By Idris Abubakar
In the rolling hills and fertile plains of North-Central Nigeria, a quiet war is unfolding. From Benue to Plateau, Kogi to Nasarawa, the sound of gunfire now echoes across what were once peaceful farmlands. Farmers abandon their crops, herders move in fear, and entire villages disappear overnight. At the centre of this crisis is a deadly constant: the unchecked spread of small arms and light weapons (SALW).
These weapons, pistols, rifles, AK-47s, and machine guns, have become tools of survival, symbols of power, and instruments of destruction. Their presence has turned minor disputes into massacres and blurred the line between defence and aggression. Beneath this violence lies a deeper problem: a fragile Nigerian state struggling to control its borders, protect its citizens, and maintain its monopoly on the use of force.
The Anatomy of Fragility
North-Central Nigeria reflects the contradictions of the country itself rich in resources and diversity, yet deeply unstable. The fragile state theory offers a useful explanation. The government’s inability to enforce firearm laws, ensure security, and prevent corruption has created a governance vacuum. That vacuum has been filled by armed groups, criminal gangs, and vigilantes who now provide their own version of justice and protection.
Fragility is both a cause and a consequence of arms proliferation. Communities that no longer trust the police or army to defend them turn to the black market or local gunsmiths. Once armed, they become both vulnerable and dangerous, caught in endless cycles of revenge. When the state fails to provide safety, people take matters into their own hands. Violence then becomes a way of life rather than an exception.
From Ploughs to Pistols
The story of small arms in Nigeria runs deep. Firearms were introduced during the colonial era and continued to circulate after independence. The Nigerian Civil War (1967–1970) flooded the country with weapons, many of which were never recovered. Later, the collapse of neighbouring regimes and regional wars in Liberia and Sierra Leone created new smuggling networks that fed into Nigeria’s porous borders.
Today, Nigeria is not only an importer but also a producer of guns. Local blacksmiths in Benue, Anambra, and Nasarawa manufacture shotguns and pistols at low cost. These weapons, though crude, are deadly and widely available. Meanwhile, smuggling routes from Libya, Chad, and Niger ensure a steady supply of modern rifles and ammunition. In the absence of effective control, the combination of foreign and local sources has made arms almost as common as farm tools in some communities.
The Human Cost
The toll is devastating. Thousands have been killed or displaced across Benue, Plateau, Nasarawa, and Niger States. Villages have been burnt, farmlands destroyed, and markets deserted. Women and children bear the heaviest burden. Many are widowed, orphaned, or forced to live in overcrowded camps for displaced persons. Reports of sexual violence and exploitation are widespread.
Children are particularly affected. Schools close as families flee attacks, leaving many young people without education or hope. Some are recruited into armed groups or gangs, perpetuating the cycle of violence. Beyond the human suffering, the economic cost is staggering. Agriculture, which sustains the region, has been crippled. Farmers fear to return to their fields, causing food shortages and pushing prices higher. The region once called Nigeria’s “food basket” is now a zone of insecurity and hunger.
Politics and Corruption
Behind the communal clashes lies a darker reality: politics plays a major role in arms proliferation. Politicians have repeatedly armed loyal groups during elections to intimidate rivals or secure votes. After elections, the weapons remain in circulation, fuelling new waves of banditry and violence.
Corruption compounds the problem. Security officers and customs agents are often accused of aiding traffickers. Smugglers bribe their way through checkpoints, and confiscated weapons sometimes find their way back onto the streets. Nigeria’s main firearms law, the 1959 Firearms Act, is outdated and rarely enforced. This failure of governance has created a culture of impunity, where the trade in illegal arms thrives under official neglect.
Communities on the Edge
As state protection weakens, communities increasingly turn to vigilante groups and ethnic militias for security. Some operate under government-backed community policing initiatives, while others act independently. Initially seen as protectors, many of these groups now contribute to the problem by acquiring weapons illegally and using them to settle personal or ethnic disputes. Their existence reinforces the belief that security is a private responsibility, not a public right.
This self-help security culture deepens mistrust between communities and authorities. Each group arms itself “just in case,” ensuring that any spark whether a land dispute or a stolen cow, can ignite into deadly conflict.
Broken Borders, Broken Trust
Nigeria’s borders stretch over 4,000 kilometres, touching countries that are themselves unstable. These vast frontiers are poorly policed, allowing smugglers to move weapons easily. Some shipments arrive by sea, hidden in containers at Lagos or Port Harcourt; others cross land routes through Niger, Cameroon, and Chad. Every year, customs officials intercept some of these shipments, yet far more slip through unnoticed.
The failure of border control is not only about weak infrastructure. It reflects a broader absence of coordination among security agencies and a lack of political will. Without intelligence sharing and accountability, the same loopholes remain open. As crises in the Sahel and Libya continue, arms keep flowing southward into Nigeria, replenishing the arsenals of armed groups.
A Path Forward
Stopping the spread of weapons in Nigeria will require more than military operations or symbolic disarmament drives. The first step is legislative reform. The Firearms Act must be updated to address modern realities such as local manufacturing, smuggling, and illegal possession. Stricter penalties and a national firearms registry are essential. The National Centre for the Control of Small Arms and Light Weapons should be empowered to track and record all weapons in circulation.
Border management should rely less on manpower and more on intelligence and technology. Selected checkpoints and land borders should be equipped with scanners and surveillance tools, while local communities can serve as partners in information gathering. A coordinated task force reporting to the Office of the National Security Adviser could bridge gaps between customs, immigration, and the police.
At the community level, peacebuilding must go hand in hand with disarmament. Rather than large-scale gun collection campaigns that often fail, small, localised disarmament-for-development programmes can work better. Offering vocational training, agricultural tools, or small grants in exchange for weapons can turn security into an opportunity for growth. Involving traditional rulers, religious leaders, and youth groups ensures credibility and sustainability.
Conclusion: A Nation at the Crossroads
The proliferation of small arms in North-Central Nigeria is more than a crime problem. It is a symptom of a fragile state losing its grip on authority. Guns have become both the cause and consequence of insecurity, feeding a culture of fear and distrust. Without urgent reform, the region risks descending further into lawlessness.
The challenge before Nigeria is to rebuild trust, restore accountability, and reclaim control over who bears arms. The question is no longer just who holds the guns, but whether the state still holds the power to keep its people safe.
