In a moment that has stirred both hope and scepticism, notorious bandit leader Bello Turji has reportedly expressed willingness to surrender and embrace peace. But security experts aren’t buying it.
According to Zagazola Makama, a renowned counter-insurgency analyst deeply rooted in the Lake Chad region, Turji’s sudden change of heart isn’t driven by remorse—but fear. And the federal government, he warned, must not be swayed by appearances.
Makama’s reaction came after a video surfaced over the weekend, showing Turji speaking about peace and disarmament. For a man linked to grisly killings, kidnappings, and terror raids in Nigeria’s northwest, the video quickly went viral—spurring debates across the country. Was this finally a step toward peace? Or another deceptive move by a wounded warlord?
“Let’s be clear—Turji is not surrendering because he wants peace. He’s doing it because his power is gone,” Makama posted on X (formerly Twitter).
According to him, Turji’s operational backbone, Danbokolo, was recently neutralised in a combined operation by the State Security Services and a civilian-led security group known as the Hybrid Forces.
Danbokolo wasn’t just any foot soldier—he was Turji’s right hand and the mastermind behind many of the group’s most violent operations, from ambushes and raids to executions. His death, Makama explained, shattered Turji’s network and left the once-feared bandit leader isolated and exposed.
“Turji was more of the mouthpiece. Danbokolo did the heavy lifting. With Danbokolo gone, Turji’s swagger disappeared,” a security source added.
Now weakened and outnumbered, Turji is playing the peace card, likely hoping to escape justice under the guise of surrender.
Despite this, some reports indicate that the federal government is still weighing its options, with officials divided over whether to negotiate disarmament or reject any notion of amnesty.
For many Nigerians, the thought of Turji walking free—or receiving leniency—is not only painful but deeply unjust. His name is etched into the collective trauma of communities across Zamfara, Sokoto, and Katsina, where families are still mourning lives lost to his campaign of terror.
Security analysts argue that accepting Turji’s peace offer without accountability sets a dangerous precedent—rewarding violence and emboldening others who still roam free with guns and impunity.
“Banditry in the northwest didn’t begin with Turji, and it won’t end with him,” Makama warned. “Even if he surrenders, dozens of other splinter groups remain active, ruthless, and well-armed.”
As Nigeria continues to battle insecurity on multiple fronts, the government is now at a crossroads. Does it gamble on peace through compromise—or stand firm on justice, even if it means prolonging the fight?
For communities scarred by banditry, it’s not just about strategy—it’s about memory, pain, and accountability. And for many, Turji’s surrender must come with truth, not just theatrics.
