The Borno Model: How Nigeria Is Rewriting The Script On Boko Haram Reintegration

By HALIMA TAKWAS

WHEN Abubakar Shekau, the ruthless leader of Boko Haram’s Jama’atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda’awati wal-Jihad (JAS), died in 2021, few imagined the ripple effect it would unleash. Yet, his death set off an unprecedented wave of defections in the Lake Chad Basin: thousands of men, women, and children linked to Boko Haram began abandoning the insurgency.

By 2024, over 160,000 people—from hardened fighters to abducted women and child recruits—had walked away from extremist groups, making this the largest disengagement in Nigeria’s history. But sheer numbers created new dilemmas: What to do with thousands of people steeped in terror, trauma, and suspicion? How do you balance security with humanity, justice with reconciliation?

The answer, at least in Borno State, has been the Borno Model—a homegrown experiment in deradicalisation and reintegration that offers lessons not just for Nigeria, but for conflict zones across Africa.

Breaking with the Old Order

Traditionally, deserters faced the harsh interrogations of Giwa Barracks and the rigid processes of the federal government’s Operation Safe Corridor. Both drew criticism for their militarisation, secrecy, and abuse. Amnesty International repeatedly condemned arbitrary detentions, eroding trust among potential defectors.

Borno State chose a different path. It struck two crucial deals:

1. Assurances to deserters—voluntary surrenders would not end in Giwa’s notorious cells, and families could stay together rather than be torn apart.

2. An understanding with the military—those captured in combat would remain under federal oversight, while those who surrendered would be processed through Borno’s civilian-led framework.

This seemingly small policy shift lowered the psychological barriers to desertion. Fighters realised they could return home with dignity rather than be branded forever as enemies of the state.

Local Ownership, Local Healing

At the heart of the model is community ownership. Initially, government officials only approached communities shortly before reintegration, often sparking fear and resistance. Today, reintegration is preceded by regular dialogue with local leaders and residents, often twice a week.

The change is striking. Communities once hostile now cautiously welcome returnees. “They are our children,” one villager told researchers, “if they have realised they are in the wrong and can come back, we accept them.”

This shift underlines a crucial truth: reintegration cannot be imposed—it must be earned. By engaging locals, Borno has turned suspicion into reluctant acceptance, and in some cases, even cooperation.

Hard Lessons and Lingering Risks

Still, the Borno Model is not without flaws.

• Economic reintegration is weak. Many returnees arrive with no employable skills and little to restart life. Though vocational training and a one-off ₦100,000 ($67) payment are provided, these barely scratch the surface. Without sustainable livelihoods, disillusionment and potential re-recruitment loom large.

• Family reunification is a double-edged sword. While keeping households intact humanises reintegration, it risks reuniting survivors with former captors, including women forced into marriages. Without survivor-centred safeguards, inclusion can perpetuate trauma.

• Monitoring is thin. Follow-up is limited, with only a handful tracked through case studies. Without a data-driven monitoring system, authorities risk losing sight of returnees’ trajectories and missing early warning signs of relapse.

• Transparency gaps remain. Some deserters reportedly disguise themselves as low-risk “farmers” to bypass scrutiny. Better screening, categorisation, and accountability mechanisms are urgently needed.

Why It Matters

The insurgency is far from over. ISWAP remains active across the Lake Chad Basin, and grievances that fuel extremism—poverty, corruption, weak governance—still burn. Yet, the Borno Model proves something vital: guns alone cannot end Boko Haram.

By offering dignity over detention, inclusion over exclusion, and dialogue over suspicion, the model has shifted the calculus of insurgency. Fighters who once saw no way out now glimpse an alternative path.

The Road Ahead

For the Borno Model to endure, several steps are critical:

• National legal backing—to harmonise state and federal efforts with clear standards for screening, monitoring, and accountability.

• Sustained funding—international partners should support, not supplant, the framework by bridging gaps in livelihoods, psychosocial care, and long-term monitoring.

• Survivor-centred safeguards—to ensure women and children returning from captivity are protected from forced reunions.

• Data-driven systems—to track outcomes, measure impact, and improve programming.

Conclusion

The Borno Model is no silver bullet. It carries risks and imperfections. But it represents a rare glimmer of innovation in Nigeria’s long war against Boko Haram—a model that dares to treat ex-combatants not as permanent enemies but as potential citizens.

In the words of one researcher, reintegration is never neat, but without it, wars never end.

If Nigeria can refine the Borno Model, fund it adequately, and embed it nationally, it may just turn a fragile experiment into a blueprint for peace—not only in Borno, but across a continent grappling with insurgencies.