Bandits killing and displacing thousands of civilians

Sitting in a plastic chair under the shade of a large rosewood tree, Alhaji Auta apologizes that he cannot serve me a full meal. He had planned to slaughter a ram in anticipation of our interview, but he was distracted by airstrikes that morning that killed some of his cattle.

“The airstrikes never hit us,” the 38-year-old says as he gestures to the gun-toting figures surrounding him. In fact, Auta claims, the Nigerian military never comes into the bush for a fair fight. “They just scatter our herds and harass innocent people in the villages.”

Beyond this group of 50 or so fighters crammed under the tree’s shade, I can see nothing but shrubby grassland and some hills in the distance, behind which lies the virtually unmarked border with Niger. I know we must be near Auta’s camp, but he does not trust me enough to take me to that forested militant community.

Moments later, one of his boys materializes out of the bushes on motorbike, a live ram lying across his lap. Auta explains that in lieu of a meal, he is sending me and my colleague home with this gift.

The ram is Auta’s way of welcoming his visitors, who ventured deep into the bush for this interview. It is his way of telling me that he is a man of means, a community leader who upholds pastoralists’ traditions of hospitality and a friend to anyone who will listen to his story. He is many things except, he insists, that which the rest of Nigerian society would call him.