Terrorists

The White House claimed, without providing evidence, the vessel was operated by a ‘designated terrorist organisation’.

The White House has said United States forces have bombed another alleged drug smuggling vessel in the eastern Pacific Ocean, killing four men, just days after confirming it killed 14 people in three separate strikes on vessels in the area.

US Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth said in a post on X late on Wednesday that the “Department of War”, the new name for the recently rebranded Department of Defense, had “carried out a lethal kinetic strike on yet another narco-trafficking vessel”.

Hegseth said “four male narco-terrorists” were killed aboard the vessel, which was “operated by a Designated Terrorist Organization”. He did not provide an exact location for the attack, but said it was conducted in international waters in the eastern Pacific Ocean.

“This vessel, like all the others, was known by our intelligence to be involved in illicit narcotics smuggling, was transiting along a known narco-trafficking route, and carrying narcotics,” Hegseth said, posting aerial footage of the strike.

None of the victims of Wednesday’s attack have been identified.

Earlier today, at the direction of President Trump, the Department of War carried out a lethal kinetic strike on yet another narco-trafficking vessel operated by a Designated Terrorist Organization (DTO) in the Eastern Pacific.

This vessel, like all the others, was known by our… pic.twitter.com/mBOLA5RYQe

— Secretary of War Pete Hegseth (@SecWar) October 29, 2025

The strike occurred at a time when US President Donald Trump was on the last leg of a three-nation trip in Asia. On Thursday, Trump met Chinese President Xi Jinping in South Korea, their first summit since 2019. Trump also visited Malaysia and Japan before South Korea.

Earlier this week, Hegseth said US forces carried out three lethal strikes against boats accused of trafficking illegal narcotics on Monday. The attacks, which also took place in the eastern Pacific Ocean, reportedly killed 14 people and left one survivor.

Following the strikes, Hegseth said that “the Department has spent over TWO DECADES defending other homelands. Now, we’re defending our own”.

Since September 2, the US military has carried out at least 14 strikes targeting some 15 maritime vessels in the Caribbean Sea and the eastern Pacific Ocean.

At least 61 people have now been confirmed killed by the two-month-long campaign, which has also seen the US bolster its military presence in the Caribbean to unusually high levels.

The White House has yet to provide any evidence to the public for any of the strikes to substantiate its allegations of drug trafficking.

The Trump administration has framed the strikes as a national security measure, claiming the alleged drug traffickers are “unlawful combatants” in a “non-international armed conflict”.

Critics have called the unilateral strikes a form of extrajudicial killing and a violation of international law, which largely prohibits countries from using lethal military force against non-combatants outside a conflict zone.

“We continue to emphasise the need for all efforts to counter transnational organised crime to be conducted in accordance with international law,” Miroslav Jenca, the United Nations’ assistant secretary-general for the Americas, told the UN Security Council this month.

Abba Ali says he was there when Boko Haram leader Abubakar Shekau blew himself up to avoid capture by the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP) in May 2021. 

He survived, but his life changed forever. The road to that experience stretched back to 2015, when Boko Haram stormed his hometown of Bama and abducted him at the age of six.

That day, Abba and his four-year-old brother were taken to the forest by the terrorists. His younger brother succumbed to the harsh conditions in Sambisa Forest, the terror group’s enclave in Borno State, North East Nigeria, but Abba survived. 

In the forest, he lived among other children in a village called Njimiya and was later taken to Shekau’s enclave by one of his two elder brothers, who had joined Boko Haram two years before Bama fell. That brother also later died, leaving Abba in the custody of Shekau’s household and his other elder brother.

By then, he had turned ten and had started combat training at Bula Sa’Inna in Sambisa Forest, where the deceased Boko Haram leader lived and conducted his operations. For two years, he was drilled until he became a sniper. When the training ended, he was assigned to guard checkpoints around Shekau’s camp. 

Abba stayed at one of these posts for years, often seeing Shekau, who, though calm and playful with the boys, was ruthless when betrayed.

There, he repelled countless attacks and fought against splinter groups like ISWAP.

After Shekau’s death, ISWAP held him for two months, until his uncle, once the fourth in command under Shekau, saw a chance to escape. After three failed attempts, they succeeded. Together, they rode in the night, dodging rival factions until they reached the outskirts of Bama. Abba couldn’t recognise his hometown; his childhood memories were gone.

“I only knew it was Bama when I was told,” he said.

Now 19, Abba lives in Maiduguri with his mother and stepfamily, who continue to care for him. When he first returned, he surrendered to the authorities. He was held briefly for a day before being taken to an internally displaced persons’ camp at Government Day Senior Science Secondary School, Bama. There, he was given a food ration card and shelter until he reunited with his family. 

Unlike the others who surrendered at the same time, Abba was not enrolled in Operation Safe Corridor, the federal programme launched in 2016 to provide psychosocial support, vocational training, and business starter packs for the reintegration of surrendered terrorists. He did not disclose why he was excluded. 

Over 500,000 insurgents and their families have laid down their arms through the programme, while others have deliberately avoided it. Abba, however, did not evade but was excluded for reasons he did not disclose. 

“We were told there would be help, but nothing came. Sometimes I feel like going back to Sambisa,” he told HumAngle. “I only feel like going back when I am hungry. I wish I had something to do.” 

Fighting on the right side

While Abba battles hunger and memories of Sambisa, other surrendered insurgents, such as Musa Kura, have returned to the battlefield, but on the government’s side. 

He recalls how Boko Haram preached to him until their ideology seemed the only truth. At 18, in 2013, he followed willingly into the bush. But after Shekau died, Musa saw ISWAP as traitors, and the government’s amnesty offer felt like a lifeline. He fled with his wife and children and surrendered to the authorities. 

Musa passed through Operation Safe Corridor, and it was there, he says, that the military recruited him. He works as a civilian security guard in Konduga, but he is struggling. 

“The payment is poor. Our children are not in school, and what we are given is not enough to care for our families. The only reason we stay is because we swore not to go back to our old ways,” he told HumAngle. They are paid ₦30,000 per month. 

“I don’t know anything apart from fighting, so that is what I do,” he added. 

Others, however, have chosen to disappear from the battlefield entirely. Isa Gana, another former Boko Haram member, chose a different path. After surrendering, he was given ₦100,000 in “startup support”. However, people never quite trusted him in his community. 

Isa left Borno for Lagos, where he now works menial jobs. For him, anonymity is better than suspicion, and poverty in a city far from the battlefield feels safer than returning to violence.

“It is better this way,” he said. “I don’t want to fight for Boko Haram, and I don’t want to fight for the government.”

Yet, for some, even leaving the battlefield behind does not bring peace. Twenty-four-year-old Bakura Abba, who also surrendered after Shekau’s death and underwent the Operation Safe Corridor programme, said: “Survival in this new life is almost impossible. We have no housing, and we are jobless.”

Bakura was 17 when he was captured while working on the farm. Faced with the threat of execution, he chose to join Boko Haram and was trained as a fighter. 

The frustration voiced by all those who spoke to HumAngle highlights a larger problem in Nigeria’s reintegration programme. Ahmad Salkida, the CEO of HumAngle and a security expert who has spent decades researching and reporting on the Boko Haram insurgency, said the sustainability of the reintegration programme rests on credibility. 

The managers, he stressed, must be able to keep their promises to beneficiaries while also designing a framework that ensures the safety of the communities where defectors will eventually be resettled. According to him, the only way to achieve this is through a robust deradicalisation process, something that is currently missing. 

“If a person is used to violence for over a decade and he is back in society, and is not engaged in other forms of livelihood or any skills, the likelihood of them going back, or even committing crimes in the community, is very high,” Salkida warned. 

He added that the government’s best chance of success is to establish trust by handing the process to an independent civil society group, interfaith organisations, and mental health professionals, with communities fully involved, rather than leaving it in the hands of the Nigerian Army. 

So far, however, there has been little meaningful support for communities most devastated by the insurgency, while considerable resources have gone instead to the perpetrators. This imbalance, Salkida warns, fuels the perception that deradicalisation is a reward for violent crimes — a perception that must change if trust is to be built between defectors, communities, and the government.

Official claims of success stand in sharp contrast to the lived reality. The deradicalisation programme suffers from a shortage of specialised trainers, poor physical infrastructure, and a lack of effective systems to monitor participants after reintegration. 

The credibility gap is most visible in the mismatch between promises and delivery. Earlier in 2025, Borno State alone allocated ₦7.46 billion for the reintegration of surrendered combatants, one of its largest capital projects. But, as beneficiaries reveal, this investment is only heavy on paper, not in impact.

THREE suspected Hamas terrorists appeared in court in Germany yesterday as police claimed to have foiled a chilling terror plot.

The trio – caught with weapons including an AK47 assault rifle, pistols and ammunition – were feared to be about to export October 7-style horror to Europe.

1

Investigators believed they were plotting attacks on Israeli or Jewish sites – like the synagogue attacked in Manchester yesterday.

Germany’s federal prosecutor alleged that they had been procuring firearms in recent months to prepare for a terrorist massacre.

Several pistols and a large cache of ammunition were among weapons taken when police swooped 24 hours before the Manchester attack.

No evidence of a connection between the two incidents had emerged last night – but fears of Palestinian terror spreading across Europe was sparking security concerns.

Two of the Berlin suspects are German citizens but the third was said to have been born in Lebanon.

They were named only as – named as Abed Al G, Wael F M and Ahmad I.

Hamas has carried out hundreds of attacks against Israeli civilians but rarely operated outside the region and they denied involvement.

Details of the plot remained unclear last night – and it was also uncertain whether they were acting on Hamas orders or were self-motivated Palestinian sympathisers.

The worrying arrests came as Hamas appeared spent as a fighting force in Gaza as Donald Trump called on them to surrender or face an unbridled Israeli onslaught.

A German federal judge ruled that the Berlin trio should remain in jail ahead of a full trial for alleged membership in a foreign terrorist organization and plotting serious acts of violence.

Police arrested members of Hamas in Berlin in December 2023 when four suspects were feared to be plotting to attack Jewish institutions in Europe.

Saint-Denis, who was born in Nimes, southern France, formed part of the French Army Special Forces when he joined aged 18.

“Most of my work as a Special Force operator was in the sub-Saharan area. So Mali, Burkina Faso, Niger. I was mostly there against Boko Haram,” says Saint-Denis.

Boko Haram is a militant Islamist group, designated as a terrorist organisation by the United Kingdom, which operates in countries such as Nigeria, Niger and Mali.

Saint-Denis’ work largely involved working in counter-terrorism to combat the threat of groups like Boko Haram.

“When we are talking about counter-terrorism, it’s going to be the arrest or the destruction of terrorist threats. Or stopping terrorist extractions in cities like Timbuktu, for example,” Saint-Denis says.

His team were also tasked with protecting important members of the French government, like Hollande, during foreign visits.

Saint-Denis looks back on his time in the French military fondly.

“It was long and fatiguing and demanding, and after this I think I was a man – I was disciplined, and I knew how to work to get things done,” he says.

“It was very adventurous, and I loved it.”

Fighting terrorism and competing in the UFC are vastly different worlds with pressures of their own, but Saint-Denis does not have to dwell for long when deciding which is tougher.

“It depends on the occasion, but globally, I would say being a UFC fighter,” he adds.

Musa Murjanatu, 40, was once a thriving trader in Niger State, North-Central Nigeria, where terrorists have taken roots for clandestine operations. As a prosperous merchant known for food supply in the Bassa area of Shiroro, Murjanatu has not only lost her home, but also her economic power, wallowing in penury in a displacement camp.

With almost two decades in the consumer goods business, she had built a reputation as a hard-working woman who could transform modest capital into a flourishing enterprise. Her home, a large compound in Bassa,  was always filled with the laughter of family members and relatives who often visited. Three years ago, everything changed.

“I left my home in Bassa due to terrorist attacks,” Murjanatu said. “Whenever they attack us, we run uphill and return two or three days after they have finished committing their atrocities. When it became unbearable, we fled, leading to our displacement. Some fled to Erena, we came to Kuta, some to Gwada, Charagi, Ilori, Gunu, and some are currently in Minna.”

Her once-thriving business was reduced to ashes when terrorists stormed Bassa, shooting sporadically, setting homes ablaze, kidnapping residents, and looting whatever they could. She fled with only the clothes on her back, walking for days alongside other survivors to reach Kuta, where a temporary displacement camp had been established in a central primary school.

“I arrived in Kuta without my belongings because I had just taken my bath when they invaded our community. I only had a wrapper on when we started running. When we reached Gurmana [a 10 km distance from Bassa], people were kind enough to help us with clothes to cover up properly. Then we got help and came down to Kuta,” she revealed.

The lives of Murjanatu and thousands of other women and children have been flipped by the escalating wave of terror attacks by armed groups in the agrarian communities in Shiroro. In the past three years, she has lost count of the number of close and distant relatives claimed by gruesome terror attacks.

“I have lost people. My brothers and their children were slaughtered; my in-laws were killed. I’ve lost over 70 close relatives and direct family members to terrorism. I sleep and wake up with a heavy heart,” she cried.

She is just one among the thousands of internally displaced persons (IDPs) struggling to survive in neglected displacement camps in the Shiroro Local Government Area.  

In 2020, the Niger State Emergency Management Agency (NSEMA) revealed that only 4,030 people were displaced across four local government areas of the state. As of 2024, the figure has increased to 21,393.

As of June 2024, a total of 1.3 million residents have been displaced across the North-Central and Northwest regions of Nigeria, as data from the International Organisation for Migration’s Displacement Tracking Matrix (DTM) has shown.

The data encompasses over two thousand households in the states of Benue, Kaduna, Kano, Katsina, Kogi, Nasarawa, Plateau, Sokoto, Zamfara, and Niger who have been displaced by either communal clashes, terrorism, or kidnapping, among other issues.

While the reasons for the displacements vary considerably across the affected states, the report indicates that terrorism, in the form of killing and kidnapping, is the causal factor of the displacement of thousands of people in Niger State. 

The forgotten souls

The Kuta IDP camp, located in the headquarters of the Shiroro LGA, is now a sanctuary for thousands of displaced women and children from Bassa, Allawa, Manta, Gurmana, and other communities ravaged by insurgent attacks. What was initially set up as a temporary shelter has become a permanent residence for many, with no clear path to resettlement.

The displacement crisis in Shiroro LGA is as much a humanitarian tragedy as it is an economic and social disaster. Many of the displaced seeking refuge in the central primary school in Kuta lack access to basic amenities, such as food, sanitation, and medical services, which are woefully inadequate.

It was only recently that the Niger State governor, Umar Bago, revealed that plans are underway to build permanent structures in each of the affected areas and close down the temporary ones presently occupied by displaced persons. The proposed shelters will also serve as temporary homes “pending when the insurgency will end in the affected areas”.

When HumAngle visited the camp in March this year, the conditions were dire—overcrowded classrooms, insufficient food supply, and inadequate medical care. Sources revealed that they have been abandoned without any state intervention for over six months now.

The desk officer in the central camp, Yusuf Bala, revealed that when the camp was initially set up here, there was a rapid response from both the state and local government. Now, things are different.

“They sleep in classrooms. Due to the excessive heat we are experiencing, we have decongested the camp. Some are leaving the camp. We have about 734 households [women] here in this camp. We have 1,113 children, 204 men, because most of them are on the move. We are managing over 2,000 displaced persons here in this camp.

“Currently, the situation is dire. There are issues, and we no longer receive food and medical supplies. These interventions have stopped coming in. We have written to the local and state governments. Since the beginning of this year, nothing tangible has come into this camp from the state ministry of humanitarian affairs. It has always been unfulfilled promises,” he said.

Bala, who has been managing the camp since 2019, added that until recently, when the erstwhile commissioner of health visited the camp with some heart doctors from Greece to conduct checkups and brought some food items and medical supplies to support them, “interventions don’t come in regularly.” 

“As you can see, we are in fasting period, and nothing has been brought to the camp,” the desk officer said. “We only have a classroom designated as a clinic. The plain truth is we only have a mattress in it; there are no medical supplies. The personnel only attend to minor cases  and give out prescriptions to those who can afford to buy the medication.”

Ahmed Almustapha, a son of the late district head of Rumache, killed by terrorists, also confirmed that displaced widows and orphans in the camp have been abandoned. “Children are hungry, women are traumatised, and there is no end in sight to their suffering. These people feel completely abandoned,” Almustapha said.

“There are a lot of widows now taking care of their children by themselves without any support. Some have to beg to be fed. We don’t even know what the government is doing. We have lost a lot, and there is nothing that is being done about it.”

“As I speak with you now, I can’t remember when they last brought food for our people in the IDP camp here. We are appealing to the government to do the needful and come to our aid,” he noted.

Raising 12 children single-handedly

In one corner of the camp, under the shade of a classroom, sits 67-year-old Hauwa Zakari Mashuku, a grandmother who now shoulders the responsibility of raising twelve grandchildren. One of her children is among the hundreds slaughtered in numerous midnight raids in their homes.

For Hauwa, in the slightest of thoughts, this insecurity is something that wouldn’t last, but it has been eight years since she visited her community. The best she can do is to give a mental picture of how things were in the past.

“My husband and his brother were kidnapped while they were running to safety. When they attacked our village, I jumped into a river to protect my life, even though I couldn’t swim. As we speak, I have high blood pressure all from this insecurity,” she revealed.

With no source of income and limited intervention, Hauwa is overwhelmed by the burden of providing for her grandchildren. “Our businesses have collapsed. The grains we had in the village before running away have either been stolen or set ablaze. How can you have peace of mind?” she lamented.

Her grandchildren, ranging from ages three to sixteen, spend their days in hunger, scattered across the Kuta community to gather what they can, sometimes at the mercy of handouts and the pieces of firewood they gather to sell for their survival in the camp. 

For many displaced women like Hauwa, security remains a major concern, leaving them with the fear of returning to their villages as insurgents still control vast areas. Those who have summoned the courage to return are left with difficult choices: to farm and share their crops with terrorists, become informants, or pay taxes.

The displacement dilemma

“Our children and younger generation are not in schools; they are scattered in IDP camps,” Dangana Yusuf, a displaced resident of Bassa, told HumAngle. “When illiteracy is high, it can be catastrophic. We can see how it is fuelling terrorism today.”

Among the displaced are thousands of children who have been forced out of school due to the conflict. Many have witnessed unspeakable horrors—the killing of parents, the burning of their homes, and the trauma of displacement. Without education, their futures hang in the balance.

Almustapha, a displaced local and humanitarian worker, expressed his anguish over the bleak future that lies ahead. “The thought of our future is heartbreaking,” he lamented. “Once operational, schools are now shut down due to the attacks, leaving over 10,000 children in these communities without access to education. The consequences are alarming – an uneducated generation spells disaster.”

Murjanutu also stated: “It has been five years since anyone attended school in Bassa. These terrorists have put a stop to education in our community. No one is willing to risk their child going to school and getting kidnapped. Here in Kuta, we desire for our children to attend school, but we can’t even afford to feed them. How, then, can we send them to school?”

As for Salamatu Abdullahi, another displaced mother of seven who has only spent about two years in the camp, school is not an option for now as her priority remains how to feed her children, who have been forced to be breadwinners at a very tender age.

“Five of my children have headed to a mining site to get something so that we can feed ourselves. Sometimes they get lucky, sometimes they don’t. We have lots of orphans; we also have widows currently mourning their husbands. We are here in this camp without food or a form of business,” Salamatu said regretfully, noting that, “If our children are in school, how can we survive? You can’t even study properly without food in your stomach. That is why we don’t even talk about sending them to school.”

Breadwinners have been reduced to beggars. Many displaced women in Kuta were once traders, farmers, and skilled artisans. Now, they rely on handouts. Without financial aid, they cannot rebuild their lives. 

Attempts by some to start small businesses outside the camp—selling roasted corn, firewood, or sachet water—are met with challenges, including a lack of capital. 

“I left a lot behind. I had two grinding engines; they were burnt. One of my sons is a tailor; his shop was burnt down by terrorists. I sell awara [tofu]. I fry buns up to 10 measures daily. But now there’s nothing. Whenever I remember how things were and how it is now, I feel bad,” Salamatu added.

“If I can’t get some sort of support to start a business and take care of my children, I will be happy. Above all, I wish to go back home because my home is better than living here.”

For now, women like Murjanatu and Salamatu depend on meagre food rations often distributed by the few humanitarian agencies who drop by. In most cases, they rely on handouts and the petty services they render in markets. 

“I barely get ₦1,000 ($0.65) daily to take care of myself and six children; now, I don’t know where my next meal will come from,” Murja said, with her voice laced with grief.

They told HumAngle that some children in the displacement camps spread into the market in Kuta while school activities are ongoing to pick up spilt grains—rice, maize, and millet—from the pans of sellers and bring them home for their parents to sort and prepare a meal for their hungry stomachs. “When they bring it, we then pick out the stones before cooking it. We are living in bondage,” she added.

The insecurity has had devastating effects on the displaced local population, and their current situation in the Kuta IDP camp presents a plethora of challenges, especially the abandonment and lack of access to education.

“We want to go back home and take care of our children. Living in such conditions can push a child to steal or engage in prostitution. When a young girl is hungry and her parents cannot afford to feed her, she can be easily deceived to engage in immoralities just to fill up her stomach,” Murja lamented

As the sun sets over the Shiroro Dam, casting its reflection on the still waters of the Kaduna River, these women displaced by insecurity want “to go back home and live our lives as farmers.” Until then, their silent struggles may be another forgotten chapter in the annals of history.

This is the third of a three-part investigation on the human costs of the infiltration of Boko Haram elements in Niger State. Additional reporting by Ibrahim Adeyemi.