to make of it all. We would not be given much help from themilitary. The next morning, after repeatedly asking military officials to allow us the chance to ask questions for clarification, they finally relented, so we gathered in a circle around Brigadier-General Chris Olukolade, 2 the defence spokesman, as he stood in a car park, powered on our recorders and video cameras, and sought answers. They were not exactly forthcoming. Asked why the offensive was different from what occurred in 2009, when the military insisted Boko Haram had been wiped out before the group re-emerged, Olukolade said it âinvolved not just the military but the security agencies of the country. The network this time is perfect, I mean near-perfect, in the sense that the operation was planned to ensure their bases were dislocated â not just dislocated but completely wiped out.â Pressed on how many Boko Haram members had been arrested, he said, âI can just tell you that hundreds of them.â How many Boko Haram members had been charged or sentenced? âWell, several of them.â
Sporadic bursts of information and disinformation from the military would continue in a similar manner in the weeks following the tour. It began to feel like a repeat of previous military operations: a flurry of activity, scattering the insurgents and temporarily reducing the number of attacks, only for the Islamists to return to fight another day. An unexpected development would, however, soon cast the crisis in a different light, one that offered a degree of hope, but which also presented severe dangers.
In mid-June 2013, word began to filter out that vigilante groups had formed in Maiduguri to fight the insurgents. One of the early signs came in the form of road checkpoints. Maiduguri residents had long become accustomed to security roadblocks as their city descended into violence, but the new checkpoints that began to materialise were different. They were now being manned by the vigilantes, a motley collection of mainly young men carrying homemade bows and arrows, swords, sticks, pipes and charms they said were powerful enough to stop bullets. They would peer into cars as drivers moved slowly past, stopping thosethey deemed suspicious, or wait for orders from the military that they were needed for a raid aimed at arresting Boko Haram members. Some of the vigilantes admitted that they sometimes killed people during these raids â though specifying only when they had to â and handed over those they arrested to the regionâs Joint Task Force, a security deployment run by the military. The task force was known across Nigeria by its initials JTF, and the vigilantes adopted this name, calling themselves the âCivilian JTFâ. The military encouraged the groupsâ formation, assisted them and spurred them along, apparently fed up with seeing their own men killed in a conflict that seemed to have no end. Military officials also reasoned that because the vigilantes were members of the community, they would know who were Boko Haram members and who were not. Rumours spread that some of the vigilantes were in fact also former insurgents. They at first denied being paid anything, insisting they were only a volunteer force interested in peace after years of upheaval, but it was widely believed that either the security forces or state government, or perhaps both, were somehow financing them. Later, the state government would seek to normalise the unwieldy force, providing training, light-blue uniforms and regular payments for a number of them. 3
Several weeks into the formation of the vigilantes, there were signs of improvement. Attacks in Maiduguri itself were becoming increasingly rare, a stark turnaround considering the city had been wracked by incessant violence for much of the previous four years, causing thousands to flee, shutting down businesses and killing hundreds. Residents also seemed to be welcoming the vigilantes, relieved