The Struggles of Borno’s Loggers Amid Deforestation and Official Extortion

He stood in the doorway, dressed in a grey, faded kaftan worn from days of labour. His left shoulder bore the weight of an axe, and on his right, a four-litre container wrapped in old clothes and filled with water. From the chest pocket of his kaftan, he pulled out some naira notes. Handing them to his wife, he asked her to buy what little they could afford—staples for their immediate needs.

“This is all we have for now,” 41-year-old Tukur Grema* murmured. The money was a fraction of the part payment he and his colleagues had received from a firewood dealer for a truckload of wood—earnings that came too infrequently and vanished even more quickly. “I am off,” he added before stepping out of the small thatch hut he shared with his wife and six children into the cold morning.

Tukur joined the small crowd of men at the Borno Firewood Sellers Association headquarters in the Goni Chariri area of Maiduguri, northeastern Nigeria. Each man bore the same weary expression, their eyes reflecting the shared burden of survival. They were all headed to the Konduga-Maiduguri forest.

At the headquarters, each man received a slip of paper —the “tally”— detailing the exact number of passengers. The driver must return with the same number of souls they set out with; it is non-negotiable.

“Before leaving, daily, we do a headcount to know the members going in a truck. With the ‘tally’, the driver must not leave anyone behind. And he must not carry anyone extra,” Zakariya, Vice Chairman of the Borno Firewood Sellers Association, told HumAngle.

Departure was strictly timed. The men would gather by 6 a.m., and the truck set off by 7 a.m. Any delay would result in drawn-out interactions at military checkpoints.

The convoy rumbled out of Maiduguri, briefly stopping at a military checkpoint in Dalwa, a boundary that marked relative safety. From there, an armed convoy would escort them. But the soldiers were not there just for protection. Tukur and his colleagues knew this too well. 

“We are often harassed by them,” he alleged.

The day would begin with the soldiers commandeering the loggers’ labour, demanding that they fill the military’s trucks before they could gather any wood for themselves. Filling it was no small task; it required hours of backbreaking work. Tukur and the others would spend nearly the entire day chopping and loading.

Once the military’s needs were met, the loggers were left with a narrow window—often no more than an hour, rarely up to three—to gather wood for their own livelihoods. 

Curfew starts by 3 p.m., so they had to be back in town. “If you did not make it to town before the curfew, you would be made to sit at the gates until late in the evening. And in some cases, you would be subjected to harassment, including flogging,” *Kaumi Malum, a young logger who sat nearby, chipped in.

Tukur nodded in agreement. “You would even be asked to go back, sit, or stand for a long time, late into the evening, or do some frog jump. They must subject you to one or two forms of discomfort. But for the fact that we do not have any profession other than logging and farming, we would have stopped going to the forest,” he added.

This daily race against time was not just about survival but a struggle against the relentless forces depleting the forest. The Konduga-Maiduguri forest bears the heavy toll of unchecked logging. The environmental impact was evident—deforestation stretched as far as the eye could see, leaving behind a barren landscape where biodiversity once thrived.

Extortion, harassment, and large-scale deforestation

The military truck appeared large, its capacity dwarfing the 1974 Isuzu and 1988 Nissan truck vehicles used by the loggers. “One of the military trucks is equivalent to four of our trucks,” Tukur noted, highlighting the sheer volume of wood extracted daily. The logs would later be transported by the soldiers back to their barracks, he narrated, revealing how too familiar it had become to the loggers.

The extortion and harassment described by loggers and truck drivers are not merely economic grievances but violations of fundamental human rights. The right to livelihood, freedom from exploitation, and personal safety are all being undermined in Borno’s conflict zones. “We are treated like criminals for trying to earn an honest living,” Tukur said.

The widespread extortion at military checkpoints not only drains the financial resources of loggers and road users but also heightens the psychological toll on these already vulnerable workers. To rebuild trust, the Nigerian Army introduced measures in 2023 to curb extortion within its ranks, aiming to foster better civil-military relations; however, the extortions persist.

Displaced from Gwoza Local Government Area of Borno State by attacks of the Boko Haram terror group in 2014, Tukur takes care of his family through logging, charcoal production, and seasonal farming. “I do not know any profession other than these,” he told HumAngle. 

Over 600 firewood trucks enter Maiduguri every day, according to recent media reports, reflecting the extent of displaced persons’ reliance on logging for survival. However, according to Maidugu Ali, the chairman of the Borno Firewood Sellers Association, about 50 Isuzu or Nissan trucks filled with firewood, majorly logged from Konduga and Kaga, enter the state capital daily. Despite efforts to curb this challenge, the relentless pace of deforestation persists, driven by the high demand for firewood and alternative livelihoods amidst conflict. 

In contrast to the loggers’ account, the Borno Firewood Sellers Association portrays a narrative of cooperation and order. Maidugu Ali, the association’s chairman, described a structured relationship with the military, where registered members, identifiable by their issued cards, operate under the watchful eye of armed escorts. 

“They [referring to Tukur] are not our members,” the chairman began, distancing the association from the claims of the loggers who spoke to HumAngle. “They are Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) who enter people’s farms to gather dry logs,” Ali accused, emphasising that the loggers “[were] forced into the profession by hunger. Our members have ID cards. The military would never extort them, nor would they harass them. And this is our headquarters.” 

“There are many people who are desperately trying to damage the good relationship between us [registered loggers] and the military who often escort us into the forest,” added Zakariya, the vice chairman. “We are recognised by the Government. It was, in fact, the government, during the Kashim Shettima administration, that gave us this piece of land,” Ali added. 

Zakariya described the association’s role in supporting military operations—clearing branches that impede movement, ensuring compliance with environmental regulations, and fostering a sense of mutual benefit.

“We majorly go logging into the Konduga-Maiduguri forest,” the vice chairman added. “Our members often tag along with the military to cut down tree branches on the highway and those obstructing military operations. They [the military] would first scan the horizon for landmines before our loggers go in for shoulder clearing. We are members of the Joint Task Force team.”

“Cases like the one described happen when there is a communication gap between the association’s leadership and its members. When the truck transporting members and logs gets spoiled, we often ask them to join other members and return to town. In situations where they are the last vehicle, they should leave the vehicle behind and immediately inform their leader, who, in turn, would inform us. We would then call and inform the military at the checkpoints. So, in situations where they fail to tell us, they are often denied entry. This would then make them claim that they were subjected to abuse,” Zakariya added.

Tukur, however, claimed to be a registered member when asked if he belonged to any association or body that could fight for his rights. “I belong to the Borno Firewood Sellers Association. Our headquarters is at Gonichariri in Maiduguri. However, the leadership of the association rarely speaks to authorities concerning these things,” he said, bringing out his registered card, wrapped in a white plastic bag, from his chest pocket.

This fear and uncertainty at checkpoints have led others to abandon the logging industry.

“It was as a result of this humiliation and level of abuse that I stopped driving wood and charcoal trucks two years ago,” 40-year-old *Maina Yerima told HumAngle. “In fact, I totally left the profession. I now make straws for huts with absolute peace of mind. I was a driver for eight years. I have travelled all of these axes and have witnessed these humiliations severally; giving some bundles of wood, bags of charcoals, money, being made to sweep, among other things.”

Yerima also showed his membership card to emphasise his affiliation with the loggers association. “I would return today if these things are stopped. We are reliant on ourselves. We are not waiting for the government to provide us with jobs. If this humiliation can stop, we will go back,” he added.

“You would be made to sweep the sides of the roads at the checkpoint before you would be allowed to pass,” *Babakaka Akura, a firewood truck driver, stated. “This is the first thing they ask you to do once you drive to the checkpoint. You would take the next 30 minutes or an hour sweeping the side of the roads within the checkpoint. This happens on a daily basis. And when you are returning by afternoon, you must drop some bunches of firewood, either 10 or 20 pieces. This, too, is on a daily basis.”

“So many loggers go into the forest daily. At least 500 loggers would go into the forest. Sometimes, we go to Benisheikh, Jakana, Mainok, Auno, Alau, and Yelwa. In all of these, however, it is only the Konduga forest that the military follows us into. For the others, when we return, we either give them some bundles of firewood or bags of charcoal. If you are returning with charcoal, the driver would drop one bag and the charcoal producer one bag. And unlike the Dalwa axis, there are several checkpoints on other roads. We must drop firewood and charcoal at each of the checkpoints,” Tukur said.

The forests that Mohammed and other loggers go into in the state are “Tamsukau around Benisheikh, Benisheikh, Jakana, Mainok, Auno, Molai, Mammanti, Monguno, Muna, Mafa, Gwoza. Each of these roads has military checkpoints. And at each, you either give money or drop some bags of charcoal or bundles of firewood.”

“Our members go into other forests, too. But, because there is no security presence in those other areas like the one in Molai, we asked them to suspend logging in other places,” said the chairman. “In the last two to three years, we have lost at least 70 members to either landmines or terrorist attacks.” 

“Being asked to fill the truck with wood or dropping some bunches of wood at the checkpoint or even bags of charcoal by the soldiers is not an issue,” Tukur said. “What we find disturbing is the abuse and harassment they subject us to, both in the forest and at the checkpoints. This is our major concern. If they can treat us with respect and as humans with dignity, we would not mind doing anything they would require of us,” Tukur lamented.

“While logging in the forest, we often encounter bombs wrapped in tree branches. This has killed many of our members. And when you are in the forest with the military, doing ‘shoulder clearing,’ you must cut down the tree branches they point to,” said Tukur. “And although I do not have personal experience, some colleagues are even asked to pack some bombs into sacks and dispose of them in a pit dug in farmland. They majorly do this to loggers and farmers passing through the Dalwa checkpoint, which is very close to Kwayangiya.”

“If you are a dealer (or merchant) who purchases in bulk, before transporting charcoal into the state capital, you must first inform the military at the Dalwa checkpoint,” Tukur stated. “You tell them the quantity of the charcoal, and then you negotiate with them. You would pay ₦500 per bag.” 

According to Tukur, after the merchant pays the money, “he would be allowed to take them into the city, even if it passed the curfew time. However, if you convey the charcoal without informing them, you would pay ₦1,000 [$0.64] per bag. This is preferable to those who would harass you or collect some parts of your items.”

“There is a particular soldier there at Molai who would confiscate your items on the slightest offence. And that is the end. You would never get them back. In fact, this particular soldier doesn’t even spare women. He is often in charge of overseeing commuters on that axis. Any commuter in that axis is very familiar with his name and abuse. He is dark in complexion. And around 5’5 tall. He could be around 35 to 40. He was said to have been sanctioned several times by Saina Buba [the Borno State Commissioner for Youth Empowerment, Sports Development, and Poverty Alleviation],” Tukur said.

Many loggers who spoke to HumAngle said military checkpoints, intended for security, have become sources of fear and exploitation. “We would sincerely appreciate it if the government could help us either talk to the military to stop subjecting us to those humiliations and abuses,” he pleaded. 

The extortion worsens the already economic strain faced by drivers and loggers; it also takes a psychological toll on them, as fear and anxiety over abuse threaten their livelihoods. Experts say such exploitation erodes trust between communities and the military, deepening insecurity among those reliant on forest resources for survival.

The far-reaching implications

The challenges faced by loggers have broader implications for Borno’s logging industry and economy. Extortion disrupts supply chains, increasing costs and reducing profitability, exacerbating poverty and stifling economic development. Furthermore, unsustainable forest exploitation undermines efforts to build an equitable logging industry that could benefit the local economy.

Military involvement in economic activities like logging raises governance and accountability concerns. As both security providers and economic actors, the military is caught in conflicts of interest that undermine civilian oversight. This dual role often leads to the exploitation of vulnerable populations, eroding trust in state institutions and perpetuating abuse and corruption. Addressing these issues requires re-evaluating the military’s economic involvement and strengthening of governance frameworks.

The complex evolution of civil-military relations in Borno reflects the challenges of balancing security needs with civilian rights and economic activities. Strengthening these relations is crucial for preventing insurgency, fostering trust, and protecting communities engaged in economic activities like logging. Effective civil-military engagement is essential in Northeast Nigeria to bridge gaps in protection and support sustainable economic practices amidst ongoing conflict.

Deforestation in Borno, intertwined with socio-political dynamics, has worsened with the Boko Haram insurgency. Displacement has forced communities to rely on forest resources, disrupting traditional agriculture and leading to unsustainable logging and firewood collection. This deforestation meets the immediate needs of displaced populations and urban demand for firewood but accelerates environmental degradation.

When asked about deforestation awareness, Tukur said, “Yes. Some NGOs and government people have spoken to us about the importance of trees, proper logging, and replanting. Since then, we have cut only branches, not entire trees, and have avoided cutting economically beneficial ones.” However, he added, “Forest Rangers have arrested us a few times, threatening to confiscate wood or charcoal unless we settle them with ₦2,500 [$1.61] to ₦4,000 [$2.57], especially on the Molai axis.”

“We are prohibited from cutting down economic trees such as tamarind, jackal berries, and desert dates,” the Borno Firewood Sellers Association chairman explained, corroborating Tukur’s account. “Additionally, we are required to plant four tree seedlings for every tree we cut as part of our afforestation efforts. Before the insurgency, I personally planted trees in areas like Damboa, Kaga, Konduga, and several other local government areas. I have been a logger for about 40 years, and unlike charcoal producers, we do not fall trees from their roots. The penalty for illegal logging is six months imprisonment,” he added.

“Every truck remits ₦500 [$0.32] daily as revenue to the government,” the chairman further disclosed.

Illegal logging and unregulated wood gathering are significant drivers of deforestation in Borno. These activities, often carried out without adherence to environmental laws or sustainable practices, result in large-scale forest depletion. The lack of oversight and enforcement enables the exploitation of forest resources at an unsustainable rate, contributing to the loss of valuable ecosystems and furthering environmental degradation. This rampant deforestation affects the immediate environment and has far-reaching consequences for the region’s climate and biodiversity.

Climate change compounds challenges in rural Borno, where deforestation and flood worsen food insecurity, affecting vulnerable populations. A comprehensive review reveals the interconnectedness of environmental degradation and the need for sustainable livelihoods in Northern Nigeria, highlighting an urgent need for intervention.

Borno is drafting stricter laws and promoting sustainable forest management to combat deforestation. The state’s appointment of a new Borno Great Green Wall Director and afforestation initiatives aim to restore ecological balance by planting thousands of trees to counter erosion and deforestation.

*Names with asterisks were changed to protect the sources.