Lost Homes, No Aid: The Forgotten IDPs Uprooted by Terrorists in North Central Nigeria 

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.