8 January, 2026
by Mohammed Bello Doka
Welcome to Sarcastic Sunday with Mohammed Bello Doka, where we study Nigeria’s political gymnastics with sarcasm because doing otherwise may choke us to death. This is the column where we ask the difficult questions politely, laugh nervously, and then ask them again—slower—just in case power didn’t hear the first time.
This week’s lesson is simple: terrorism is apparently a movable feast. Sometimes it’s a forest full of armed men. Other times it’s one gun. Context matters. Politics matters more.
Let’s begin with Abubakar Malami, SAN—a man whose résumé once read like the APC’s founding charter. Malami was a founding member of the All Progressives Congress (APC), served as the party’s National Legal Adviser, and went on to become the first Attorney-General and Minister of Justice under the APC federal government in 2015, when Muhammadu Buhari took office. For eight uninterrupted years (2015–2023), Malami stood at the nerve centre of power, defending government policy with the confidence of a man who knew where the files were kept.
During the 2023 elections, Malami campaigned for the APC’s presidential candidate, Bola Tinubu. Tinubu won. APC stayed in power. All was well. Terrorism, it seemed, had not yet discovered Malami.
Then something awkward happened. Malami began to raise concerns about insecurity in Northern Nigeria, publicly questioning the seriousness of government action against banditry and terror. This is where Nigerian politics quietly changes key. Criticism from outside is called noise. Criticism from inside is called betrayal.
Shortly after, Malami committed what many in Nigerian politics consider the unforgivable sin: he dumped the APC and joined the African Democratic Congress (ADC). At that precise moment—pure coincidence, of course—institutions rediscovered their reading glasses.
First came invitations by the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC). Detention followed. A generous helping of media trial was served while the law warmed up. Malami was arraigned, granted bail, and—after he perfected his bail conditions—prepared to go home.
Then Nigeria did Nigeria.
As Malami stepped out, freshly armed with judicial permission to breathe free air, he was rearrested immediately—this time by the Department of State Services (DSS). Freedom lasted roughly the length of a press photograph. Timing, they say, is everything.
By February 3–4, 2026, the DSS had him in court on terrorism-related charges. The alleged instruments of terror? One firearm and a quantity of ammunition. Not an armoury. Not a militia. Not a forest camp. Just one gun—allegedly unlicensed—legally transformed into “conduct preparatory to terrorism” under the Terrorism (Prevention and Prohibition) Act, 2022. Live rounds became a terror plot. Storage became an infrastructure. Words did the heavy lifting.
Now, a Cunkish question for the week: When did terrorism become a solo sport? Is it the loneliness of the gun that radicalises it? Or is it the biography of the person holding it?
Because while one arm of government was discovering terrorism in a private residence, another arm of the same government has been busy negotiating peace with Bello Turji—a man whose notoriety needs no legal interpretation. His record includes mass kidnappings, killings, and communities emptied at gunpoint. Turji does not allegedly own one gun. He allegedly commands many guns, carried by many men, in many forests.
This is not rumour. Punch, The Guardian, Vanguard, Daily Post, and Channels Television have, at different times between 2024 and 2025, reported peace talks and dialogue involving Turji and government actors. Turji himself publicly acknowledged participating in negotiations. No court sketches required.
Another Cunkish question: How many guns must one own to qualify for dialogue instead of detention? Is there a minimum threshold? A loyalty card? Buy ten rifles, get one peace deal free?
And lest anyone thinks this is only a federal magic trick, let us tour the states—particularly the North-West, where insecurity has become a permanent resident. At the state level, APC governors across the zone have entered one form of peace deal or another with bandits. Katsina has tried it. Zamfara has tried it—both historically and under leaders who now sit comfortably in Abuja, including the current Minister of State for Defence, a former Zamfara governor, under whose watch negotiations with bandits were openly acknowledged. The logic was consistent: talk to them so they stop killing people.
So let’s line it up neatly:
A former Attorney-General, APC founder, and campaigner who later criticised insecurity and defected → terrorism charges over one gun.
Armed groups responsible for mass violence → dialogue, negotiations, and peace deals.
Is this counter-terrorism, or counter-loyalty enforcement?
Government spokespeople insist there is no contradiction. Prosecution, they say, is the rule of law. Negotiation, they say, is tactical. Which raises another innocent question: When did tactics become selective? And why does the tactic of negotiation seem to favour those with forests, followers, and firepower?
To be clear—because satire must sometimes wear a helmet—this is not a defence of illegal gun possession. It is a critique of consistency. Laws, like elastic bands, eventually snap when stretched too far in one direction.
In today’s Nigeria, it appears terrorism is less about violence and more about vantage point. One gun in the wrong political season can end your week in court. Hundreds of guns in the right forests can earn you a meeting.
That’s all for this week’s Sarcastic Sunday. Join us next time, when we examine whether democracy is still alive or just negotiating its own release.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
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