For decades, the South West of Nigeria enjoyed a peculiar, almost smug, reputation as the nation’s relatively most peaceful region. While the Northeast grappled with the insurgency of Boko Haram, the South East contended with separatist violence and kidnappings, and the South South bled from oil-related militancy, the South West, specifically within the Lagos, Ibadan, Abeokuta, Akure, and Ado-Ekiti axis, watched from a distance. That relative peace is now shattered. Terrorism is no longer a far-away tragedy broadcast from Maiduguri; it is knocking on the door of the South West, and the sound is too close for comfort.
The wake-up call came in earnest on June 5, 2022, when St. Francis Catholic Church in Owo, Ondo State, became a slaughterhouse. Worshippers, including dozens of children, were mowed down in a hail of bullets and explosives. Over 40 souls perished. It was a signature attack, coordinated, brutal, and nihilistic, that bore the unmistakable fingerprints of the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP). For the first time, a full-scale, mass-casualty terrorist event had occurred in the South West’s backyard, Oyo State, and the arrest of suspected terrorists in Lagos and Ogun States have since confirmed what many feared: the South West is not an island. It is a permeable target.
Though there is no credible evidence or official confirmation of an Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP) cell specifically located anywhere in the South West, but there is no denying the fact that the Nigerian security forces have raised regional alerts about the movement of extremist elements fleeing to the Southwest, official security agencies categorize such incidents as isolated or unanchored. Be that as it may, the fact remains that the insurgence of terrorists to the South West region of Nigeria should no more be treated with a kid glove.
How did we get here? The answer lies not in a single failure, but in a cascade of denial, complacency, and strategic miscalculation. For too long, political leaders and security chiefs in the region treated terrorism as an “Eastern problem” or a “Northern problem.” Consequently, the architecture of counterterrorism, intelligence gathering, community policing, border surveillance, remained woefully underfunded and under-practiced. The vast forests of the South West, stretching from Oyo through Ondo to Ekiti and Kwara, have become ungoverned spaces. These are not just dense canopies of timber; they are highways for bandits, herder militias, and now, ideologically driven terrorists. The forests of Akure, and the corridors along the Ogun-Oyo border have been transformed into makeshift camps for criminal elements fleeing military offensives in the North West and North Central.
The geographical and political logic is grimly straightforward. As the military intensifies operations in Zamfara, Katsina, and Niger State, terrorists are adopting a classic insurgency tactic: displacement. They are moving south, exploiting the porous borders between Kwara, Kogi, and the South West. They find the region attractive not because of ideology, but because of logistics. The South West is Nigeria’s economic engine. It holds Lagos, the nation’s biggest seaport and financial hub. By striking here, terrorists can achieve maximum psychological and economic impact with minimal effort. A single IED in a Lagos market would not just kill dozens; it would send shockwaves through the stock exchange, disrupt supply chains, and evaporate foreign investment. The South West is no longer a symbolic prize; it is a strategic one.
Yet, the most disturbing element of this creeping terror is the insidious radicalization happening in plain sight. We have been so fixated on foreign jihadists that we have ignored homegrown extremism. Ungoverned spaces in the South West now host not just bandits, but preachers of hate. Disaffected youth, unemployed graduates, and aggrieved farmers, exposed to online propaganda and disenfranchised by state failure, are becoming fertile ground for recruitment. The alarming rise of violent extremism in prisons, the discovery of radical literature in mosques along the Lagos-Ibadan expressway, and the growing boldness of agitators who blur the lines between political protest and armed rebellion all point to a silent crisis. The “South West Amotekun” security network, while commendable, was designed for anti-crime patrols, not counter terrorism. We are bringing sticks to a gunfight.
The consequences of continued complacency are apocalyptic in their specificity. Imagine a coordinated terrorist attack on the Lekki-Ikoyi bridge during rush hour. Imagine a chemical facility in the Ogun industrial corridor being overrun. Imagine the Murtala Muhammed International Airport in Lagos facing a suicide assault similar to those in Karachi or Brussels. These are not scenes from a Hollywood script; they are scenarios discussed in security think tanks with increasing urgency. The South West accounts for over 60% of Nigeria’s non-oil revenue. If terrorism takes root here, the entire national economy will collapse like a house of cards. The national grid, the fiber-optic cables, the refineries in the South South, all depend on the stability of the South West as a logistical hub. Terrorism here is not a regional tragedy; it is a national death warrant.
So, what is to be done? First, we must abandon the politics of denial. No more euphemisms. These are not “herdsmen” or “unknown gunmen.” When men with AK-47s and ISWAP flags attack a church or a police station, they are terrorists. Name the enemy correctly. Governor Rotimi Akeredolu of blessed memory was vilified for calling spade a spade after Owo, but he was right. Without accurate labeling, there can be no accurate strategy.
Second, the South West must advocate for a fundamental restructuring of Nigeria’s policing architecture. The current centralized model is a relic. We need state-level intelligence units, forensic labs, and rapid-response teams that can share real-time data with federal agencies without the suffocating bureaucracy of Abuja. The Amotekun corps should be upgraded, armed, and trained in counter-insurgency warfare, not just neighborhood watch duties. The federal government must cede control of firearms licensing and local intelligence gathering to the states, or the South West will remain perpetually reactive.
Third, we must invest in social re-engineering. Terrorists thrive on poverty, injustice, and hopelessness. The South West has a proud history of social welfare, from the free education of Chief Obafemi Awolowo to the functional healthcare systems of old. That legacy has decayed. We need aggressive youth employment programs, mental health interventions, and deradicalization initiatives in mosques, churches, and schools. Religious and traditional leaders must reclaim their pulpits and palaces from extremists who peddle violence as virtue. The *Baales* and *Obas* must be empowered to identify and report suspicious strangers in their domains, not because they are xenophobic, but because they are vigilant.
Finally, citizens of the South West must confront a painful truth: we are not exceptional. The belief that “Yoruba cannot be terrorists” is a dangerous myth. History is littered with sophisticated societies that fell to extremism, from Lebanon to Sri Lanka. The capacity for violence is universal; what separates peace from chaos is security and opportunity. We cannot assume that our culture will save us. Only deliberate, coordinated action will.
The comfort of distance is gone. The South West has been forced out of its lazy reverie and into the harsh light of a new reality. Terrorist cells are already here, sleeping in the forests, walking through our markets, and planning their next strike. The question is no longer “if” they will strike again, but “when” and “how large”. We have the intelligence, the resources, and the human capital to defeat this menace, but only if we shake off our arrogance and act with the urgency that this moment demands. The drums of terror are beating too close for comfort. It is time to answer them with the sound of resolve.
