How Many Times Must Bello Turji Be Killed Before Peace Arrives?

by Mohammed Bello Doka 

22 January, 2026.

Every few months, Nigeria buries Bello Turji again.

On timelines. In voice notes. In breathless posts by influencers hungry for applause.

He is “killed” in an airstrike. “Neutralised” in a raid. “Finally gone,” the captions scream.

And yet, villages still empty. Farmers still flee. Roads still whisper danger.

So let us ask the uncomfortable question Nigeria keeps dodging: how many times must Bello Turji be killed before peace arrives?

Because if a man has died a dozen times online and insecurity still thrives offline, then the problem was never just the man. The problem is the system that keeps resurrecting him.

The Lie of the Lone Villain

Nigeria has chosen a convenient fairy tale: that insecurity in the North-West is the handiwork of a single demon whose death will deliver salvation. It is a comforting lie. It absolves institutions. It spares communities from self-examination. It reduces a complex security collapse into a one-man drama.

But Bello Turji did not build himself.

He was assembled—piece by piece—by fear, greed, silence, and complicity. And until those builders are confronted, killing him—real or imagined—will remain a performance, not a solution.

The Farmer Who Knows—and Tells

Let us begin where the truth hurts most: the farmer who informs him.

Not every informant is wicked. Some are terrified. A whispered warning is exchanged for a promise of survival. “If you see soldiers, tell us.” A family spared today becomes a village betrayed tomorrow.

Others are not afraid at all. They are paid. They trade coordinates for cash. They sell silence for protection. They justify it as survival, but the blood spilled downstream does not recognise excuses.

Every time troops move and bandits disappear minutes before arrival, the question answers itself. Someone saw. Someone spoke. Someone chose Bello Turji over the law.

The Government That Negotiates With a Gun

Then comes the most dangerous collaborator of all: the negotiating state.

Each time government officials—formal or informal—sit across the table from men like Turji, they do not buy peace. They legitimise terror. They turn criminals into stakeholders. They convert murder into leverage.

Negotiation tells the gunman one thing: violence works.

It tells the next young man with a rifle that killing civilians is a bargaining chip. That the road to relevance is paved with fear. That the state does not defeat criminals—it rewards persistence.

You cannot negotiate your way out of a collapse you negotiated yourself into.

The Cleric Who Sanitises Fear

And then there is the cleric—the one who urges dialogue not from wisdom, but from terror or tribal sentiment.

Some speak softly because they fear reprisal. Others because the bandit speaks their language, shares their bloodline, or prays in their mosque. They call it peace-building. They dress cowardice in scripture. They mistake proximity for moral authority.

But when sermons protect killers and theology is used to excuse terror, the pulpit becomes an accomplice. Silence is no longer neutral. Advocacy becomes endorsement.

Peace preached without justice is not peace—it is surrender.

The Applauding Bystanders

Perhaps the most cynical actors are those far from the flames.

They clap online when Turji is “killed.” They celebrate because the dead are not theirs. The displaced are not from their towns. The fear is a northern headline, not a personal nightmare.

They mistake distance for immunity.

But insecurity does not respect geography forever. A fire ignored spreads. A monster tolerated grows. A nation that claps while one region bleeds will one day bleed everywhere.

Indifference is not neutrality. It is delayed regret.

The Military Narrative and the Reality Gap

The military insists the noose is tightening. Under Operation Fansan Yamma, commanders speak of disrupted networks, intelligence-driven raids, and a fugitive constantly on the run. They dismiss online exaggerations and warn against propaganda and AI-generated lies.

And yet, communities in places like Isa Local Government Area continue to empty. Fear travels faster than press statements. Displacement speaks louder than briefings.

This is not an argument against the troops. Many have paid with blood. It is an argument against measuring success by narratives instead of safety.

If the war is being won, citizens should feel it first—not influencers.

The Government That Fails Its First Duty

Above all stands the ultimate failure: the state that cannot protect its citizens.

Security is not a favour. It is not seasonal. It is not a talking point. It is the first responsibility of any government that claims legitimacy.

When people are forced to negotiate with bandits for survival, the state has already surrendered. When communities trust criminals more than police, authority has collapsed. When citizens celebrate rumours of death because real protection feels impossible, hope has been replaced by illusion.

A government that allows this—through weakness, confusion, or calculation—is not merely failing. It is complicit.

Bello Turji as a System, Not a Man

Bello Turji is no longer just a person. He is a business model. A template. A brand.

Kill him today and another will rise tomorrow—trained by the same incentives, protected by the same silences, empowered by the same negotiations.

As long as:

Informants face no consequences

Negotiators face no accountability

Clerics face no moral reckoning

Spectators face no shame

Governments face no pressure

—Bello Turji will never truly die.

The Seduction of Fake Victories

Nigeria loves good news, even when it is false. Especially when it is false.

A viral death announcement offers temporary relief. It allows leaders to posture, citizens to exhale, and the nation to pretend progress has been made.

But fake victories are poison. They delay reform. They postpone outrage. They replace urgency with applause.

A country that celebrates illusions will wake up to nightmares.

What Peace Actually Demands

Peace will not arrive with another death rumour. It will arrive only when Nigeria chooses the harder path:

When informants are exposed and punished

When negotiations with terror end permanently

When clerics preach justice, not fear

When distant regions feel local pain

When security success is measured by safe lives, not loud headlines

Peace demands courage—collective courage.

A Final Question Nigeria Must Answer

So we return to the question that refuses to die:

How many times must Bello Turji be killed before peace arrives?

As many times as Nigeria chooses denial over truth.

As many times as we protect the system that produced him.

As many times as we confuse noise with safety.

Until then, Bello Turji will keep dying online—

and Nigerians will keep dying in real life.

Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]

Abuja Network News