Nigeria 2027: 18 Presidential Candidates, but the Real Contest Is for the States and Votes
Nigeria’s 2027 presidential contest has entered a more defined phase following the publication of INEC’s final candidate list.
Eighteen candidates are in the presidential field, including President Bola Tinubu, Atiku Abubakar, Peter Obi and Oyo State Governor Seyi Makinde. But the clearer candidate list does not necessarily make the eventual political contest easier to understand.
The latest edition of The 2027 Race, hosted by Rimamnde Shawulu Kwewum on Ndeya Live, examines what lies beneath the personalities and campaign headlines.
One issue is the relationship among opposition candidates. Obi appeared at the unveiling of Makinde’s presidential campaign office despite being a presidential candidate himself. The appearance demonstrated a degree of political cooperation but should not be confused with an endorsement.
The programme also examines an incident involving Obi’s convoy during a visit to Benue State. His convoy was obstructed, police subsequently reported arrests, and competing claims emerged over responsibility. With those claims disputed, the wider issue is campaign access and whether candidates can travel and organise freely across the country.
Attention also turns to the North-West, where governorship campaigns, insecurity and party structures could have consequences for the presidential contest. The region illustrates why national elections cannot be understood solely through national opinion: electoral outcomes are ultimately assembled state by state and polling unit by polling unit.
The ruling APC enters this stage with the institutional and organisational advantages associated with incumbency. Political supporters have announced ambitious mobilisation targets for President Tinubu, but such pledges remain political targets rather than verified votes.
Policy differences are also beginning to emerge. The programme examines Peter Obi’s stated position on maintaining a market-determined exchange-rate framework while seeking policies intended to strengthen productivity and the naira.
As the election approaches, The 2027 Race argues for attention to measurable indicators: party organisation, electoral geography, security, turnout and actual voting behaviour rather than rally crowds or social-media popularity.
For Nigerians at home and abroad—and international observers following Africa’s largest democracy—the coming months will increasingly test not merely who can attract attention, but who can build the geographic and organisational coalition necessary to compete nationally.
A new documentary series from Ndeya Live opens with the question Nigeria has avoided for over a century: what do you call the land between the north and the south?
By Rimamnde Shawulu | The Middle Belt Files, Episode 1
There is a region of Nigeria that does not appear on any government map, has no official boundary, and is home to somewhere between 45 and 60 million people — yet most Nigerians, and nearly all outside observers, could not tell you where it begins or ends. It is called the Middle Belt, and it is the subject of “The Middle Belt Files,” a new ten-episode documentary series from Ndeya Live that launches with a foundational question: what, exactly, is this place?
The federal government’s answer is administrative and narrow. It calls the area the North-Central zone, bundling Benue, Plateau, Nassarawa, Kogi, Niger, Kwara and the Federal Capital Territory into a single bureaucratic category. But Episode 1 argues that the Middle Belt as its own people understand it is far larger — stretching into Southern Borno, Southern Bauchi, Southern Kebbi, and parts of Taraba, Adamawa and Southern Kaduna, where the language, crops and culture shift away from their surrounding “official” zones entirely.
Drawn honestly, the numbers are striking: over 250 distinct ethnic groups and more than 230 languages — nearly half of every language spoken in Nigeria — packed into one stretch of territory. Benue State alone is home to more than five million Tiv people, one of the region’s largest single ethnic groups. Plateau State’s Jos Plateau, rising over 1,000 metres, shelters the Berom, Tarok, Mwaghavul, Angas and Sura. And in a detail most Nigerians have never been taught: the Gbagyi people, the original inhabitants of the land beneath Abuja, are themselves a Middle Belt community — meaning the seat of Nigeria’s federal government sits on Middle Belt soil.
NOT A CHRISTIAN BLOC, NOT A MUSLIM BLOC
One of the episode’s central corrections is religious. International coverage of the region routinely flattens it into a Muslim-north-versus-Christian-south story. The reality, the episode argues, is a mosaic: Christianity dominant in Plateau and Benue through the legacy of early-20th-century missions like the Sudan Interior Mission; Islam dominant among the Nupe of Niger State and the Ebira of Kogi; a Muslim-majority north and more mixed south within Kwara State itself; and indigenous traditional religions practiced throughout, often woven into Christian or Muslim life simultaneously — a pattern the episode calls religious syncretism.
That complexity matters for understanding the violence that later episodes will document in detail. Muslim Nupe communities have not been attacked in the pattern that Christian Berom communities have; the geography of attacks tracks ethnic land boundaries, the episode argues, not religious ones.
A FRONTIER THAT WAS NEVER CONQUERED
The history laid out is unsparing. In 1804, Usman dan Fodio’s Sokoto Jihad built an Islamic caliphate across the far north — but Middle Belt communities like the Tiv, Berom and Jukun were never fully absorbed, becoming instead what historians call a “raiding frontier”: enslaved and taxed, but never conquered. Then, in 1914, British colonial administrators amalgamated northern and southern Nigeria into one country and placed Middle Belt peoples under northern governance — a decision the episode calls “one of the most consequential errors in Nigerian history.” By the 1950s, Tiv politician Joseph Tarka and the United Middle Belt Congress were demanding separate political recognition, a demand the episode says was “partially heard” through state creation but “never fully answered.” From 2011 onward, long-simmering local disputes escalated into mass violence — by 2018, the episode notes, more people were dying annually in the Middle Belt than in the entire Boko Haram insurgency in the northeast. The world noticed one. It largely ignored the other.
THE CONFLICTS NO ONE TALKS ABOUT
Perhaps the most striking section of the episode is its refusal to romanticize the region. The Middle Belt, it insists, has a documented history of violent conflict within itself — not just from external attackers. The Tiv and the Jukun fought bloody clashes in Taraba through the 1990s and 2000s over farmland along the Benue River. The 2001 Jos crisis, which killed more than a thousand people, began not over cattle but over a disputed local government appointment. The 1992 Zangon-Kataf crisis in Southern Kaduna, rooted in land ownership and the contested legal status of “indigene” versus “settler,” left hundreds dead in days. The Tiv and the Igede, the Ngas and the Mwaghavul — neighboring communities with their own unresolved land and water disputes — round out a picture the episode summarizes bluntly: “The Middle Belt cannot be romanticised into unity.”
CLAIMED BY THE NORTH, IGNORED BY THE SOUTH
The episode closes by examining how the rest of Nigeria sees — or fails to see — the region. Southern Nigerians, it argues, oscillate between three misreadings: treating Middle Belt Christians as political allies on religious grounds alone, dismissing the violence as “a northern problem,” or suggesting the region simply join the south — missing that Middle Belt identity is defined by refusing absorption into either bloc. Northern political structures, meanwhile, have long folded the region into a “One North” coalition that Middle Belt leaders say delivers demographic weight without real power-sharing, while staying conspicuously silent when Fulani-affiliated armed groups are implicated in attacks. The result, the episode argues, is a region “made politically invisible by the very people whose recognition it needs” — most visibly when hundreds were killed on Christmas night 2023 and national coverage moved on within a week.
Episode 1 sets up the rest of the series with a promise: the numbers behind that silence, and the question of who is actually dying and why, come next. But even on its own, the episode reframes a region most viewers have never had properly explained — its people, its faiths, its buried conflicts, and the century of political decisions that made it invisible.
WATCH THE FULL EPISODE
See the maps, the archival history of the 1804 jihad and 1914 amalgamation, and the voices explaining what it actually means to be asked, your whole life, “are you northern or southern?”
Can Nigeria’s opposition unite behind one presidential candidate against Bola Tinubu in 2027—or will competing ambitions and policy differences keep Atiku Abubakar, Peter Obi, Seyi Makinde and other challengers apart?
#Nigeria2027Election#G100Coalition#NigeriaElectionWatch#ElectoralGeography#OppositionPolitics#RoadTo2027
In this edition of The 2027 Race, hosted by Rimamnde Shawulu Kwewum, we examine the G100 talks involving six opposition parties and separate the political headlines from what has actually changed in Nigeria’s race for the presidency.
Representatives of the ADC, APM, NDC, PDP, PRP and SDP have opened structured discussions on opposition cooperation. Five working groups are expected to develop a framework for unity. But no common presidential candidate has been selected.
That leaves the central question unresolved: if the opposition agrees to unite, who steps aside?
The programme also examines an important policy divide. Atiku has argued for restoring a targeted petrol subsidy, while Peter Obi opposes restoring the subsidy while criticising the government’s handling of its removal. Can politicians form a credible coalition without first agreeing on what they would do in government?
We also follow Peter Obi’s movement through Kogi, Benue and Enugu and ask whether the North-Central could become a major expansion battleground for his 2027 campaign.
Our Forgotten Story examines the South-East participation question following Ifeanyi Ejiofor’s call for residents to reject an election boycott. The issue matters because electoral strength depends not only on political preference, but on who actually turns out to vote.
And our Number of the Week is FOUR: INEC is preparing September 19 bye-elections in Gombe, Bauchi, Delta and Kano. These contests will not predict the presidential election, but they can provide useful evidence about party organisation, voter mobilisation, polling agents, security and election administration.
For Nigerians at home, the diaspora and international observers, The 2027 Race follows the politics, electoral geography, numbers and state-level developments shaping Africa’s largest democracy.
Subscribe to Ndeya Live and turn on notifications for the next edition of The 2027 Race with Rimamnde Shawulu.
The Politics. The Numbers. The States. The Road to Power.
Boko Haram and ISWAP are not the same organisation—and they have operated as distinct, frequently hostile insurgent factions since their violent split in 2016.
Understanding the difference between Jama’atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda’awati wal-Jihad, or JAS, commonly associated with the Boko Haram name, and Islamic State West Africa Province, ISWAP, is essential to understanding why Nigeria’s northeastern insurgency has survived for more than fifteen years.
In this episode of Ndeya Live, Rimamnde Shawulu examines the origins of the split, the ideological dispute that drove it and the continuing struggle for fighters, territory and influence across Borno State, the Sambisa Forest and the Lake Chad Basin.
The division became public in August 2016, when the Islamic State announced Abu Musab al-Barnawi as the leader of its West Africa Province, effectively removing Abubakar Shekau. Shekau rejected the decision and released his own response, setting the stage for years of rivalry and bloodshed.
At the heart of their disagreement was takfir—the practice of declaring other Muslims unbelievers—and the treatment of Muslim civilians. ISWAP criticised Shekau’s indiscriminate violence against Muslim communities. It attempted to distinguish itself by concentrating attacks on military and government targets, imposing taxation and cultivating relationships with some communities. That approach, however, did not make ISWAP less dangerous: it has carried out killings, abductions, coercion and attacks on civilians and security forces.
This episode explains:
→ Why the Islamic State removed Shekau and backed al-Barnawi in 2016
→ How takfir and attacks on Muslim civilians drove the ideological rupture
→ The differences between JAS and ISWAP leadership and command structures
→ How both factions recruit, govern territory and interact with civilians
→ Why reconciliation efforts—including Bakura Doro’s overture to ISWAP—failed
→ How Shekau died during an ISWAP assault in May 2021
→ Why Shekau’s death weakened JAS but did not destroy it
→ How Bakura Doro helped rebuild the JAS faction around Lake Chad
→ What recent evidence of rivalry, negotiations and limited tactical accommodation means
→ What expanded Nigeria–United States operations against Islamic State-linked networks reveal about the changing conflict
The history is not simply a story of one terrorist organisation breaking into two. It is a struggle over religious doctrine, civilian populations, territory, taxation, smuggling routes, military strategy and control of the wider Lake Chad insurgency.
JAS and ISWAP have repeatedly fought each other, causing significant losses on both sides. At other moments, battlefield pressures and shared enemies have reportedly produced negotiations, temporary restraint or limited tactical accommodation. These shifting relationships make the conflict harder for governments and civilians to navigate.
Watch this Ndeya Live analysis for a clear, factual account of the Boko Haram–ISWAP split, the death of Abubakar Shekau, the rise of Abu Musab al-Barnawi and Bakura Doro, and the future of Nigeria’s counterterrorism campaign.
Subscribe to Ndeya Live for factual reporting and deeper analysis of Nigerian politics, security and the forces shaping the country beyond the headlines.
SOURCES AND FURTHER READING:
• International Crisis Group, “JAS vs. ISWAP: The War of the Boko Haram Splinters,” Briefing No. 196
• Institute for Security Studies analysis by Taiwo Adebayo
• The Soufan Center
• Jamestown Foundation analysis of JAS leadership after Shekau
• ACLED conflict methodology and event data
• HumAngle, “The Making and Unmaking of Abubakar Shekau”
• Statements and recordings from Abu Musab al-Barnawi and Abubakar Shekau, August 2016
• Contemporary reporting on Nigeria–United States counterterrorism operations
The 2027 general elections are not two years away. They are already happening — in registration offices, party caucuses, and security briefings that never make the front page. In Episode 01 of The 2027 Race, Ndeya Live tracks: → The APC’s northern base problem — and what 36.6% actually means → Nigeria’s 4.2 million displaced voters and the registration gap INEC has no framework to fix → Why the FCT is no longer a safe seat for anyone → The number — 18.5 million — that has quietly redrawn Nigeria’s electoral map New episode every week. Subscribe so you don’t miss it.
On August 21, 2026, Lakurawa-linked fighters stormed mosques
in Borgu, Niger State during Friday prayers — abducting more
than 60 worshippers and posting a video of the captives online.
Most Nigerians still don’t know who Lakurawa is. This video
changes that.
This video also covers the arrival of JNIM — Al-Qaeda’s Sahel
affiliate — which claimed its first attack on Nigerian soil in
October 2025, killing a soldier in Kwara State. With the Islamic
State operating through Lakurawa and ISWAP, and Al-Qaeda now
present through JNIM, Nigeria faces two competing global jihadist
franchises in the same border zone simultaneously — a situation
with no precedent in the country’s security history.
Ndeya Live traces the full story: how Lakurawa entered Nigeria
from Mali in 2017 as a vigilante force, became an Islamic State
affiliate, survived a US airstrike on Christmas Day 2025, killed
162 people in Kwara State in February 2026, and is now operating
in Niger State — 400 kilometres south of where it started.
We also ask the questions the mainstream conversation is
avoiding: Is Nigeria’s northwest becoming a new northeast?
Who actually carried out the Borgu attacks? And what does
Lakurawa’s expansion mean for the 2027 elections?
SOURCES:
Institute for Security Studies (ISS Africa) — February 2026
The Soufan Center IntelBrief — February 2026
West Africa Maps security analysis — February 2026
Wikipedia: Lakurawa, 2026 Kwara State attacks
Daily Nigerian — Dr Hussaini Abdu analysis, August 2026
Daily Trust / Vanguard — Borgu mosque attacks, August 2026
Leadership Nigeria — Borgu attack report, August 2026
Nigeria’s security picture this week is defined by mass killings, mass abductions, rapid-response rescues and renewed pressure along the country’s northern border corridors.
Nigeria: In Plateau State, at least 25 people were reported killed in an overnight attack in the Mangu area, with women and children among the victims. The Plateau State Government confirmed the attack, while police promised arrests and intensified patrols.
In Niger State, armed men surrounded worshippers during Friday prayers in the Borgu area and abducted an estimated 60 to 80 people, according to residents and local officials. Police confirmed the mass abduction but did not publish a figure.
Kaduna produced a dramatically different outcome. Police said all 75 travellers abducted near Birnin Gwari were rescued after intelligence from road transport workers helped security teams locate the forest hideout where the captives were held.
In Katsina and Zamfara, intelligence-led operations also disrupted kidnapping attempts and freed captives. Yet the wider pattern remains disturbing: mass kidnapping continues to operate as a strategic weapon across vulnerable rural communities, highways and forest corridors.
In Borno State, insurgents again tested a forward military position with a two-wave assault. The base remained under government control. Separate military reporting said intelligence-led air strikes around the Adwa axis and Buratai area killed about 36 suspected terrorists, although that battle-damage assessment was not independently verified.
Kwara also recorded fresh high-profile kidnappings, including the abduction of a traditional ruler, reinforcing concern about worsening insecurity across parts of Kwara South.
Africa/Sahel: In Niger Republic, armed attackers reportedly overran a gendarmerie post in the Dosso region, with reports putting security-force fatalities above 15. In Mali, military operations targeted armed groups and militant concentrations. The wider concern for Nigeria is the increasingly connected Sokoto–Kebbi–Niger–Benin security corridor.
World: This edition contains no separate global incident segment; its international focus is the Sahel and its direct security implications for Nigeria.
The report also returns to unresolved hostage cases in Borno, warning that successful rescues should not obscure children and other victims who remain missing.
The central question is whether faster intelligence, stronger rural policing and sustained cross-border coordination can outpace armed groups that continue to adapt.
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As Nigeria moves towards the 2027 presidential election, the controversial Muslim-Muslim ticket has returned to the centre of national debate, raising questions about religion, political representation, security and the future of Africa’s largest democracy.
In a new episode of The Other Side, hosted by Rimamnde Shawulu, the programme examines the renewed controversy following comments by prominent Islamic cleric Sheikh Sani Yahaya Jingir, who backed the continuation of a Muslim-Muslim presidential ticket and urged Muslims to mobilise politically.
The intervention raises a fundamental question: Should Nigeria’s 2027 election become a contest over which religion has greater numerical strength—or should voters judge candidates primarily by competence, security, justice and performance?
The programme examines what the Nigerian Constitution says about religion and presidential tickets. While the Constitution prohibits the adoption of a state religion and protects citizens against religious discrimination, it does not require political parties to pair a Muslim presidential candidate with a Christian—or vice versa. A same-faith ticket is therefore not, by itself, unconstitutional.
But Nigeria’s history makes the political question considerably more complicated.
The episode revisits MKO Abiola and Babagana Kingibe’s Muslim-Muslim ticket in the June 12, 1993 election and asks why that combination attracted substantial support across regional and religious boundaries.
It then contrasts 1993 with contemporary Nigeria: the Sharia controversies, Boko Haram and ISWAP insurgencies, attacks on communities, banditry, displacement and growing distrust between sections of the population.
Shawulu also interrogates a politically powerful claim: Are Muslims actually more numerous than Christians in Nigeria? Nigeria’s modern censuses have not provided a definitive religious headcount, while available surveys and demographic estimates produce differing results.
The programme argues that the more consequential test of the Tinubu-Shettima administration should ultimately be governance: Is Nigeria safer? Are appointments fair? Are institutions impartial? Is the economy delivering opportunity? Can citizens trust the state regardless of their religion?
Watch The Other Side with Rimamnde Shawulu for the full analysis.
What should determine Nigeria’s choice in 2027—faith, representation, competence or performance?
🔔 Subscribe to The Other Side for weekly evidence-based analysis of Nigeria’s politics, governance, security and democracy.
Nigeria’s relationship with religion is complicated enough without introducing billions of naira in public money. Yet an examination of detailed projects in the 2023 and 2024 federal appropriation schedules raises precisely that question.
Our review identified approximately ₦54.10 billion in provisions connected directly or indirectly with religious institutions, religious education, pilgrimage and religion-linked infrastructure.
Approximately ₦34.93 billion was classified as Islam-related, while ₦12.76 billion was Christianity-related. About ₦915.7 million was interfaith and another ₦5.50 billion could not confidently be classified.
In percentage terms, approximately 64.6 per cent of the quantified total was Islam-related compared with 23.6 per cent Christianity-related.
These numbers will inevitably attract political interpretations. They must therefore be handled carefully.
They do not establish that ₦54.1 billion was actually spent. An appropriation authorises expenditure; it does not prove release, procurement, execution or completion.
Nor does the imbalance automatically prove that the Nigerian government deliberately favours Muslims.
It does, however, create a legitimate transparency problem.
The largest concentration of Islam-related provisions involves Islamic, Arabic and Qur’anic education. This distinction matters because not every religiously affiliated school exists solely to teach religion. Many provide conventional education alongside religious instruction. The same applies to numerous Christian mission schools.
Public financing of a classroom serving children from different backgrounds is therefore not necessarily equivalent to using public funds to construct a sanctuary or mosque.
Nigeria needs a policy capable of distinguishing the two.
A second issue concerns the National Assembly.
Many projects in the appropriation schedules bear the unmistakable characteristics of constituency intervention: senatorial districts, federal constituencies, particular communities and named institutions.
But the final appropriation document frequently does not identify the legislator responsible for proposing the project.
That is no longer good enough.
Every legislative insertion should carry the name of its sponsor, the beneficiary, location and justification. Religious projects should additionally be subjected to a public-purpose test.
Who owns the completed facility? Can citizens of different faiths use it? Is it essentially educational, medical or infrastructural, or is its principal purpose devotional?
A third problem is the implementing agency.
Our review found religion-connected projects assigned to agencies whose apparent statutory functions are far removed from the project. One Methodist school-related project, for example, appeared under the Industrial Arbitration Panel, while materials for a Christian school appeared under an institution principally associated with mining and geosciences.
There may be administrative explanations, but such mismatches demand scrutiny.
An agency should not become merely an accounting vehicle through which a constituency project enters the federal procurement system. It must have both the legal mandate and technical ability to deliver the project.
There is also the unavoidable question of opportunity cost.
Nigeria faces huge deficits in basic education, primary healthcare, water, security and infrastructure. Every billion naira has alternatives.
The argument is not that every religion-related allocation should automatically be redirected elsewhere. But taxpayers are entitled to know why a project serving a particular religious institution has taken precedence over competing public needs.
Nigeria’s Constitution provides an important starting point. Section 10 states that neither the Federal Government nor a state shall adopt any religion as a state religion.
That does not mean government can never interact with religious bodies. Religious organisations operate schools, hospitals and humanitarian services that can serve a broad public interest.
The real challenge is establishing the dividing line between supporting a public service delivered through a religious institution and using taxpayers’ money to subsidise religious practice itself.
Nigeria therefore needs a religion-neutral framework for federal appropriations.
Every insertion should disclose its sponsor. The beneficiary should be publicly identified. The implementing MDA should demonstrate jurisdiction and technical competence. Projects that primarily benefit religious organisations should satisfy a documented public-interest test. Releases and implementation should be published.
And where financing is explicitly devotional, government should have to explain why taxpayers rather than congregations are bearing the cost.
The ₦34.93 billion versus ₦12.76 billion disparity deserves examination. But the ultimate question should not be whether Christians can secure as many budget projects as Muslims.
That could simply turn public finance into a religious arms race.
The more important question is whether a constitutionally plural state should be financing explicitly religious activities at all — and, where public funding is legitimate, what transparent rules guarantee fairness, accountability and value for money.
When religion enters the budget without clear rules, the argument stops being merely about faith.
It becomes a question of power, public money and equal citizenship.
As banditry, kidnapping and insurgency spread across Nigeria, some traumatised communities are turning to charms, ritual fortification, magic and ancestral spirits for protection. This response deserves neither ridicule nor romanticisation. It should be understood as evidence of fear—and of the widening failure of the state to protect its citizens.
Traditional hunters and vigilantes in different parts of Nigeria have long used amulets, incantations and protective rituals. Some undergo ceremonies described as being “cooked,” believing that the process can protect them against bullets and blades.
These practices are documented, although their prevalence cannot be measured reliably. Reuters photographed anti-Boko Haram hunters displaying charms in Maiduguri in 2014. Researchers have also recorded the use of protective amulets among vigilantes in Lagos, while groups such as the Bakassi Boys became associated with “odeshi”—the claimed power to resist bullets and other weapons.
Such beliefs may strengthen courage, discipline, solidarity and psychological confidence. In communities where official security forces are absent or distrusted, spiritual rituals may also legitimise local defenders and reassure frightened residents.
However, there is no credible evidence that charms make the human body bulletproof. The danger arises when psychological confidence becomes tactical recklessness. Poorly armed volunteers who believe they cannot be killed may confront bandits and insurgents equipped with assault rifles, machine guns and superior communications. The result can be avoidable deaths.
History offers similar warnings. During the Anglo-Aro War, the Satiru uprising and the Maji Maji rebellion in German East Africa, spiritual authority helped mobilise resistance against colonial domination. Communities fought with extraordinary courage, but belief could not overcome machine guns, military logistics and organised firepower.
This does not suggest that colonialism was morally superior. Colonial conquest was frequently violent, exploitative and brutal. The lesson is narrower: courage and spiritual conviction cannot replace intelligence, training, equipment, communications and disciplined organisation.
Colonial victories also weakened some traditional religious institutions and created greater space for Christian missions, schools and Western education. Yet indigenous ideas about spiritual power did not disappear. They survived, adapted and influenced aspects of contemporary African Christianity, including teachings about spiritual warfare, curses, deliverance and supernatural protection.
The real issue, therefore, is not simply why communities believe in charms. Nigeria should ask why so many citizens have been left unprotected that supernatural intervention appears to be their remaining defence.
Traditional hunters and community vigilantes can contribute local knowledge and early warning. But they require proper training, protective equipment, lawful supervision and coordination with professional security agencies.
Nigeria must not leave frightened communities to confront modern weapons with ancient promises. Faith may inspire courage, but only an effective and accountable security system can provide sustainable protection.
