In what appears to be a grim reminder of the growing influence of non-state actors in Nigeria's rural communities, terrorists suspected to be members of the Lakurawa group have issued a chilling ultimatum to farmers in Augie Local Government Area of Kebbi State: "Use cattle or die."
According to local and security sources, the armed group has warned farmers against using mechanised farming equipment—particularly tractors—insisting that only cattle-drawn ploughs are permitted. Those who defy the order, the militants warned, will pay with their lives.
The threat has sparked fear and confusion among farmers in the area, who are already reeling from frequent cattle rustling incidents. With stolen livestock and now a ban on machines, residents find themselves caught between food insecurity and imminent danger.
“It’s like a double-edged sword,” said a local farmer who asked not to be named for fear of reprisals. “We can’t use tractors because the terrorists will come for us, and we can’t use cattle either because they’re often stolen. So how do we survive?”
The Lakurawa group, notorious for asserting control over swathes of rural North-West Nigeria, is believed to be expanding its operations. The group's activities in Kebbi State highlight the alarming reach of armed groups who now dictate not only movement and trade routes but even farming methods, undermining both food production and rural livelihoods.
The April killing of 13 vigilante members in the same Augie axis while attempting to recover stolen livestock underlines the high cost of community resistance and the absence of effective state protection.
While the Kebbi State Police Command says it has opened an investigation into the matter, locals say they need more than words—they need visible and sustained military presence.
“We need more than investigations. We need protection,” said another resident. “We’re being ruled by fear, not by the government.”
This disturbing development adds to growing concerns that many rural communities in Nigeria are effectively becoming ungoverned spaces, where criminal gangs and terror cells operate with little or no resistance from security forces. It also raises questions about the federal government’s commitment to securing the nation’s food basket, especially in the face of worsening hunger and skyrocketing food prices.
With Nigeria battling inflation, mass unemployment, and a hunger crisis, many had hoped that agricultural mechanisation would be a lifeline. But in places like Augie, that hope is now a death sentence.
For farmers in Kebbi and other frontline states, the government's silence in the face of such threats is not just troubling—it is dangerous. If those who feed the nation must now seek permission from terrorists to farm, then the question must be asked: who really controls rural Nigeria?
As the rainy season progresses, so does the uncertainty. Will these farmers be able to plant, tend, and harvest their crops? Or will Nigeria, once again, reap the bitter fruits of state failure?
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