On the Killing of ISIS Second-in-Command in Nigeria, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

For years, the global war against terrorism was framed largely through the lens of the Middle East — Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan and the broader Arabian Peninsula. Yet, in the last decade, the epicentre of extremist violence has quietly shifted toward Africa, particularly the Sahel and the Lake Chad Basin. The reported killing of Abu-Bilal al-Minuki, described by both American and Nigerian authorities as the second-in-command of the Islamic State, ISIS globally, therefore represents far more than another battlefield casualty. It is a defining moment in the evolution of terrorism and counterterrorism in Africa.

On May 16, 2026, the United States and Nigeria announced a joint military operation that reportedly eliminated al-Minuki in the Lake Chad Basin, one of the most volatile theatres of insurgency in Africa. United States President Donald Trump described the operation as “meticulously planned and very complex,” while President Bola Tinubu hailed it as a major blow against the Islamic State network operating across West Africa.

The significance of the operation lies not merely in the elimination of a single terrorist commander, but in what it reveals about the changing architecture of global jihadism. Africa is no longer a peripheral front in extremist warfare; it has become its strategic centre of gravity.

Abu-Bilal al-Minuki was not an ordinary insurgent commander. Security assessments and intelligence reports linked him to the Islamic State West Africa Province, the ISWAP faction that emerged after Boko Haram’s split in 2016. He was reportedly involved in coordinating logistics, financing, propaganda operations and regional expansion across the Sahel. American authorities had designated him a “Specially Designated Global Terrorist” in 2023, an indication of the seriousness with which United States viewed his activities.

According to multiple intelligence-linked reports, al-Minuki was born in Borno State around 1982 and rose through the ranks of Boko Haram before aligning with the Islamic State network after Boko Haram pledged allegiance to ISIS in 2015. It was believed that his alias “al-Minuki” or “Mainok” derived from Mainok town in Borno State, following the regional tradition of identifying individuals by hometowns or clan affiliations.

This detail is important because it underscores a painful truth Nigeria has long struggled to confront: terrorism in the country is not simply an imported ideology; it is also a product of domestic fractures linking weak governance, ideological radicalisation, porous borders and decades of state neglect in the North-East among others.

The Lake Chad Basin itself has become one of the world’s most dangerous ungoverned spaces. Spanning Nigeria, Chad, Niger and Cameroon, the region’s marshlands and difficult terrain have enabled insurgent groups to establish fortified enclaves largely beyond the reach of conventional military operations. It is within this environment that ISWAP evolved from a regional insurgency into an internationally connected terror franchise.

The rise of ISWAP marked a strategic shift from Boko Haram’s earlier indiscriminate brutality. While Boko Haram under Abubakar Shekau relied heavily on mass civilian killings, village burnings and suicide bombings, ISWAP adopted a more calculated approach. It targeted military formations, imposed taxation systems in occupied communities and sought to present itself as an alternative governing authority. That strategic sophistication reportedly made figures like al-Minuki invaluable to ISIS central leadership.

What perhaps alarmed Western intelligence agencies most was the increasing integration between African jihadist networks and the broader Islamic State structure. American officials reportedly linked al-Minuki to ISIS’s General Directorate of Provinces and the al-Furqan media apparatus, structures central to the group’s global coordination and propaganda. This explains why his killing has drawn such international attention.

For Nigeria, however, the matter goes beyond global security calculations. The country has endured nearly two decades of insurgency since Boko Haram launched its violent uprising in 2009. According to estimates from humanitarian agencies and conflict monitoring groups, more than 35,000 people have been killed directly by the insurgency, while millions have been displaced across the North-East. Entire communities have been erased, agricultural systems disrupted and local economies destroyed.

The insurgency also exposed serious institutional weaknesses within Nigeria’s security architecture. Successive governments repeatedly claimed victory over terrorists, only for attacks to intensify afterward. Indeed, the controversy surrounding al-Minuki’s death illustrates this credibility challenge. Nigerian military sources had reportedly listed a commander bearing similar names among insurgents killed in Kaduna operations in 2024. The Presidency later explained that the earlier identification was likely a case of mistaken identity or battlefield misattribution.

Such contradictions have historically fuelled public scepticism. Nigerians have heard repeated declarations about the elimination of notorious terrorist leaders, only for those same figures to resurface later. The late Boko Haram leader, Abubakar Shekau, was reportedly declared dead multiple times before his actual death was confirmed in 2021. This pattern has understandably weakened public confidence in official military claims. Yet, if current reports are accurate, the elimination of al-Minuki would indeed represent a major operational success.

Still, history teaches that terrorism rarely collapses because of the death of a single leader. Terrorist organisations are designed to survive decapitation strikes. Leadership replacement mechanisms are usually embedded within their structures. In many cases, younger and even more radical commanders emerge after senior figures are killed.

The United States learned this lesson after the killing of Osama bin Laden in 2011. Al-Qaeda weakened but did not disappear. The death of ISIS founder Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi in 2019 similarly failed to extinguish the group. Instead, ISIS decentralised further, shifting operational focus toward Africa where fragile states, weak borders and local grievances created fertile conditions for expansion.

Indeed, security analysts now estimate that a substantial percentage of ISIS-linked attacks globally occur in sub-Saharan Africa. This is a deeply troubling development for Nigeria because it means the country increasingly occupies a frontline position in global counterterrorism efforts. The implications are both strategic and political.

Strategically, Nigeria’s military partnership with the United States appears to be entering a new phase. The joint operation against al-Minuki signals growing intelligence sharing, surveillance cooperation and operational coordination between both countries.

This is notable because relations between the two countries had recently experienced friction over allegations concerning religious persecution and broader security concerns. Yet, the al-Minuki operation suggests that mutual security interests ultimately prevailed over diplomatic disagreement.

However, foreign military cooperation also raises difficult sovereignty questions. Nigeria must avoid becoming excessively dependent on external powers for internal security management. Counterterrorism support is valuable, but no foreign partner can permanently secure Nigeria if the country fails to address the internal conditions feeding extremism. And this is perhaps the most important lesson from the al-Minuki episode. Terrorism in Nigeria cannot be defeated solely through military force.

Military operations may eliminate commanders, destroy camps and recover territories, but they do not automatically erase extremist ideology. The North-East crisis has always been multidimensional. In several insurgency-affected communities, the Nigerian state remains largely absent except through military presence. Schools are inadequate, hospitals scarce and infrastructure severely underdeveloped. In such environments, extremist groups exploit grievances and recruit vulnerable youths with alarming ease.

The challenge becomes even more dangerous when insurgency merges with banditry, arms trafficking and transnational organised crime. The Sahel today is experiencing precisely this convergence. Terrorist groups increasingly finance themselves through kidnapping, smuggling and illegal taxation networks. The ideological and criminal dimensions reinforce each other. This is why the killing of al-Minuki should not become an excuse for premature triumphalism. Rather, it should serve as an opportunity for sober reflection.

Nigeria must now ask itself difficult questions. Why has the insurgency endured for nearly seventeen years? Why do extremist groups continue regenerating despite repeated military offensives? Why do fragile communities remain vulnerable to radicalisation? And perhaps most importantly, what kind of post-conflict reconstruction framework truly exists for the North-East?

Counterterrorism victories are meaningful only when they translate into lasting civilian security. The humanitarian cost of the insurgency remains staggering. Millions remain displaced. Thousands of children have lost access to education. Farmers in many communities still cannot safely cultivate their lands. Women and girls continue facing profound vulnerabilities within displacement camps. These realities are often overshadowed whenever attention shifts toward high-profile terrorist killings.

There is also the broader African dimension. The instability stretching from Nigeria through Niger, Mali, Burkina Faso and Chad reflects a continental security crisis that conventional military responses alone cannot solve. Governance deficits, military coups, climate stress, ethnic rivalries and economic despair collectively create conditions in which extremist networks flourish. Africa’s terrorism crisis is therefore inseparable from its governance crisis.

This reality explains why ISIS increasingly views Africa as its future operational base. Weak institutions create strategic opportunities. Vast ungoverned territories provide safe havens. Fragile states offer limited resistance. Unless African governments collectively address these structural weaknesses, extremist networks will continue adapting regardless of how many commanders are eliminated.

For grieving communities across the North-East, every disrupted terror network matters. Every prevented attack matters. Every dismantled command structure matters. The operation demonstrates that coordinated intelligence and military cooperation can produce significant results.

The true test will lie in what follows next, whether Nigeria can consolidate tactical gains into strategic stability; whether communities devastated by conflict can be genuinely rehabilitated; whether governance can return to neglected territories; and whether the cycle of radicalisation can finally be broken.

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com

Understanding South Africa’s Xenophobic Violence (II), by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

Early this month, the argument was made that xenophobic violence in South Africa is not accidental. The events of the past week have only reinforced that position. Once again, images and reports have emerged of foreign-owned shops looted, businesses burnt, and migrants forced into hiding. Once again, explanations have followed—unemployment, crime, undocumented migration. But these explanations, repeated over the years, are beginning to sound less like analysis and more like excuses for a problem that has outgrown denial.

The recent attacks, reported in parts of Gauteng and KwaZulu-Natal, follow a pattern that is now deeply familiar. Groups of local residents mobilise, sometimes spontaneously, sometimes through organised campaigns, and target businesses owned by foreigners. The victims are often small-scale traders—people who operate within South Africa’s informal economy, selling groceries, running salons, or managing neighbourhood convenience stores.

In many cases, these businesses are not just sources of livelihood for their owners. They are also part of local supply chains. They provide goods at competitive prices, extend informal credit to customers, and, in some instances, employ South Africans. When they are attacked, the damage is not limited to the individual. Entire communities feel the impact.

What is different this time is not the violence itself, but the tone surrounding it. There is a growing sense that anti-foreigner sentiment is becoming more openly expressed and, in some quarters, more accepted. Campaigns against undocumented migrants have gained visibility, with some groups framing their actions as a defence of economic rights rather than acts of exclusion.

That shift in language matters. It suggests that xenophobia is moving beyond isolated outbreaks and into something more sustained. It is becoming part of a broader conversation about identity, belonging, and access to economic opportunity in South Africa.

At the heart of the issue remains the country’s unresolved economic crisis. South Africa is one of the most unequal societies in the world. Unemployment remains high, particularly among young people. Many communities continue to struggle with poverty, limited access to services, and a lack of economic mobility. These conditions create frustration, and frustration often looks for a target.

Foreign nationals, especially those who are visible in local economies, become convenient targets. They are seen as competitors, sometimes as outsiders who have succeeded where locals have not. This perception is not always grounded in reality, but it is powerful enough to shape behaviour.

For Nigerian nationals, the situation is particularly delicate. Over the years, Nigerians in South Africa have built a strong presence in sectors such as retail, entertainment, and professional services. At the same time, negative stereotypes—often exaggerated—have contributed to a perception problem. In moments of provocations, these perceptions can quickly translate into hostility.

The economic consequences of the latest attacks are immediate. Businesses are destroyed, goods are lost, and livelihoods are disrupted. For those affected, recovery is not guaranteed. Many operate without insurance or formal protection, making it difficult to rebuild after an attack.

But the impact goes beyond individual losses. There is a broader question of investor confidence. African investors, including Nigerians, have increasingly looked to South Africa as a destination for expansion. Repeated incidents of violence introduce uncertainty into that calculation. They raise questions about safety, stability, and the ability of the country to protect investments.

This has implications for intra-African trade. The African Continental Free Trade Area is built on the idea of reducing barriers and encouraging the movement of goods and services across the continent. But trade is not only about agreements; it is about trust. When businesses feel unsafe, they are less likely to invest, less likely to expand, and less likely to engage across borders.

The diplomatic dimension of the crisis is already unfolding. Nigeria has again expressed concern over the safety of its citizens. Statements from officials have called for protection and concrete action from South African authorities. There are ongoing engagements between both countries, reflecting an attempt to manage the situation without escalating tensions.

Other African countries have reacted in similar ways, though often more cautiously. Zimbabwe, Mozambique, and Malawi—countries whose citizens are frequently affected—face a difficult balancing act. On one hand, they must respond to domestic outrage. On the other, they rely on economic ties with South Africa, including remittances from their nationals working there.

This creates a pattern of measured responses—strong enough to signal concern, but restrained enough to avoid diplomatic fallout. It is a delicate equilibrium, one that underscores the complexity of Africa’s internal relations.

The South African government has responded in predictable terms. Officials have condemned the attacks, emphasised that violence is unacceptable, and reiterated the need to respect the rule of law. Security forces have been deployed to affected areas, and there have been assurances that those responsible will be held accountable.

Yet, as in the past, the effectiveness of these measures remains in question. Arrests may occur, but prosecutions are often slow. Convictions are rare. The result is a cycle in which perpetrators do not face meaningful consequences, and the deterrent effect of law enforcement is weakened.

While the government officially condemns xenophobia, public discourse sometimes sends mixed signals. Discussions about tightening immigration controls or prioritising citizens in economic opportunities can be interpreted in ways that reinforce anti-foreigner sentiment.

This does not mean that such discussions are invalid. Every country has the right to manage its borders and address unemployment. The problem arises when these conversations are not carefully framed, allowing them to feed into narratives that blame foreigners for structural problems.

The broader implications of the crisis extend beyond South Africa. At a continental level, xenophobic violence challenges the idea of African unity. It raises questions about how deeply the principles of Pan-Africanism are embedded in contemporary policy and society.

Africa’s history is built on solidarity. Countries supported one another in struggles against colonialism and apartheid. Nigeria, in particular, played a significant role in supporting South Africa’s liberation. That history is often invoked in moments like this, not as a demand for repayment, but as a reminder of shared values.

The persistence of xenophobia suggests that those values are under strain. Economic hardship, political pressure, and social change have created conditions in which solidarity is no longer taken for granted.

Globally, the situation affects how South Africa and by extension, Africa is perceived. South Africa positions itself as a key destination for investment and a gateway to the continent. Repeated incidents of violence complicate that narrative. They raise concerns about stability and governance, factors that are critical for attracting and retaining investment.

What is perhaps most concerning about the latest attacks is the sense of repetition. The same patterns, the same explanations, the same responses. Each time, there is outrage. Each time, there are promises of action. And each time, the underlying issues remain unresolved.

Breaking this cycle requires more than immediate interventions. It requires a deeper commitment to addressing the structural drivers of xenophobia. Economic reform is central to this effort. Reducing inequality, creating jobs, and expanding opportunities are essential steps in reducing the frustration that fuels hostility.

There is also a need for consistent political leadership. Leaders must be clear in their communication, rejecting xenophobia without ambiguity. They must avoid language that can be interpreted as scapegoating and instead focus on solutions that address the root causes of economic and social challenges.

Law enforcement must be strengthened, not just in response to violence, but in preventing it. This includes intelligence gathering, community engagement, and swift prosecution of offenders. Without accountability, the cycle of violence will continue.

For countries like Nigeria, the response must be both firm and strategic. Protecting citizens abroad is a priority, but so is maintaining diplomatic engagement. The relationship between Nigeria and South Africa is too important to be reduced to periodic crises.

There is also a role for regional and continental institutions. The African Union can provide a platform for dialogue and coordination, helping to address the issue at a broader level. Xenophobia is not just a South African problem; it is an African challenge that requires collective attention.

In the end, the renewed attacks are a reminder that the problem has not gone away. It has simply evolved. The factors that drive xenophobia which are economic inequality, political rhetoric, social perception still present. In some cases, they have intensified.

Understanding this reality is the first step. The next is action—sustained, deliberate, and focused on long-term solutions. Without that, the cycle will continue, and each new wave of violence will further erode the ideals of unity and cooperation that Africa has long aspired to uphold. The question is no longer whether xenophobic violence will occur again. It is whether anything will be done to prevent it.

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com

Is Nasir El-Rufai on the Peril? By Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

There is something almost Shakespearean about the current phase of Nasir Ahmad El-Rufai’s political journey. Once firmly lodged within Nigeria’s innermost corridors of power, the former governor of Kaduna State now finds himself navigating choppy waters—estranged from elements of the establishment he helped midwife, locked in public disagreements with former allies, and increasingly defined by sharp media interventions rather than executive authority. The question therefore suggests itself with urgency: is Nasir El-Rufai on the peril, politically speaking, or merely repositioning for another audacious ascent?

To answer that, one must first understand the architecture of his rise. El-Rufai has always thrived at the intersection of intellect and insurgency. From his days as Director-General of the Bureau of Public Enterprises to his tenure as Minister of the Federal Capital Territory between 2003 and 2007, he cultivated the persona of a reformer unafraid of entrenched interests. In Abuja, he enforced the capital’s master plan with relentless precision, demolishing structures deemed illegal and digitising land administration through the Abuja Geographic Information System. Admirers saw courage; critics saw cold technocracy. But none doubted his influence.

His political resurrection after years in relative exile was equally strategic. As a central figure in the coalition that birthed the All Progressives Congress in 2013, El-Rufai demonstrated both tactical patience and elite networking. The APC’s 2015 victory was not merely a partisan turnover; it was a reconfiguration of Nigeria’s power map. In securing the governorship of Kaduna State that same year, El-Rufai transitioned from federal reform czar to subnational executive with a mandate to replicate structural transformation.

Kaduna was never going to be an easy laboratory. With its near parity of Muslim and Christian populations and a history of sectarian volatility, governance required not only administrative efficiency but also delicate social navigation. El-Rufai chose the path he knew best—structural reform. He implemented a Treasury Single Account to streamline finances, overhauled the civil service, and embarked on sweeping education reforms that culminated in the disengagement of more than 20,000 primary school teachers who failed competency tests. The state borrowed heavily for infrastructure, betting that long-term growth would justify short-term fiscal strain.

To his supporters, these were acts of bold leadership in a polity allergic to tough decisions. To his critics, they revealed a governor more comfortable with spreadsheets than sentiments. Southern Kaduna’s recurrent violence further complicated his record. His insistence on framing the crisis largely as criminality rather than ethno-religious persecution was analytically defensible in some respects, yet politically combustible. Perception hardened into distrust among segments of the population who felt unseen and unheard.

Even so, he secured re-election in 2019, proof that reform and controversy can coexist in Nigeria’s electoral calculus. But it was the transition from governor to elder statesman that has proven most perilous.

El-Rufai entered the 2023 political season as a visible ally of President Bola Tinubu during the APC primaries. His intellectual heft and northern pedigree positioned him as a bridge-builder within the party’s power arithmetic. When Tinubu won the presidency, many assumed El-Rufai would feature prominently in the new administration. His nomination as a minister appeared to confirm that trajectory until the Senate declined to confirm him, reportedly citing security concerns.

In Nigerian politics, symbolism often outweighs substance. The rejection was more than procedural; it signalled a rupture. For a politician accustomed to shaping events rather than reacting to them, the development marked a subtle but unmistakable shift from insider to outsider. Since then, his public commentary has grown more pointed. He has questioned the direction of the ruling party, hinted at betrayals, and portrayed himself as a custodian of principles sidelined by expediency.

Is this evidence of peril or repositioning?

There are at least three dimensions to consider. The first is institutional. El-Rufai no longer controls a state apparatus. Without the leverage of executive office, influence must be exerted through persuasion, coalition-building and narrative framing. This transition is difficult for leaders whose authority was reinforced by command structures. His recent media engagements which implies candid, combative and occasionally accusatory suggest a man recalibrating his tools.

The second dimension is relational. Politics is sustained by networks, and networks are sustained by trust. Reports of mistrusts between El-Rufai and key federal figures, as well as friction with his successor in Kaduna, complicate his positioning. In Kaduna, reviews of past contracts and policies have cast shadows backward, feeding narratives of vendetta on both sides. At the federal level, silence has often met his critiques, a strategy that can either isolate a critic or amplify him, depending on public mood.

The third dimension is strategic. Nigeria’s political elite operates in long cycles. Conversations about 2027 are already underway in quiet rooms. El-Rufai’s national profile, intellectual agility and northern base make him a potential factor in any future coalition calculus. His current dissent may therefore be less about grievance and more about differentiation—an effort to craft an identity distinct from a government facing economic and security headwinds.

Yet peril remains a real possibility. Nigeria’s political memory can be unforgiving. Leaders who overplay their hand risk alienation from both establishment and grassroots. If El-Rufai’s critiques are perceived as personal vendetta rather than principled dissent, his moral capital may erode. Moreover, the electorate has grown increasingly wary of elite quarrels that appear disconnected from everyday hardship. A politician who once sold reform as necessity must now demonstrate empathy as convincingly as efficiency.

Still, history suggests that El-Rufai has often converted adversity into opportunity. After leaving the Obasanjo administration under clouds of controversy, he returned stronger within a new coalition. After early resistance in Kaduna, he consolidated his authority and reshaped the state’s administrative culture. His career has been punctuated by phases of apparent crisis followed by strategic resurgence.

The deeper question may not be whether he is on the peril, but whether Nigeria’s political environment can accommodate his style of engagement. El-Rufai thrives on intellectual contestation and structural overhaul. He is less adept at the slow, conciliatory art of consensus politics. In a federation where legitimacy often rests on accommodation as much as achievement, this imbalance can be costly.

There is also the matter of narrative control. El-Rufai has long been his own chief spokesman, deploying social media and interviews with precision. In the absence of political office as he is currently, narrative becomes power. His recent outbursts once again keep him in the national conversation. Silence would have signified retreat.

So, is Nasir El-Rufai on the peril? The answer is layered. Institutionally, yes—he stands as an outsider in the power structure he once influenced. Relationally, yes—alliances appear strained and rivalries sharpened. Strategically, however, peril can be prelude. In politics, moments of vulnerability often precede recalibration and El-Rufai has always been a master of that.

Ultimately, El-Rufai’s future will hinge on whether he can transform dissent into constructive coalition-building. If he remains defined by grievance, the peril may deepen into isolation. If he channels critique into a broader vision that resonates beyond elite circles, the current turbulence could become a staging ground.

For now, he occupies an ambiguous space: not dethroned, not enthroned; neither silenced nor fully embraced. In that ambiguity lies both danger and possibility. Nasir El-Rufai has built a career on defying expectations. Whether this chapter marks decline or reinvention will depend less on his adversaries than on his capacity to balance conviction with conciliation.

The peril, if it exists, is not merely political. It is existential—the risk that a man defined by reform and combat may struggle in an era demanding reconciliation and breadth. But in Nigeria’s ever-shifting theatre of power, yesterday’s peril can become tomorrow’s platform.

Alabidun is a media practitioner and can be reached via alabidungoldenson@gmail.com