ISWAP’s ‘Tax’ System is Bleeding Farmers Dry in Northeastern Nigeria 

Kaka Ali gripped the worn handle of his hoe with both hands, his fingers curling tightly around the smooth wood. The August sun hung low, its rays pressing with unforgiving weight. Before him stretched a two-hectare farm in Chiraa, a desolate village on the outskirts of Monguno in Nigeria’s northeast. The plot, a patchwork of millet and beans, swayed gently in the breeze.

As he bent to work, the recorded voice of Sheikh Modu Mustapha, a popular Islamic scholar in Maiduguri, filtered through the speaker of his Tecno T528 mobile phone, tucked securely in the trouser pocket of his faded kaftan. The scholar’s steady, familiar voice provided a comforting backdrop to his labour.

Despite having trekked two hours that morning to reach the farm, the 28-year-old seemed energetic. Every few minutes, he would pause, straightening his back to scan the horizon. His eyes darted between the towering stalks of millet, which had grown to waist height, making it difficult to see beyond them. His gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, searching for any sign of movement. Satisfied, he would lower himself back to work, pushing the sharp edge of the hoe into the dry soil.

It became a rhythm: dig, pull, glance up, listen. The scholar’s lecture echoed on, the words blurring into a background hum of familiarity. For a while, it was just him, the millet, and the soft crunch of soil giving way beneath his blade. His shoulders relaxed, lulled by the certainty of routine. He had done this so many times before.

Then came a faint rustle behind him. 

His body stiffened. Slowly, he rose, his heart thudding in his chest. When he turned, his breath caught in his throat. Four boys stood there, rifles slung over their narrow shoulders, their faces shadowed by caps under the harsh sun. They could not have been older than sixteen. Their military-style uniforms were too large for their small frames, their sleeves bunched at the wrists.

They said nothing. They did not have to. Their presence alone was enough to snatch the air from his lungs.

“They came on motorcycles and were fully armed,” Kaka recalled. “When I saw them, my heart almost stopped. My neighbours and I ran. We thought they would kill us that day.”

But the boys did not shoot. Instead, they pursued the fleeing farmers on their motorcycles until they surrounded them. There was no violence, no beating. The boys had come for something else.

“They came for the usual tax,” he said.

A system of extortion

The boys were tax collectors and foot soldiers of the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP), one of the world’s most brutal terror groups. Over the years, ISWAP had shifted from mindless destruction to calculated economic exploitation. Kaka knew this well. This was not their first visit.

Ahmad Salkida, Founder of HumAngle, a Security Analyst, and Investigative Journalist with over 23 years of experience in conflict and development reporting, widely regarded as one of the foremost experts on the decade-long Boko Haram insurgency in the Lake Chad region, explained that “the enforcement of taxes and jizya occurs in territories under their [terror group’s] control, where they provide specific services such as dispute courts, health care, and security, among others.”

“There is no military presence here,” Kaka said. “The ones collecting the taxes sometimes come in their numbers. Other times, it is two, five, or ten of them.”

At the start of the planting season in June, ISWAP demanded payment from every farmer wishing to cultivate the lands in Chiraa. No payment, no planting. Each farmer had to purchase a “ticket” at ₦10,000 ($6.47) per hectare. For his two hectares, Kaka paid ₦20,000 ($12.94). “You dare not start farming without paying the levy,” he said. “They are aware of every entry and exit.”

Salkida explained that ISWAP and Boko Haram implement a system of charges referred to as jizya for individuals not adhering to their brand of Islam, while those who have accepted their doctrine are required to pay taxes. “Since the age-long Islamic ruling does not specify the rate or amount to be paid, local leaders (Amirs) determine who pays and the amount to be paid depending on the person’s income,” he added.

Once payment is made, the terrorists typically issue receipts as proof. However, these receipts cannot be taken home. The terrorists strictly prohibit this, explained Kaka. Instead, the receipts are left on the farm or kept with the payer, leaving proof of payment confined to memory—fragile, unverifiable, and useless if contested.

Salkida stated, “Farmers, herders, and local traders, especially fish dealers, reported that they pay taxes and levies and receive receipts, which are quite similar to the payments made in markets and motor parks within government-controlled areas.”

He added that “people that have encountered ISWAP, once you make a payment of taxes and levies and receive a written document, you will not be asked for any further payment until the expiration date stated on the document.” 

There is another payment during harvest. For every bag of crops harvested, the terror group demanded ₦4,000 ($2.54). 

In October, Kaka had managed to gather nine bags of millet and two bags of beans. The satisfaction of a successful harvest was short-lived. He counted out ₦36,000 ($23.23) for the millet and ₦8,000 ($5.15) for the beans—a total of ₦44,000 ($28). He would have otherwise used the money to buy food for his family or prepare for the next planting season. But in these rural communities, survival had a cost.

“There are over a hundred of us farming here,” Kaka explained. Millet was the main crop, though some farmers diversified with beans, sorghum, and groundnuts. Kaka estimated that, on average, a farmer working two hectares would harvest no fewer than five bags of millet. The toll was heavier for those who farmed larger plots—some up to ten hectares. Based on rough calculations, the terrorists earned at least ₦4 million ($2,588) during planting season and another ₦4 million ($2,588)—a total of ₦8 million ($5,150.69)—from millets in Chiraa alone. The figure would be much higher if beans, groundnuts, and other crops were included.

But this extortion did not end in Chiraa. ISWAP’s control extends to surrounding villages—Borsori, Kumalia, Kosorom, Difunowa, etc.—in Monguno, where some of Ali’s friends farmed. The system is the same for them.

In some areas, the system was even more brutal. Kyari Abubakar, a 27-year-old farmer from Monguno, explained that the collection method differed slightly. “For every 10 bags of grain harvested, they take one,” he said. This October, he harvested ten bags of sorghum and eight bags of millet from his field, located about 15 kilometres from town. ISWAP took one bag of sorghum and one bag of millet. It did not matter how small his harvest was — a tenth was theirs. The math was simple and cruel: the more you worked, the more they took.

ISWAP’s extortion also stretches to Baga—a fishing community in Kukawa, a few miles from Monguno—and other communities across Northern Borno, spelling terror for farmers and fishers—they are taxed heavily.

An earlier report by HumAngle revealed that internally displaced persons (IDPs) who had returned to Kukawa paid 20 per cent of their harvest to ISWAP. In Konduga, another LGA in Borno, locals were taxed through errands and forced to supply logistics to ISWAP. The reports painted a bleak picture: return to your home, rebuild your life, and then fund the people who displaced you in the first place.

In 2022, during Nigeria’s currency redesign that disrupted cash flow nationwide, terrorists controlling territories around Lake Chad demanded that farmers and fishermen pay ‘taxes’ in CFA (Central African CFA Franc). This currency is widely used in 14 African countries, primarily former French colonies, including Cameroon, Chad, and Niger Republic — all of which share borders with Nigeria.

The fishermen in Baga paid to fish and paid to leave. The waters around Lake Chad were a source of life and livelihood, but they had become another site of extortion. Yusuf Usman, a 41-year-old fisherman, explained that access to deeper fishing waters requires payment. Terrorists charge the fishermen varying amounts, depending on canoe size and their negotiating ability. This usually ranges between ₦10,000 ($6.44) and ₦30,000 ($19.32). Upon payment, they issue receipts that serve as a one-time fishing permit. Additionally, upon their return from fishing trips, the locals are required to give a portion of their catch, either fresh or smoked fish, to the terrorists. 

Fish deaders are also extorted. Bulama Gana, a fish dealer at the Baga Road fish market in Maiduguri, stated that for every carton of smoked fish leaving the island, they pay an average of ₦2,500 ($1.61) as part of the levy. 

According to Yusuf, at least 30 canoes visit the deeper waters daily as of April. This implies that the terrorists earn an average of ₦600,000 ($386.30) daily from fishermen. 

Similarly, Bulama disclosed that at least a thousand fish traders from Maiduguri, Damaturu, and Kano visit Baga every three days. Each trader purchases an average of 100 cartons of fish, which means the terrorists earn an average of ₦250 million ($160,959.06) from fish traders during that period.

These levies significantly affect the daily lives of those subjected to them and the broader community. 

Salkida explains that “for numerous farmers, paying taxes in ISWAP or Boko Haram territories, and then encountering additional costs at each security checkpoint in government-controlled areas, along with market commissions, results in a form of double taxation. This situation not only drives up the prices of goods but also diminishes the purchasing power of potential buyers, ultimately affecting traders’ profits.”

Although the terror group’s activities are largely confined to rural areas, their economic control in these regions significantly impacts the broader security landscape. Salkida notes that the limitation of the group’s operations to rural areas has “diminished their ability to kidnap high-profile individuals for substantial ransom payments,” Consequently, he added,  “taxes have become one of their primary sources of revenue, alongside the group’s direct involvement in farming and trading through a designated trade department by the group’s leadership. These activities have established a crucial support system for these violent actors. In the absence of government authority and intervention, these groups continue to be the largest providers of labour and services, with labour in this context meaning taking up arms against the state.”

Efforts to track the exact annual revenue generated by the terror group from fishers and farmers in controlled territories across Northern Borno and the Lake Chad region through online data proved futile, as the group does not openly disclose its earnings. However, HumAngle estimates that the figure could run into several billions of naira — a sum substantial enough to account for nearly half of the ₦23.5 billion ($15.1 million) the Nigerian Army budgeted for mobile gun systems and small arms in 2024.

A 2021 report showed that the Inter-Governmental Action Group against Money Laundering in West Africa (GIABA), an ECOWAS body tasked with monitoring illicit financial flows, revealed that the terror group moved over ₦14 billion ($9 million) annually through Nigeria’s financial system, with revenue sourced from trade and taxes imposed on communities in the Lake Chad region. However, Nigeria’s Financial Intelligence Unit (NFIU) later described this figure as outdated, noting it was based on 2019 data. Separately, an earlier analysis by HumAngle indicated that the group generates millions of naira monthly by extorting fishers and red pepper farmers and traders in the Lake Chad region. This helps the group sustain its operations and fund its terrorism. Another report indicates that the group purchases weapons and fuels its operations through revenue extorted from locals, helping to sustain their brutal reign.

The cost of defiance

The consequences of defiance are brutal. “They take everything,” Kaka said. “Sometimes, they beat you too.” 

For fishermen, the stakes are even higher. If a fisherman enters ISWAP-controlled waters without a receipt, the punishment can range from being flogged to death. Yusuf recalled several incidents where fishermen were abducted, beaten, or killed. This extends to fish dealers like Bulama. If a dealer refuses to pay the fish tax, he loses his entire shipment, life, or even risks abduction.

“They kidnap people too, especially around Gajiram [Nganzai LGA of Borno],” Kaka said. “Victims are forced to pay ₦100,000 [$64.38] or more to be released. They sneak into the town to kidnap villagers away in the cover of the night.”

“We cannot defend ourselves against them,” Kaka said. “They outnumber us, and this is their territory. And even if it was not, they have weapons.” He let out a heavy sigh. “We used to defend ourselves against herders and thieves. But with the terrorists, there is no such option. We give them what they want.”

A 2023 report showed that the terror group attacked a fishing community in Kofia, a Cameroonian island bordering Lake Chad, for failing to pay ‘levies.’ Similarly, in August, the group attacked Mafa, a community in Yobe state, killing over 30 individuals for failing to pay ‘levies.’ 

ISWAP’s tax system extends beyond crops like fish and millet to livestock. Cattle herders are required to pay taxes for each head of cattle they graze. Salkida explains that “herders must relinquish a portion of their livestock based on the size of their herd as taxes to ISWAP or Boko Haram and due to the presence of multiple factions, they occasionally find themselves paying double, losing more than what they can bargain for.” This enforcement of cattle taxes has had deadly consequences. In 2023, ISWAP killed 17 locals in Kayayya, a farming and herding community in Yobe State, for failing to pay the demanded “cattle tax.”

The Nigerian military tried to counter ISWAP’s revenue stream. In 2020, the military banned fish transportation through the Maiduguri-Monguno-Baga and Maiduguri-Gamboru-Ngala routes. Security forces intercepted and destroyed fish consignments, detaining traders suspected of supporting Boko Haram.

But the blockade backfired. It pushed thousands of families into poverty, spiked fish prices, and fractured households. Many still smuggle fish to avoid starvation. And in the absence of government support, ISWAP positioned itself as a provider of security, food, and services in these communities.

Kaka’s plea was simple but urgent. “We need soldiers to patrol Chiraa and the villages around us,” he said. “And we need seeds and farming tools. This is all we have — farming is our only means to survive.”

The long-term effects on communities under ISWAP’s control, particularly regarding economic sustainability and post-conflict recovery, could be devastating. Salkida observed that “the situation continues to evolve, and communities seem to have lost their optimism. The control of areas has shifted among various violent factions and, at times, government forces.”

“Local communities desire stability and a period in which failing to pay taxes or levies does not equate to death, as is the current situation with terrorists. They favour the longstanding traditional institutions characterised by leniency, where individuals were not subjected to a climate of fear,” he added.

Salkida warned that “if no action is taken, the influx of recruits into non-state violent groups will persist, leading to worsened destabilisation in the Lake Chad and Sahel region.”

This story was supported by the Pulitzer Center as part of a series interrogating the state of democracy in some of Nigeria’s resettled communities.