Kogi West Senatorial District — the Yoruba-speaking heart of Kogi State — is living through its darkest chapter in recent memory. Once known for its serene farmlands, cultural harmony, and industrious people, the region has now become a theater of terror. Across its seven local government areas — Kabba/Bunu, Ijumu, Yagba East, Yagba West, Mopa-Muro, Kogi/Koton-Karfe, and Lokoja — a creeping wave of banditry has dismantled the fragile peace that once defined this landscape.
The daily life of residents has been reduced to a survival game, where the simple act of tending a farm or traveling to the next village could mean death. Those who remain in their ancestral homes live in constant fear, while others have fled, abandoning their farmlands and livelihoods to the mercy of marauding gunmen who have taken over the forests and ridges that dot the area.
A Region Under Siege
For the people of Kogi West, the sound of gunfire has become as familiar as the evening call to prayer. Villages are raided without warning, travelers ambushed on collapsing highways, and farmers kidnapped in their fields. In some communities, residents say they now pay informal “taxes” to criminal gangs to stay alive.
“Our people no longer go to farm,” said a community leader from Yagba West who asked not to be named for security reasons. “If you enter the bush, you might not come back. They kill, they kidnap, and they burn houses. The government knows, but we feel forgotten.”
This sense of abandonment runs deep. Kogi West, a region historically rich in agriculture and trade, has long suffered from infrastructural neglect. The roads are death traps, the police stations poorly equipped, and the forests — thick, vast, and unmonitored — now provide a perfect sanctuary for the heavily armed invaders.
Investigations by Sunday Vanguard reveal that these bandits are not local; they are part of a complex network of criminal cells that have migrated from other troubled regions in northern Nigeria. Many of them are believed to have relocated from the North-West — Zamfara, Katsina, and Kaduna — after intensified military operations there disrupted their strongholds. In search of new hideouts, they found the forests of Kogi West — ungoverned, isolated, and strategically located — ideal for regrouping.
Death in the Forests
The forests stretching from Kabba to Koton-Karfe, and the borderlands connecting Kogi to Kwara and Ekiti states, have now been overrun. Security sources confirmed to Sunday Vanguard that the criminals move freely through these forests, using them as launchpads for kidnappings, robberies, and attacks on security personnel.
In the last six months, multiple security personnel — including policemen and vigilante members — have been killed in ambushes. One such incident occurred near Mopa, where a joint patrol of police and local hunters was attacked at dawn. Several officers were killed, and their rifles carted away.
“They outnumbered our men,” said a police officer stationed in Kabba, speaking under anonymity. “They know the terrain better than we do. The forest is dense, and our vehicles can’t even pass some of the roads. The criminals have motorcycles and drones — yes, drones. They watch us.”
Locals corroborate this account, describing how the bandits set up camps deep within the forests and use advanced communication tools. Their camps are reportedly well-organized, with some hosting up to 50 fighters at a time. “They are not the type of criminals we used to know,” a vigilante commander in Yagba East explained. “They are strategic and ruthless. Once they kidnap, they move their victims quickly, sometimes across state lines.”
Abandoned by Infrastructure
If geography has been a curse, governance has been the greater betrayal. For decades, the Yoruba-speaking LGAs of Kogi have complained of poor infrastructural development — and now, that neglect has turned deadly. The Ilorin–Omu-Aran–Kabba Highway, one of the major arteries linking the region to other states, has virtually collapsed. The once-busy road now lies in ruins, pockmarked with craters and potholes so deep that even security convoys avoid it after sunset.
Only a few towns — Kabba, Isanlu, and Mopa — boast any semblance of paved roads. For many others, the journey between villages is a gamble through bush paths and dilapidated tracks that have become ambush points.
“Even if you survive the bandits, the roads can kill you,” lamented a commercial driver in Ijumu. “We are on our own here. Police can’t reach us, and ambulances won’t come. When they kidnap people, we have to negotiate directly because nobody is coming to save us.”
The lack of motorable roads has made response times for security agencies painfully slow, allowing bandits to operate with impunity. After attacks, it often takes hours — sometimes days — for security reinforcements to arrive. In some cases, communities have resorted to forming their own vigilante groups armed with dane guns and machetes.
Farmers Turned Refugees
The agrarian belt of Kogi West — once celebrated as one of the state’s breadbaskets — is now silent. Fields that used to echo with the sounds of farm tools and laughter are now ghost lands. Cassava, yam, and maize farms lie abandoned as farmers flee in droves.
According to local reports, over 40 villages across the seven LGAs have been partially or completely deserted since January. In many of these areas, schools are closed, markets have collapsed, and children have become displaced.
One farmer from the outskirts of Aiyetoro-Gbede recounted how his village was attacked twice in a month. “They came around midnight, shooting into the air,” he said. “They kidnapped our village head and two young men. We gathered money — over ₦3 million — before they were released. After that, we ran away.”
Even those who have stayed behind live under constant threat. Some farmers now go to their fields only before sunrise, returning before noon. “We farm in fear,” said an elderly woman in Mopa. “When you hear a motorcycle sound, you run. It might be the bandits.”
Police and Vigilante Death Toll
The cost of the bandit invasion has been particularly high for security forces. In recent months, several police officers and vigilante members have lost their lives in the line of duty. In Kabba-Bunu LGA, a joint operation to rescue kidnapped villagers ended in tragedy when an ambush claimed the lives of two policemen. In Yagba East, a local vigilante leader known for his bravery was found murdered after resisting a group of armed bandits.
“The bandits no longer fear the uniform,” said a senior police source in Lokoja. “They now go after security officers deliberately, to send a message.”
For local vigilantes, who often operate with little or no support, morale is waning. “We have dane guns against AK-47s,” said one vigilante member in Ijumu. “Sometimes, we go into the forest without bulletproof vests. We do this for our people, not because anyone is paying us.”
The Governor’s Response
Alarmed by the escalating crisis, Governor Ahmed Usman Ododo recently visited parts of Kogi West to assess the situation firsthand. Accompanied by security chiefs, Ododo toured affected communities, including Kabba, Isanlu, and Mopa. His convoy was met by grieving families, empty streets, and visibly frightened villagers.
In a public address during the visit, the governor condemned the attacks and vowed “stiffer measures” against the criminal elements terrorizing the region. “We cannot allow a few misguided individuals to destroy our peace,” he said. “Our government is determined to restore law and order. Security will be strengthened, and those behind these attacks will face the full wrath of the law.”
However, many residents remain skeptical. Similar promises have been made in the past, often without tangible results. “We’ve heard it before,” said a youth leader in Yagba West. “They will come, they will talk, and then nothing happens. Until we see soldiers in our forests and drones in the sky, we will not believe.”
The Bigger Picture: A Spreading Menace
Security experts warn that what is happening in Kogi West is part of a larger national crisis — the slow but steady migration of bandit groups from the North-West into the North-Central and even Southern Nigeria. As military operations intensify in places like Zamfara and Katsina, displaced bandits seek refuge in neighboring states with weaker policing and dense forests.
“The pattern is clear,” said Dr. Eze Nwokorie, a security analyst at the University of Abuja. “Bandits are adapting. They move where the state is weakest. Kogi’s geography makes it a strategic gateway — it connects the North to the South-West. Whoever controls those forests controls the movement of people and goods.”
Dr. Nwokorie further warned that without a coordinated federal response, the crisis could spill into Kwara, Ekiti, and Ondo states, disrupting the fragile security balance of the entire region.
A Cry for Attention
For now, the people of Kogi West live between despair and resilience. In many communities, faith leaders have organized daily prayers, while local youth groups volunteer for night patrols despite the dangers. Churches, mosques, and town halls have become both sanctuaries and centers for community mobilization.
In Kabba, an elderly woman named Mama Bimpe summed up the mood of the people: “We used to sleep with our doors open. Now we don’t sleep at all. We are prisoners in our own land.”
The once-lively Yoruba-speaking LGAs of Kogi, where festivals and markets once drew people from across the state, now lie in eerie silence. The songs of harvest have been replaced by the cries of mourning.
Governor Ododo’s promised “stiffer measures” will be tested in the coming months. But for thousands of Kogi West’s displaced farmers and terrified residents, hope is growing thinner by the day. Until the guns fall silent and the forests are reclaimed, this region — a proud fragment of Yoruba heritage — will remain a land under siege.
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