The boys who swapped football for bullets

How Boko Haram bred a generation of kids as gunfighters.

The thing about a gun: it's easy for a child to get trapped in the sickle curve of its blind
trigger. Yakubu, 10, is a testament. Since he learned to squeeze his first trigger, he’s
been enamoured with the gun. His weapon of choice, the Russian Kalashnikov, AK-
47 rifle. It didn’t matter that it was the deadliest gun in the world. He was only too
ecstatic to wield it.
Armed with the gun, he hushed boys to sleep with bullets in Sambisa. He shot hot
lead into their parents in Baga. He watched blood drip through their perforated
innards to soak the bleached sands of Kalabalge. He abducted peasant girls and
housewives too. The 10-year-old dispersed corpses into Borno’s scorched earth. But
he “did it all to survive.”
“If I didn’t do those things, they would have killed me,” he said, explaining his ordeal
as a former captive and combatant of the Boko Haram (BH) terrorist group. Now 16,
Yakubu regrets his membership in Boko Haram.
His life would probably pan out differently had he escaped the clutches of the
insurgents, when they laid siege to his village, in Gwoza, in July 2016. That sad
incident put paid to his childhood and his dreams of attaining soccer renown.
Growing up, Yakubu dreamed of playing professional soccer. He yearned to play for
El Kanemi Warriors of Borno, and afterward, English Premiership’s Chelsea FC. He
clung to his dreams even when quick with monsters.
At school and on the sandy pitches of Gwoza, he was fondly admired as a ‘standing
10,’ a skillful midfielder, who teased the passion and shrieks of many a soccer lover
by his aplomb.
The future seemed rosy, gilt-edged, until the sad incidence of his abduction. On that
fateful day, the boy died in Yakubu, and so did his spunk and promise as a soccer maestro.
Boko Haram stormed his village and burned his home. They shot his parents in the
head and stabbed his brother in the neck killing them. Then they whisked him, his
brother’s wife, and six of his childhood friends to their enclave in Sambisa forest, he
said.
There, they forcibly conscripted him and his friends as child combatants. He said,
“Few days later, they transferred us to Shababu Ummah, in the Chikungudu forest, in
Kalabalge. There, we spent four months learning to use daggers, swords, and machine
guns.”
And Yakubu knows his guns. He knows when and how to shoot to merely wound
flesh and bone. He knows when to crack the cranium, and go for the kill, delivering
the headshot.
Sometimes, the casualty hits too close to home, like when he aimed his rifle at his best
friends, Idrissu, 11, and Ilyasu, 13.
“They stole dried fish and tried to escape. They were my childhood friends but I was
their leader. I was told to punish them. So, I shot them in the head,” he said.
Asides from the two that he shot in the head, three of his remaining friends, Abdullahi, 10,
Bashir, 12, Salihu, nine, and Hassan, 13, were killed during encounters with the
Nigerian Army.
Shooting his childhood friends in the head; hardly anyone ever gets past that, let alone
a child. But Yakubu shrugged off the incident, describing it as two out of his 22 kills.
Keeping count was an ego thing. “The more people you kill, the more you are
revered,” he said.
At the Chikungudu boot camp, Yakubu grew insentient. Perhaps because his captors
taught him to use captives as target practice.
He said, “One day when they (BH fighters) returned from a mission, they lined up
their hostages before us and asked us to kill them. They said they were strengthening
us to become men. That day, I killed six people.
“Two days later, my trainer told me, Yakubu, my goddaughter is turning four today,
you will kill four people. I thought he was joking but he thrust an AK-47 in my hands,
and held another gun to my head, threatening to kill me if I refused to execute the
hostages lined up before me. Instantly, I killed four of them.”
One week later, Yakubu gunned down four men while on a mission in Monguno. At
that point, there was no turning back. “I enjoyed firing the rifle as they did in the
movies,” he said, adding that their commanders made them binge on hard drugs
including Tramol (A variant of Tramadol), LSD, cannabis, and codeine before and
after they embarked on missions.
Ball in a pitch of thorns
In time, Yakubu settled into his new life, evolving from apprehension to a sort of
understanding: that his childhood dreams, like a punctured ball, had deflated in a pitch
of thorns. Thus he embraced life as an insurgent.
There was no time for regret: the power he felt squeezing the trigger and watching life
depart his victims, filled him with blood lust. It kept him fiending for the ‘respect’ and
applause of fellow child combatants, he said.
Due to his dexterity with the gun, he rose through the ranks at the boot camp and was
tasked with the ‘honour’ of training about 120 boys including minors as young as four
years old.
“I taught them to dissemble and couple assault rifles. I also taught them to shoot guns,”
he said.
Yakubu got swept away by the thrill of life as a Boko Haram gun fighter until his
the squad got overrun by the Nigerian Army en route to a mission in Gwoza.
“We suffered heavy casualties. I was the only one that survived the assault,” he said,
adding that he was eventually arrested at a military checkpoint while trying to trek
from Gwoza to Maiduguri.
“One of our girls (former sex captives) who got rescued by the army pointed me out
to the soldiers. I was lucky they didn’t kill me,” he said.
Life as a village ‘serpent’
Upon his arrest, Yakubu was enrolled in the Nigerian Army’s deradicalisation
programme tagged, “Operation Safe Corridor,” graduating as one of its early
beneficiaries. He has supposedly “been rehabilitated and reintegrated” into society,
according to military authorities.
But even though he has quit the battlefield he faces a new battle with the demons
within.
“Sometimes, I dream that I am in Chikungudu forest training boys. I dream that the
army is chasing me…I pray for forgiveness. Every time,” said Yakubu.
Laraba, his grandma and only guardian disclosed that “Since he (Yakubu) returned
from the forest, he has been a shadow of himself. He keeps to himself a lot, and lashes
out explosively at the slightest irritation.”
She said, “One day, he threatened to beat me up because I told him to stop smoking
Indian Hemp because it made him ravenous, which is bad because always has tiny
rations of food to share. He threw his plate of food at me in a rage. Instantly, his eyes
became glazed, and bloodshot. He started trembling so hard. I couldn’t recognise him
anymore. Ever since I have become very afraid of him.”
Laraba does not know what her grandson had been through. She doesn’t know what
he had done or how deeply he dug into the trenches of mayhem, to earn the trust and
applause of Boko Haram’s rank and file.
“I don’t wish to know anything. Whatever he did belongs to the past. I am simply glad
he is free. I lost my husband and three sons, including Yakubu’s father, to Boko
Haram. Thank God Yakubu is back,” she said.
Even so, the 81-year-old lives wary of her grandson. “I am scared of losing him.
Sometimes, he barks out orders in his sleep. He screams and threatens to kill people
while sleeping,” she said.
More worrisome is Yakubu’s penchant for chanting Boko Haram anthems even when
visitors are around. “It’s scary and embarrassing when he does that…Some
neighbours visit simply to get kernel for gossip. They call him ‘serpent’ behind my
back. One of them boldly told me to either poison him or let him go before he kills me
but he is my grandson, and I love him,” said Laraba.
Yakubu, however, insisted that “it doesn’t mean anything” that he occasionally sings
Boko Haram’s anthems. “I am home now,” he said.
But for how long? Many former child soldiers, like him, return home physically but
emotionally, they remain attached to Boko Haram, argued Mabel Sanusi, a clinical
psychiatrist and specialist in wartime trauma.
According to her, a lot of former child soldiers have been prematurely discharged by
military authorities. “Many of them have not been appropriately weaned of the
bigotries and violence fed to them by Boko Haram. They were abducted at ages as
young as four and violently thrust into a world of carnage, where they were forced to
play the roles of killers and abusers. This went on for a period of at least five years in
most cases.
“The fact that they were perpetrators doesn’t mean they weren’t traumatised. How do
you release such boys into society without giving them adequate treatment? It’s
wrong and very dangerous for us all,” she said, warning of the likelihood of a high
rate of recidivism among supposedly rehabilitated ex-Boko Haram child combatants.

Deradicalisation not working – Gov. Zulum
Recall that Borno governor, Babagana Zulum, recently sounded the alarm that the
deradicalisation of repentant Boko Haram members is not working. The military
launched Operation Safe Corridor, in 2016, to deradicalise and rehabilitate ex-Boko
Haram members. The aim was to reintegrate repentant Boko Haram members into
society. More than 500 ex-insurgents have already completed the programme.
But while speaking at the North-East Governors’ Forum a few weeks ago, Zulum
warned that the initiative must be reviewed because some of the ex-Boko Haram
members only come to spy on communities and then return to join the group.
He said, “It has been confirmed that the concept of deradicalisation or Safe Corridor
is not working as expected. Quite often, those who have passed through the Safe
Corridor initiative, or have been deradicalised, usually go back and rejoin the terror
group after carefully studying the various security arrangements in their host
communities, during the reintegration process.
“In addition, the host communities where the reintegration process is going on usually
resent the presence of Boko Haram terrorists, even if they have been deradicalised,
because of the despicable and atrocious activities they have committed in the past,” he
said, stressing that the main goals of the deradicalisation initiative are not being
achieved.
The governor advised that the best option is to immediately prosecute the insurgents
in accordance with the Terrorism Act, adding that ex-members, who were forcibly
recruited but have been rescued or have escaped from the group, should be the ones to
undergo the deradicalisation.

Boy, invisible in plain sight
While the world focused on Boko Haram’s mass abduction of women and girls,
the terrorist group was stealing an even greater number of boys. Over 10,000 boys were
abducted by the group and trained in boot camps in forest hide-outs and abandoned
villages, according to government officials and the Human Rights Watch (HRW), a
New York-based advocacy group.
Yakubu is just one of at least 10,000 children and teenagers abducted by the group
since its campaign of terror across the northeast and the Lake Chad Basin began in
2009.
With no formal database for the missing, it’s impossible to know how many boys like
him have escaped Boko Haram captivity since the group laid siege to northeastern
Nigeria.
They have killed more than 5,000 people including children, and they have left almost
double that number with serious injuries and disabilities.
“A great deal of the injuries aren’t physical. Too many among them have been
traumatised. They have PTSD,” said Balkis Mohammed, a social worker and child
psychologist in Maiduguri, Borno State.
Corroborating her, Maryam Bello, a volunteer social worker in Yobe State stated that
the northeast is littered with children and teenagers traumatised by an extreme cycle of
violence. “Many of them are living in denial. Many are not even aware that they need
treatment. And the few, who are lucky to access mental health care live at very great
risk of suffering a relapse, due to the persistent warfare wracking the region and its
severe consequences,” she said.
According to Kyla Storry, a Mental Health Activity Manager with the Médecins Sans
Frontières/Doctors Without Borders (MSF), “The situation remains extremely
worrying. This long-term crisis – which affects more than 60,000 people in Gwoza and
as many as 1.8 million people across Borno state – prevents most people from
imagining a future for themselves and causes great psychological distress. As long as
the crisis lasts, the need for mental health support will continue to grow. It’s crucial
that mental healthcare is available to children and adults living in this situation.”
Ten-year-old Abubakr is undoubtedly one of the lucky few to enjoy mental health
intervention, following his ordeal as a Boko Haram captive. He was abducted by
Boko Haram in Gwoza, at the tender age of five. Abubakr lived with the armed group
for five years but he found his way back home, with injuries. On his return, he was
admitted to the MSF clinic where he underwent surgical treatment.
Soon after his return, he began to exhibit signs of psychological distress suggesting
that he was traumatised by his five-year captivity. But after he started attending
sessions with Maryam, an MSF counsellor, he gradually came out of his shell. In time
he learned to accommodate intervention and warmed up to others. These days, he has
found a knack for drawing and playing football.
The same could hardly be said for Yau Damina, who was abducted from Potiskum at
age 14 by Boko Haram. Damina spent five months in Boko Haram’s boot camps,
training to become a combatant. In five months, he developed deadly skills. For
instance, he killed five men in the blink of an eye, because they disrespected and
killed his team leader.
“I killed them because they disrespected and killed my team leader,” he said, in an
exclusive chat with The Nation. Damina was eventually arrested at a wedding
ceremony in his grandfather’s village.
He regrets his past atrocities. He has no hobbies, no dreams, and he has no hopes for
the future. He is simply content living in military detention.
Like Damina, Ali Mustapha was kidnapped at age 14, in Marte, by Boko Haram.
He was subsequently held in captivity at the Chikungudu forest, in Kalabalge and
trained as a combatant for three years.
He said, “I have killed about 13 people in separate locations. The first time I killed, I
killed five hostages in Chikungudu forest. They later came with three other people
and forced me to kill them. I also killed five people in a village called Burssari.”
Mustapha said that “more than 500 children” his age, including younger ones, were
conscripted as child soldiers in Chikungudu.
“They spat on us and refused to give us food whenever we dithered in doing what
they asked of us. Sometimes, they kill dissenters,” he said, adding that at Chikungudu,
their leader was Umar from the Mamman Nur faction of Boko Haram.
Mustapha was, eventually, intercepted by security operatives, while on espionage in
Maiduguri. He was arrested at the Bakassi IDP camp after refugees identified him as a
member of Boko Haram. He said he was sent to spy on likely soft targets at Baga
Road, the Monday, and Custom Markets in Maiduguri.

A work in progress
While the army’s deradicalisation programme has been described as a work in progress,
it is still one of the most advanced efforts to de-radicalise terror suspects. One critical
component of the programme is the rehabilitation of extremists in prison through
religious reeducation, vocational training, and psychological counseling.
Idris Mahmud-Abdoullahi, a Borno-based Islamic cleric and social psychologist, said,
while the initiative is commendable, it is too early to determine the accuracy of any
estimate of recidivism, particularly since there has not been enough time to study
long-term effects of the de-radicalisation programme.
The programme initially focused only on inmates who were not directly involved in
terrorist attacks but it later included radicalised detainees arrested in Sambisa Forest
and repatriated from the prisons of neighbouring countries.
The actual locations of the de-radicalisation centres are hidden from the public. “This
is for security reasons,” revealed a senior military officer in the programme, adding
that there are plans to expand its scope to include detainees’ families, in joint
counseling sessions, to mitigate the likelihood of stigmatisation.
The healing
Fiona Lovatt, founder, Children of Borno (COB), a haven for orphaned children and
other vulnerable IDPs argued that the government must pay good mind to the kids’
healing process.
She said, “We don’t know what has been fed into their minds but it is clearly not the
Quran because the Holy Quran is a healing balm for those who have suffered or are
suffering. I have seen Internally Displaced People (IDPs) in the camps, with such high
faith; that they can sit in the squalor and hunger and poverty that they are dealing with
and say ‘Alhmadulillah! Praise God, I am alive. My children are alive. I have lived
another day.
“It’s wrong to say, they have been radicalised; they have been brutalised. So, we
know there are drugs involved. We know there’s violence involved. We know there’s
emotional blackmail. Most of these kids have to kill or be killed. This is not some
ideology. This is just some raw, gut torture. It is the sort of thing the Nazis did to train
their soldiers. These are mind control techniques that have nothing to do with any
religion,” she said.
In Lovatt’s perspective, it’s just an abject failure of society to care for those children.
She said, “We must take care of children in need. I have seen children who have
experienced the worst killings rise above their trauma to paint beautiful pictures. I
have seen such children tend their own gardens, grow their own vegetables and learn
two new languages. I have seen passion ignite in them and watch them yearn to
become engineers, doctors, and teachers when they grow up. I have seen such children
heal in my home,” she said.

‘Shaytan has whispered into their hearts’
Yet for so many boys, disaffection is the most feasible rationalisation for Boko
Haram’s appeal. Many of the group’s child combatants have little formal education.
They live in straitened circumstances, surviving by menial jobs on the fringes of
the urban and rustic north.
You see them smiling and pleading for alms but deep down, they are very angry. And
Boko Haram offers them a corrupted creed as platform to vent.
Eventually, they are goaded to believe that they are a crucial part of a great cause. A
worthy movement geared to topple the government of the infidels.
“They misinterpret the Holy Quran and use it to justify the senseless murders they
commit. Shaytan has whispered into their hearts,” argued Sheikh Mahmud Abdullah,
an Islamic scholar, and cleric.
There is no gainsaying Boko Haram’s creed of violence and wanton genocide is
resonant among brainwashed minors. The compelling nature of the grievances
articulated, and the pervasiveness of poverty justify the group’s rationale for
employing violence to express their grievances.
What are the group’s grievances? A history of corruption and neglect at the federal,
state, and local levels of government, according to experts, are also a source of
widespread dissatisfaction towards politicians, the legal system, and law enforcement.
These sentiments may be found in greater depths and concentration in the north than
elsewhere in the country, argued James Forest, Associate Professor, University of
Massachusetts, United States of America.
Boko Haram and its sponsors, of course, cash in on the situation; they manipulate the
sentiments of the northern youth by recruiting them as soldiers. They lure them with
food, money, and a passport to paradise; they tell them that their religion is under
threat.
Redemption walk
If you ask Yakubu, Damina, Abubakr, among others, they would tell you that life as
an ex-child insurgent is markedly tragic, harsh. It's hard to settle into their new lives.
They have to relearn the old ways of communal life and humaneness.
But while they pick their way through the jagged horror of their past, will their hearts
and memories retract the terror they visited on their innocent victims? Will the latter
forgive?
As the antiterrorism war intensifies in Nigeria’s northeast, Boko Haram replenishes its
ranks with a steady stream of boy combatants, moving child abductees cum
combatants through neighbourhoods and forests, using military trucks and passenger
vans to boot camps holding more than 1,000 boys on the watch of adolescent trainers.
Back in Chikungudu, said Mustapha, it was normal to see 10-year-old boys
romanticise raiding villages, killing traditional chiefs and taking over their wives and
daughters.
But when there is no activity. “We get restless and occasionally pick fights among
ourselves. The fights get deadly at times,” said Damina, who confessed to killing five
fellow child combatants for disrespecting and killing his leader.
Such is the tenor of life in the Sambisa and Chikungudu forest boot camps, where
prepubescent boys are mauled into killers by impatient adult commanders and
adolescent trainers.
At their arrest or rescue, they find it harder reintegrating into normal life. Home
becomes a strange, hostile space. Yakubu’s neighbours, for instance, call him
‘serpent.’
And in July 2020, some Borno communities protested the reintegration of “repentant
Boko Haram members” among them; they asked the federal government to relocate
the boys to the presidential villa, in Aso Rock, Abuja.
At the backdrop of it all, several ex-child insurgents must battle the demons within for
control of their lives. If they are not consumed by the ravages of PTSD or society’s
engine of enforced peace and punishing inertia, the rumours, judgmental stares of
their relatives, and neighbourhood hostility, ultimately push them back unto the
famished paths of mayhem.
There are many inescapably tormented by the intense dialogue of the conflicting
personae trapped within their consciousness.
The present is marred by nightmares from their past. Yakubu, for instance, claimed he
is okay and “back home now” but every night, he steals back to Chikungudu forest in
his sleep. There, he orders recruits as young as four years to dissemble and couple
AK-47s in the blink of an eye.
He is home physically but mentally, he is still living in the forest, raiding townships
and dodging Nigerian Army bullets.
So engrossed is he with his innate demons that he neither sees the divination of hope
nor the possibility of rebirth.