
Militant attack on 2 villages in northeast Nigeria kills at least 57, witnesses say
Abdulrahman Ibrahim survived Thursday's attack on two villages in Baga in Borno State and participated in the burial of the dead. He told The Associated Press that the Jama'atu Ahlis Sunna Lidda'awati wal-Jihad (JAS) faction of the militant group Boko Haram gathered more than 100 residents of the neighboring villages of Mallam Karamti and Kwatandashi and marched them into the bush. Later on Saturday, 57 bodies were recovered there.
A spokesperson for the Borno government said he could not confirm the casualty counts. The Nigerian military did not respond to a request for comment.
According to Ibrahim, who is from Mallam Karamti, and another survivor from Kwatandashi who requested anonymity for fear of reprisals, the villagers were accused of acting as informants for the rival Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP). Although ISWAP has gained notoriety for targeting military personnel and assets, the JAS faction has increasingly resorted to attacking civilians and perceived collaborators and thrives on robberies and abductions for ransom.
'Without the capacity to attack the military like ISWAP, JAS is focused on terrorizing civilians,' said Malik Samuel, an expert on northern Nigeria's conflicts with nonprofit Good Governance Africa.
The witnesses said burial of the victims was delayed because the military was unavailable to provide support in conducting searches for bodies. Most of the dead victims were found with their throats slit, but others had been shot, the locals said.
'There are probably more bodies because we had to stop further searches with soldiers out of fear of an ambush," Ibrahim said. More than 70 are still missing, he said.
The mass killing came during a week of intensifying violence in Borno. On Monday, ISWAP militants overran the 50 Task Force Battalion of the Nigerian Army stationed in Marte, seizing arms and ammunition after a deadly assault that killed several soldiers, according to videos shared on social media by soldiers who survived the attack.
Following the attack on Marte, displaced people camped there fled to nearby Dikwa, a humanitarian hub where aid groups are pulling out due to international funding cuts.
In a separate incident on Saturday afternoon, a roadside bomb detonated along the Maiduguri-Damboa road, the second such attack in a week. Three people died at the scene, and a fourth succumbed to injuries Sunday morning at the University of Maiduguri Teaching Hospital (UMTH). More than 10 others were still being treated for injuries at the hospital, a local resident, Lawan Bukar Maigana, who has assisted the community in emergencies, said.
Since 2009, the Boko Haram insurgency has created a humanitarian disaster in Nigeria, Cameroon, Niger and Chad, with more than 35,000 people killed and 2.6 million others displaced over the last 15 years. Borno in Nigeria, its birthplace, is the worst-affected.
They want to install an Islamic state across the four countries, with Nigeria as their main target. The country is West Africa's oil giant with more than 200 million people, divided almost equally between a mainly Christian south and a predominantly Muslim north.
The Nigerian government has claimed progress against the insurgency, but the militants continue to attack civilians and military and have expanded into other regions, including central Nigeria where the capital Abuja is located, according to experts and public records on counterterrorism.

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New York Post
a day ago
- New York Post
City sued for discrimination by ex-Civilian Complaint Review Board investigator
He was hired to be an investigator — but was allegedly treated like a pack mule. An administrator for the NYC Civilian Complaint Review Board was forced to perform manual labor at his office job, and eventuallu quit to escape 'grotesque bigotry and hostility' from his supervisors, he said in a lawsuit. Nigerian-born Ademola Bello was the only desk worker at the CCRB's Division of Financial and Strategic Management ever asked by his bosses 'to haul furniture, office supplies, boxes of paper and filing cabinets,' he claimed in court papers. 4 Ademola Bello is a graduate of Columbia University's Journalism School. Helayne Seidman Winnie Chen, the CCRB's director of budget and operations, and Jeanine Marie, the agency's deputy executive director, treated Bello, 52, like 'property' and 'chattel labor,' which left him 'emotionally battered and psychologically depleted,' the Nigerian native said in the July 16 legal filing. Bello, who started working for the CCRB in September 2023 as a civilian investigator and transitioned to Chen's department that December, where the Columbia Journalism School grad — alleged he was singled out for 'strenuous manual labor' due to his 'African identity.' 'They tried to cover up all these things, it was just so bad,' Bello told The Post this week. 'And it was because of my nationality.' 4 Bello will soon need surgery on his knee, which he hurt lifting heavy boxes. Helayne Seidman He was repeatedly asked to do tasks 'utterly incongruous with his administrative duties and physical capacity,' like moving furniture, and in early 2025, he sustained an 'acute knee injury' lifting a large box, according to the lawsuit. Even though the city confirmed his injury was work related, Chen allegedly urged him to 'rub [his knee with] her 'Chinese oil,' or face consequences' and pushed him to drop a worker's compensation claim. When he refused Chen's 'nontraditional herbal treatment…her abuse escalated,' he said in court papers. 4 The offices of the Civilian Complaint Review Board. Google Maps Bello was the only person in the office who wasn't allowed to eat at his desk and his requests for pay raises or remote work privileges were denied, unlike his 'non-African, less qualified' colleagues, he alleged. And he was also asked to fill-in at the reception desk, often coming into the office before sunrise and not leaving until well after 5 p.m., he said in the legal filing, which also alleges he was never paid for 40 hours a week, despite working twice as many hours. 4 Bello worked under Winnie Chen, who is a party to the civil suit. Winnie Chen/ Linkedin 'I was told I was working for free and there was nothing I could do,' said Bello. 'When he questioned this exploitation' during a discussion with Marie, 'the response was unambiguous: 'You can resign,'' he said in the litigation. He would never be able to meet Marie's expectations because Bello 'was not 'white,'' Marie said, according to the lawsuit. Bello's lawyer, Bennitta Joseph of Joseph and Norinsberg, said he'll be having knee surgery next month. 'At the Civilian Complaint Review Board — the agency sworn to root out abuse — an African immigrant was treated like a slave,' Joseph said. 'They exploited him for manual labor, denied him dignity, and discarded his humanity while hiding behind the language of justice. This wasn't just hypocrisy—it was modern-day servitude, enforced by bureaucrats drunk on power and bigotry, and for this they must be held accountable.' The CCRB did not return calls seeking comment.
Yahoo
3 days ago
- Yahoo
Alberta watchdog's ruling on Winnipeg police fatal shooting of Nigerian student expected in August
A decision over whether Winnipeg police officers were justified in the fatal 2023 shooting of a Nigerian international student is expected by the end of August, the out-of-province police watchdog tapped to conduct the investigation says. Afolabi Stephen Opaso, 19, was shot dead by officers responding to a well-being call at a Winnipeg apartment building on Dec. 31, 2023, the Independent Investigation Unit (IIU) of Manitoba has said. The agency investigates all serious incidents involving police in Manitoba. Winnipeg police said the call involved a possibly armed man who was acting erratically. Opaso, a University of Manitoba student, was armed with two knives when officers shot him, then-police chief Danny Smyth told reporters a day after the shooting. In January 2024, the IIU tapped its Alberta-based counterpart to take over the investigation into Opaso's death to avoid any perceived conflict of interest, after it said a Manitoba Justice employee was found to be a "close relative" of a police officer involved in the shooting. Opaso's family has been vocal about their wait for answers over his death in the months since. Last December, the family released a statement expressing deep frustration as they continued to wait for the independent report into what led to Opaso's death. The family released another statement on Monday, urging the Alberta Serious Incident Response Team (ASIRT) to release a formal written update on the status of its investigation within seven days. "This continued delay is unjustified and quite disturbing for us, and we genuinely wonder if our beloved brother will ever get justice," said the most recent statement, provided to CBC News by the Opaso family's lawyer, Jean-René Dominique Kwilu. A decision is expected by the end of August, a spokesperson for the Alberta Serious Incident Response Team (ASIRT) told CBC News on Thursday. Kwilu says he didn't hear back from ASIRT after sending the family's most recent statement to the police watchdog. He said the watchdog's decision is "long overdue," as questions have swirled about alleged discrepancies between police's account of the shooting and Opaso's roommates, including whether Opaso was holding a weapon before his death. "We'll see what the investigation findings are, and then the family will know what their next steps are," Kwilu told CBC News on Thursday. He had not informed Opaso's family of the watchdog's update at that point. The family is considering whether to sue Winnipeg police over Opaso's death, Kwilu said. The family hopes the watchdog's final report will help them understand what information emergency dispatchers gave the officers who responded to the call, and how much time police had to talk to each other before providing their accounts of what happened, Kwilu said. The family also wants to know whether all the gunshots fired were necessary in the officers' response and whether there was a racial component to how the case was dealt with. Opaso's death disturbed Winnipeg's international student community, and it has broader implications for families with loved ones who struggle with mental health issues, he said. "Beyond just Afolabi, if there are some reforms that are needed, then those reforms must be tackled, especially in the areas of police and mental health, and how to respond to these calls," Kwilu said.


Time Magazine
3 days ago
- Time Magazine
William Ruto Has Failed Kenyans Like Me
On a humid July afternoon, I found myself at a stall in Brixton Market in South London buying a Kenyan flag bracelet. The lanky man selling the country bracelets asked me if I was replacing mine. I told him I had never owned one. He stopped flicking through the bracelets and paused, his hand mid-air holding a string of beads in red, green, white and black—the colors of the Kenyan flag. 'Why?' he asked. 'I have a complicated relationship with my country.' I replied. 'The politics, the politicians.' He concurred. 'Bro, I'm Nigerian so I know exactly what you mean.' We laughed about it some more, this shared misery of ours, the state of our countries. I tapped five pounds for the bracelet, wore it around my wrist, and left. This was me finally displaying my Kenyanness, this was me saying, 'My country is not perfect but it is mine.' I sat on the tube from Brixton, scrolled through my Twitter feed, and watched photos and videos of young Kenyans covered in tear-gas smoke and the water cannon spray. On June 8, Albert Ojwang, a 31-year old teacher and anti-corruption blogger, was killed in police custody after being arrested for allegedly insulting a senior police officer on social media. His death in Nairobi sparked a series of protests by young Kenyans against police brutality and lack of government accountability. The young protesters were again met with the brute force of the Kenyan police. I shuddered at a video of hawker Boniface Kariuki being shot in the head. I saw images of young people lying dead on the road, their blood spilling and meshing with the tarmac. Mothers crying out loud for their children, and fathers hugging their children close to their chests. In three weeks of protests, 38 people were killed and 29 others injured. I couldn't help but ask myself how did we get here? How did we allow ourselves to sink to this point? That, of course, is the easier question to answer with our own choices in the elections. How do we get away from this becomes a much harder one to deal with. This is the tug-of-war relationship I've had with this place I call home. A personal history of post-colonial violence The first time I encountered police brutality in the hands of the Kenyan police, I was four years old. It was Saba Saba day, July 7, 1997. On my way home from nursery school I was caught up in the nationwide protests against the government of Daniel arap Moi, the dictator who ruled Kenya between 1978 and 2002 animated by calls for a transition from a one-party state to a multiparty democracy. I choked up on teargas as I ran home, my great-grandmother waiting for me at the door. My memory of that day shaped my relationship with the Kenyan state and its violent machinery. Years later, I would learn that a 17-year-old boy was murdered by the police in those protests. Often, I wonder if his ghost looks at the other young people who have been murdered at the hands of the state: Samantha Pendo, a six month old, killed in a police operation in an opposition stronghold after protests against irregularities in a 2017 election; Rex Masai, the first person to be killed in the 2024 crackdown on peaceful protests against government plans to increase taxes on bread, sanitary pads, diapers, vegetable oil and fuel; two brothers, Benson Njiru Ndwiga, a 22-year old law student, and Emmanuel Mutura Ndwiga, an 19-year-old engineering student, were murdered by policemen enforcing a Covid-19 lockdown. And many more who have lost their lives to the ruthlessness of the Kenyan police. The difficult business of democracy In 1992, a year before I was born, a group called YK '92 was launched into the Kenyan political scene to sabotage the general elections and ensure that Moi's iron grip on power continued. The group used intimidation, coercion, corruption, and violence. In collaboration with the dictatorship, they printed so much money it created an inflation crisis. One of the key players in this instrument of the dictatorship was a protégé of Moi: a young William Samoei Ruto, who rose through the ranks and eventually was elected the president of Kenya in 2022. I became aware of Ruto and the space he occupied in the Kenyan political ecosystem as a teenager during the fiercely contested general elections in Kenya in 2007. The incumbent President Mwai Kibaki was being challenged by Raila Odinga, who had aligned with him in 2002 to get Moi out of power. Odinga was expected to win but the elections were marred by irregularities. President Kibaki was declared the winner for the second term. Odinga and his party disputed the results and widespread violence followed. In the end, they agreed to a power sharing deal brokered by Kofi Annan. Eventually, Ruto would be among those charged at the International Criminal Court for the post-election violence in which aproximately 1,200 people died and half a million people were displaced. Accusations against Ruto ranged from murder, transporting violent groups from one area to another to kill people, to giving instructions to goons to kill people and destroy property that belonged to the other ethnic groups in the Rift Valley. Every election cycle since has been accompanied by some degree of state violence. And again and again, Ruto has been part of the governments inflicting the violence. From the disappearance of ICC witnesses to political assassinations with bodies being fished out of River Yala in western Kenya, Ruto has somehow managed to find himself in the middle of it all. And yet, despite all this, Ruto continued to climb the political ranks to the presidency. The false promise of William Ruto Ruto narrowly won the 2022 national elections despite strong opposition from Uhuru Kenyatta, the president he deputised as Vice-President since 2013. Though many remained wary of the numerous charges of corruption and violence against him over the years, Ruto ran under the 'Hustler' banner and made great promises of reducing the costs of food and fertilizer, supporting small businesses, and bringing economic growth and prosperity to Kenya. None of these promises have been kept. Instead, since 2022, we have witnessed a government of wastage, looting, and wanton corruption. Kenyans are worse off than before, with many blaming Ruto for his failure to improve the economic conditions, his decisions to increase taxes, and his ostentatious display of wealth from fancy watches to Louboutin shoes. Ruto also plans to build a new church at his official presidential residence in Nairobi at a cost of $9.3 million—a decision that has angered many Kenyans. By the summer of 2024, the Gen Z Kenyans were fed up with the increasingly bleak economic conditions, the skyrocketing unemployment rates, and what they saw as the blatant looting of state resources as the political class and their children flaunted their ill-gotten wealth on social media. To pay back loans from the International Monetary Fund, Ruto introduced a finance bill in June 2024 to impose new taxes, which would increase the cost of bread, telephone and internet data, cars, money transfers, ride-hailing and food-delivery services, among other things. Young Kenyans believed the IMF loans had done little for the country and been siphoned off to service the lavish lifestyles of the ruling class. The rumble of discontent grew into the rapturous clap of thunder. Online, we congregated around the hashtags #RutoMustGo and #RejectFinanceBill2024. With one voice, the people were saying 'Enough!' Young Kenyans took to the streets; Ruto's police opened fire and killed close to 100 people. We huddled together and mourned our lost ones. Relentless police brutality Ruto pledged that there would be reform, that things would change but he continued to use the police to silence dissent: kidnappings and murders of government critics became a regular occurrence. The violence was meant to spread fear but it only created solidarity amongst these young people. After the custodial murder of the blogger, Albert Ojwang, they found a renewed voice by coming together. Ruto remains adamant the protests are planned to sabotage him and his presidency. His government has intensified its crackdown on dissent, arresting activists and charging protesters with anti-terror laws, seemingly an attempt to ensure there is little to no opposition to his abuse of powers. With Ruto still in control, there is little hope of reform and accountability. Each time I take a look at the Kenyan bracelet on my wrist, I am confronted with the possibility that Kenya might never be the same again after Ruto's presidency. I am scared of how deep the rot has gone, and the amount of work it will take subsequent governments to uproot it all. All systems may be too corrupted and we might need a full reset. And yet, as hopeless as this all sounds, I cannot afford to despair. Kenya has been here before—with the Moi presidency—and we managed to pull ourselves out of the quagmire and wipe everything clean and start again. So, we continue to push against the fear. We carry ourselves with the dignity of the warriors we've always been. We resist—even in the smallest of ways. When the brutal dictatorship of Daniel arap Moi ended in 2002, Kenyans sang of his riddance. One day Ruto will go too, and we will, with a resounding voice, sing of a hopeful future without him. 'Yote Yawezekana, Bila Ruto.' Anything is possible, without Ruto.