffering. 

“They had had to eat rotten food sourced from the nearby markets, and sometimes they went days without eating anything because their husbands, who provided for them, had been killed. I saw that most of their children were malnourished and looked so skinny. It was such a touching situation, and I couldn’t help but give them some money that I had with me so that they could buy food and cook.”

The practice of support

Payment for content implies a transaction because it links money to information, but support that exists independently of reporting is different. It protects the integrity of the story while still acknowledging the reality of the environment.

Hauwa Shaffii Nuhu, an award-winning journalist and newsroom manager, said that though in her early days as a journalist, she could not resist the urge to help vulnerable sources, she has now learned to favour long-term external support. “Now, I connect them [the vulnerable subjects of her story] with NGOs… or make it possible for society to donate directly to them or through an independent third party like a fixer.”

In cases where reporters have to provide any form of support, journalism scholars like Obiora say documentation matters. Record decisions and rationale for such actions while in the field. According to Obiora, “one of the most important structures for documenting and reviewing ethical footprints in the newsroom is within the internal editorial space.” He proposed an Editorial Board of Line Editors, chaired by the title editor, and another layer through an Editorial Advisory Board, where “it would be necessary to bring the platform’s legal advisor as a member.”

“These steps will not protect you from state action if authorities choose to act,” a senior security official said. What they only do is to protect the integrity of your journalism, he implied. They help you draw a line between necessary support and inducement, between humanitarian assistance and conduct that could be interpreted as enabling someone directly or indirectly tied to the crime you are investigating.

The unresolved tension

Speaking more to the legal position of a source, unknown to the journalist, being tied to criminal activity, Danboyi reiterates that a journalist who unknowingly pays a criminal is generally not liable, as exposure begins when there is knowledge, or when you consciously ignore signals that should raise concern.

Consider the fixer a journalist has worked with closely. Not a transactional contact, but someone embedded in the reporting process, with days, sometimes weeks, spent together. The journalist has covered his meals, made stops at his home during fieldwork, supported him beyond the assignment, helped with school fees, and contributed when his child was ill. Then, months or years later, the fixer is named in a crime. The record of the journalist’s relation with him exists: Transfers, messages, shared locations. A traceable history of proximity that can be turned into proof of complicity.

A different kind of responsibility

The Knifar women’s story forces a reconsideration of responsibility and demands a different approach to how journalism ethics is taught and judged. “We graduate students who know the code, but cannot survive in the field,” says Dr Danladi.

Dr Obiora returns the question to dignity. “A journalist whose interaction with a source contributes to lifting the source’s dignity has discharged his or her obligation professionally.”

In environments where silence sustains suffering, the act of telling a story, and the way that story is told, carries consequences beyond journalism.

ISIL (ISIS) has claimed responsibility for the attack on Guyaku village, which lasted several hours.

Armed attackers killed at least 29 people in Guyaku village in Nigeria’s Adamawa State, an attack that lasted several hours and left property destroyed, officials said.

“My heart breaks for the people of Guyaku,” state Governor Ahmadu Umaru Fintiri said in a post on social media as he visited the bereaved community on Monday.

“Today, I stood on the ground where our brothers and sisters were cruelly taken from us. This act of cowardice is an affront to our humanity and will not go unpunished,” he said.

Fintiri also said his administration would continue to support “military and vigilante groups” as it intensified security operations in response to the attack.

The ISIL (ISIS) group claimed responsibility for the attack in a post on the Telegram messaging app, according to the Reuters and Associate Press (AP) news agencies.

There are two major ISIL-backed armed groups in Nigeria, but it was not immediately clear which one was behind the attack, according to the AP.

The Guyaku attack occurred on the same day that armed attackers raided an orphanage in north-central Nigeria and abducted 23 children.

Fifteen were later rescued, and the government said “intensive operations” were under way to “secure the safe return of the remaining eight victims and apprehend the perpetrators”.

No group immediately claimed responsibility for the abductions in a region of the country that has seen an increase in kidnappings for ransom.

The statement did not say how old the abducted children are, but the term “pupil”, which the statement had used, in Nigeria usually refers to someone in kindergarten or primary school, covering ages up to 12.

US President Donald Trump and other US conservative voices have accused Nigerian authorities of failing to protect the nation’s Christians from a “Christian genocide“, amid violence from armed groups, including Boko Haram.

The Nigerian government has said that while it wants to do more to protect civilians from ISIL and al-Qaeda affiliated groups, people of all faiths have been killed in attacks, including Muslims and traditional worshippers.

Data from ACLED, a US crisis-monitoring group, found that, out of 1,923 attacks on civilians in Nigeria between January and November 2025, the number of those targeting Christians because of their religion stood at just 50.

US forces launched air strikes on ISIL-affiliated fighters in December, and then deployed 100 soldiers to northern Nigeria in February to train and advise local forces.