Sambisa Bloodletting: When Boko Haram Turned Its Guns on ISWAP.

By George Omagbemi Sylvester | Published by SaharaWeeklyNG.com

“The Deadly Turf War That Shakes the Lake Chad Basin.”

A new and grisly chapter has opened in Nigeria’s long-running insurgency; once bitter rivals in name only, Boko Haram and the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP) have for months been fighting not merely for recruits or haulage routes, but for outright territorial control. The latest and most savage manifestation of that internecine war erupted in and around Sambisa and the islands of the Lake Chad corridor, a cascade of assaults that left scores dead, dozens of boats seized and whole communities re-traumatised. Initial field accounts and media investigations put the toll at roughly two hundred militants killed in clashes over the weekend, with Boko Haram reported to have overrun several ISWAP camps and seized key naval assets.

That figure (horrific even in a conflict long accustomed to horror) must be read in context. The Lake Chad Basin has been a theatre of not only cross-border criminality and smuggling, but also of militant adaptation: riverine skirmishes, sudden amphibious raids and the seasonal ebb and flow of civilians and fighters. For years ISWAP and what remains of Boko Haram’s Shekau-loyal factions have alternated between cooperation, coexistence and murderous rivalry. The latest operations, however, were not mere hit-and-run attacks; they were coordinated attempts to seize island strongholds that generate revenue (through fishing taxes and illicit trade) and provide safe havens from military strikes.

Why this flare-up now matters (and why it should alarm us) boils down to three brutal facts. First, when jihadi factions fight each other, civilians pay the price: reprisals, forced displacements and collective punishments typically follow. Second, the victor in a factional fight can absorb weapons, boats and fighters; materially strengthening itself for renewed attacks on towns, garrisons and humanitarian convoys. Third, infighting makes conflict dynamics less predictable and therefore harder for security forces and relief agencies to plan for or to counter. For communities around Sambisa and the Lake Chad islands, the immediate consequence is the collapse of whatever fragile protection existed and a fresh round of displacement and hunger.
UNIDIR → Building a more secure world.

On the ground, the fighting reportedly featured dozens of motorised canoes and heavily armed gunmen which is a reminder that the Lake Chad is no backwater but a strategic corridor. Reports say Boko Haram fighters swept across several ISWAP-held islands, capturing boats and weaponry and inflicting heavy casualties on ISWAP personnel. Local vigilante sources and intelligence leaks described scenes of charred camps and the frantic flight of surviving fighters toward mainland villages. If confirmed, the seizure of riverine assets is strategically significant: control of boats equals control of movement, supplies, taxation points and crucially, escape routes.

Scholars and analysts who have followed the jihadist evolution in north-east Nigeria warn that this is not a mere squabble among thugs; it is the latest phase of a long adaptive conflict. Vincent Foucher, a leading researcher on the Lake Chad jihadist landscape, captures the larger truth: “jihad in the Lake Chad Basin is here to stay.” The line is blunt, but the point is stark; these factions are resilient, they learn from one another and they exploit gaps in state capacity to regenerate. That resilience helps explain why gains against one group are often temporary and why civilian recovery remains painfully fragile.

A tactical victory for Boko Haram in Sambisa (if sustained) raises grave long-term risks. Where one faction consolidates, it does not merely defend borders: it governs, taxes and recruits. It also acquires the spoils of war, captured materiel and the bargaining chips of prisoners and local informants. ISWAP, by contrast, has built an internationalised technical edge in recent years, claiming sophisticated propaganda, reportedly better coordination with transnational ISIS networks and more disciplined battlefield practices. The competition between a predatory, territorially assertive Boko Haram and a bureaucratised, outward-looking ISWAP is not abstract: it shapes attack profiles, civilian targeting and the geography of violence.

What should the Nigerian state and regional partners do? First, stabilisation requires not only kinetic pressure but also rapid civilian protection and humanitarian access. Too often, military wins are undone by the absence of safe returns, reconstruction and meaningful local security arrangements. Second, the region needs sharper, coordinated intelligence (maritime and riverine surveillance in particular) to prevent future seizures of boats and to protect displaced fishing communities. Third, long-term deradicalisation and socio-economic investment in affected communities remain essential; without economic alternatives and credible local governance, the vacuum will be filled again. These are not novel prescriptions, but the Sambisa incidents make them urgent once more.

There is a cautionary counterpoint, too: factional fighting does not automatically benefit the state. When insurgents bleed each other, they can also become more ruthless or more opportunistic; consolidating areas where they can operate freely, or launching terror attacks to signal continued potency. The 2016 schism that birthed ISWAP taught analysts that fragmentation can produce new, more adaptive organisations rather than a longed-for weakening. That lesson is especially important for policymakers tempted to celebrate intra-militant carnage as a win.

For the ordinary people of Sambisa and the Lake Chad littoral, the technical arguments about strategy are cold comfort. Families who returned to their farms after government assurances now find themselves running again; fishermen who paid protection to one group discover their boats confiscated by another. Humanitarian agencies warn that renewed violence will reverse months of fragile progress: food stocks will run low, clinics will close and education (already the first casualty of this insurgency) will be postponed indefinitely. The indirect death toll from hunger, disease and interrupted health care will be the slow, shameful shadow of this weekend’s headlines.

Finally, the Sambisa clashes are a reminder that Nigeria’s security challenge is not merely military but political. Long-term peace will not be won by force alone. It requires the restoration of state legitimacy, accountable local governance, economic opportunity and regional cooperation across Nigeria, Chad, Niger and Cameroon. Until those building blocks are in place, the islands of Lake Chad will remain prize and prey in equal measure and Sambisa will keep teaching the same brutal lesson: in a failed security market, violence simply repackages itself. As Vincent Foucher warns, the jihadist presence here is unlikely to vanish quietly; the only question is whether a savage contest for spoils will give way to yet another calibrated threat to civilians and statehood.

—
Reported and written by George Omagbemi Sylvester for SaharaWeeklyNG.com

ThisDay Publisher, Nduka Obaigbena, To Unveil Leekeeleekee January 2026

Nduka Obaigbena, the media guru and successful entrepreneur has just announced the forthcoming launch of Lekeelekee. This initiative is already gathering applause from various media stakeholders across the country.

Lekeelekee is a new media platform set for January, 2026.

Obaigbena has also made a Clarion call for massive support for reforms to sustain economic growth in Nigeria.

The platform is designed to challenge the dominance of US and Chinese companies in global content distribution and give Nigeria a stronger voice in the global media space.

The announcement was made during Nduka Obaigbena’s speech at the 21st All Nigeria Editors Conference (ANEC) 2025, held at the Presidential Villa in Abuja today.

REJOINDER: THE ARROGANCE OF POWER AND THE DIGNITY OF THE UNIFORM: A RESPONSE TO ANNGU ORNGU

The treatise by Mr. Anngu Orngu, while cloaked in the elegant language of constitutionalism, is a dangerous apologia for executive impunity and a gross misrepresentation of the relationship between civil authority and military professionalism. By attempting to justify Minister Nyesom Wike’s public humiliation of a serving military officer, Orngu not only misses the point but actively undermines the very constitutional order he claims to defend. It is a profound irony that a man who presents himself as a defender of the law demonstrates such a flawed understanding of its spirit and letter.

Let us be clear: the issue is not the Minister’s constitutional authority to supervise projects within his portfolio. The issue is the manner in which he chose to exercise that authority—a manner that was abusive, unconstitutional, and corrosive to national discipline.

1. The Fatal Flaw: Confusing Authority with Absolutism

Mr. Orngu, whom one can only assume is a pocket constitutional lawyer serving a narrow agenda, correctly cites Sections 5 and 148 of the Constitution. However, he commits a grave error by interpreting this as a grant of absolute, unaccountable power. Nowhere in the Constitution is a Minister granted the power to:

· Use insulting and abusive language against any citizen, let alone a commissioned officer of the Armed Forces.
· Threaten the use of violence against a state official.
· Publicly humiliate and demoralise an officer who was, by all accounts, performing his lawful duty.

The Minister’s power is derived from the Constitution and must be exercised within its bounds and in accordance with public service rules and decorum. Orngu’s argument, taken to its logical conclusion, would mean that a Minister could engage in any manner of misconduct, and it must be tolerated because he acts as an “extension of the President.” This is a recipe for tyranny, not democratic governance.

2. The Commissioned Officer: A Bearer of Sovereign Authority

Mr. Orngu’s most profound ignorance is exposed in his failure to understand the constitutional and legal status of a Presidential Commissioned Officer.

A commissioned officer does not receive his commission from a Minister. He receives it from the President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, symbolised by the handover of the Nigerian Flag. His oaths of Allegiance and Office are sworn to the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Nigeria, not to the ego of a Minister.

The officer at the scene was not a personal employee of Mr. Wike; he was a representative of the state’s coercive authority, performing a duty as assigned by the military chain of command. To reduce this sacred sovereign trust to a mere subservience to ministerial whim is an insult to the institution of the Nigerian Armed Forces. The officer’s duty is to obey lawful orders, not to endure public degradation. Even I, Pastor Musa Mai-Anguwa, a man of the cloth, understand this fundamental distinction between lawful authority and sheer impunity—a distinction that seems to elude a purported legal mind like Mr. Orngu.

3. The Established Protocol: The Path Mr. Wike Chose to Ignore

A true respect for constitutional order involves respecting the established institutions and channels of authority. If Minister Wike had a grievance with the officer’s conduct, the constitutional and professional path was clear and unambiguous:

1. He could have noted the officer’s name and unit.
2. He could have immediately contacted the Chief of Defence Staff or the relevant Service Chief.
3. He could have lodged a formal complaint through the Ministry of Defence to the military high command.

The military, governed by the stringent Armed Forces Act, has its own robust disciplinary procedures to address insubordination or misconduct. By bypassing this entire structure in favour of a public spectacle, Minister Wike did not assert constitutional authority; he displayed sheer arrogance and a blatant disregard for institutional protocols. He chose to be a bully instead of a leader.

4. The Real Threat to National Security

Orngu accuses Lt. Gen. Buratai of being “dangerously uninformed,” but the true danger lies in his own justification of impunity. The real threat to national security is not a junior officer standing his ground, but a Minister who:

· Demoralizes the armed forces by publicly stripping an officer of his dignity.
· Creates a climate of fear where officers may hesitate in their duties, uncertain whether professional decisions will lead to public shaming by a political appointee.
· Erodes the morale and esprit de corps that are the bedrock of an effective military.

An army that is taught to silently endure abuse from civil authorities is not a professional army; it is a servile one, and a servile army is a danger to democracy itself.

Conclusion: Defending the Constitution Means Defending Decorum

Mr. Orngu’s essay is a classic case of using the law as a shield for misconduct. He defends the source of power while ignoring the abuse of that power. The Constitution was designed to prevent the concentration and abuse of power, not to facilitate it.

It is a sad commentary that a Pastor like myself, whose duty is to preach righteousness and justice, must school a self-styled constitutionalist on the basic principles of decency and lawful conduct embedded in our national charter. Minister Wike’s actions were a disgraceful display of arrogance that would be unacceptable in any mature democracy. To support it, as Mr. Orngu does, is to endorse a culture of impunity that weakens our institutions, demoralizes our armed forces, and ultimately, undermines the Nigerian state.

The officer in question deserves commendation for his restraint, not condemnation. And those who, like Orngu, preach a blind obedience to abusive power should be reminded that the Constitution is a charter for decent governance, not a license for tyranny.

Signed,

Pastor Musa Mai-Anguwa
Abuja, Nigeria.