“We Are Suffering”: Mixed Reactions as Borno Police Restrict Tricycles, Order Residents to Pray Near Homes for Sallah
As Muslims in Borno State prepare to celebrate Sallah, what should be a period of joy and spiritual reflection has been overshadowed by heightened security measures that have left many residents with mixed feelings.
The Borno State Police Command, in collaboration with other security agencies, has announced restrictions on tricycle (Keke NAPEP) movements from 6 a.m. to 12 p.m. during the Eid-el-Fitr celebration. Residents have also been urged to pray near their homes rather than congregate in large open fields.
While the measures are officially framed as necessary precautions to prevent terrorist attacks following recent bomb blasts in the region, the reality on the ground tells a more complex story—one of frustration, fear, exhaustion, and grudging acceptance.
The Security Situation: Why the Measures Are in Place
Before diving into public reactions, it's important to understand the context.
Borno State has been the epicenter of Nigeria's 16-year battle against insurgent groups. Despite significant military gains in recent years, terrorists still occasionally launch deadly attacks on soft targets. In the weeks leading up to Sallah, several bomb blasts were reported in and around Maiduguri, raising alarm among security forces.
In response, the police announced:
- Total restriction of tricycle (Keke NAPEP) movements from 6 a.m. to 12 p.m. on Sallah day.
- Increased patrols across major roads and praying grounds.
- Advice to residents to observe prayers in their neighborhoods rather than congregating at central Eid grounds.
- Enhanced searches at checkpoints along major highways, particularly the Maiduguri-Damaturu road.
According to police spokesperson (name withheld), these steps are designed to “coordinate effectively, manage crowds, and prevent insurgents from exploiting large gatherings.”
But for ordinary residents trying to celebrate with their families, the implementation of these measures has been anything but smooth.
“We Are Treated Like Animals”: Travelers Speak Out
While the tricycle restriction affects those within cities, the toughest experiences have fallen on travelers trying to reach their hometowns for Sallah.
At security checkpoints along the Maiduguri-Damaturu road—a major artery connecting Borno to other states—travelers have been forced to disembark from vehicles and trek long distances under the scorching sun while security personnel search their conveyances.
“We have been walking for almost two kilometers. The soldiers said it's for our safety, but my children are tired. We have been fasting. This is too much.”
— Asmawu Mohammed, a mother traveling with her children
Her experience is not isolated.
“We have been walking for almost two kilometers,” she told newsmen. “The soldiers said it's for our safety, but my children are tired. We have been fasting. This is too much.”
— Asmawu Mohammed
Sarah Bwala, another traveler, described seeing women sweating profusely while balancing babies on their hips during the long trek.
“It is the hot season. Women are carrying children, some are pregnant, elderly people can barely walk—yet we are all forced to trek like this. I saw one woman almost collapse. If this is security, then security should have mercy.”
— Sarah Bwala
Elderly and Vulnerable: The Forgotten Victims
Perhaps the most heartbreaking reactions have come from elderly residents, many of whom have spent their entire lives in the Northeast and have endured decades of conflict.
“I am an old man. I have fasted nearly the whole month. My body is weak. I am not against security checks—we want to be safe. But there must be a way to do this that respects the health of citizens. We need a civil-oriented approach.”
— Ishaku Yahya, an elderly traveler who had fasted 28 days
His words highlight a recurring theme in public reaction: the absence of dignity in the name of security.
Even more concerning was the case of a 79-year-old traveler with a fractured leg. Speaking anonymously, the elderly man described how the long trek compounded the challenges of traveling in the Northeast.
“I already struggle to walk even a few meters. Now they want me to walk kilometers? This is not security. This is suffering.”
— anonymous elderly traveler
For many, the physical strain is compounded by fear. Some travelers worry that the long queues of exposed pedestrians, stretched out along open highways, could themselves become attractive targets for terrorists.
Urban Residents: Mixed Feelings About Staying Home
Within Maiduguri and other towns, reactions to the “pray near home” directive have been more subdued but still significant.
“I understand why they are doing this. After the bomb blasts, no one can blame the police for being careful. But at the same time, Sallah is a time of community. We gather, we greet, we share. If we are all scattered in our homes, something is lost. How long will Nigerians suffer like this?”
— Habib Zanna, 69-year-old resident
Some younger residents expressed relief at not having to travel long distances to pray.
“It saves transport money. And honestly, with the way things are, I feel safer praying close to home. You never know what can happen at large gatherings.”
— Musa Garba, 24-year-old trader
But others worry about the economic impact. Tricycle operators, who depend on Sallah day traffic for significant income, face a complete loss of earnings during the restricted hours.
“No work, no money. I understand security, but my children need to eat on Sallah too. Is there no way to balance both?”
— Kabiru Umar, Keke driver
“Condemnation Is Not Leadership”: Public Commentators Weigh In
Beyond ordinary citizens, public commentators and analysts have begun reacting to both the attacks and the security response.
“Condemnation is not leadership. We have seen this cycle before. Attack happens, officials condemn, security is tightened for a few weeks, then things go back to normal until the next attack. Where is the long-term intelligence strategy? Where is the proactive approach?”
— Obi Njoku, social commentator
His comments resonate with many Nigerians who feel that security measures, while necessary, often fail to address root causes.
Another commentator, speaking on condition of anonymity, pointed to the psychological toll on residents.
“People in Borno have lived with fear for 16 years. Every Sallah, every Christmas, every major event brings new restrictions, new checkpoints, new reasons to be afraid. That is not living. That is surviving.”
The Fear Factor: Are Open Spaces Safe?
One of the unspoken fears driving public reaction is the memory of past attacks on places of worship and public gatherings.
In 2024, insurgents attacked a church in Yobe State during a service. In previous years, mosques and Eid grounds have been targeted during peak congregation times.
This history explains, in part, why some residents accept the restrictions despite the inconvenience.
“I would rather pray in my compound than take my family to a field where anything can happen. Sallah is about thankfulness. I can be thankful anywhere.”
— Aisha Modu, mother of three
But others argue that giving in to fear plays into the terrorists' hands.
“They want us to be afraid. They want us to change our way of life. If we all hide in our homes, they have already won.”
— Mohammed Ali, civil servant
This tension between security and normalcy runs through nearly every public reaction to the measures.
📢 What Residents Are Saying: A Summary of Voices
A Delicate Balance: Security vs. Dignity
The situation in Borno highlights a challenge faced by security forces across Nigeria: how to protect citizens without crushing their spirit or dignity.
No one denies the need for vigilance. The remnants of insurgent groups still operate in the region, and intelligence reports suggest they actively seek opportunities to exploit large gatherings.
But the manner of implementation matters.
Forcing fasting elderly persons to trek kilometers in the heat, separating families at checkpoints, and treating every traveler as a potential threat—these actions, however well-intentioned, create resentment and fatigue.
As one resident put it:
“We are not asking them to stop protecting us. We are asking them to remember we are human.”
Looking Ahead: What Needs to Change
As Sallah approaches and residents navigate the restrictions, several questions remain:
- Can security agencies develop more humane checkpoint protocols that accommodate the elderly, pregnant women, children, and people with disabilities?
- Is there a long-term strategy to reduce reliance on reactive, brute-force security measures and move toward intelligence-driven prevention?
- How can authorities balance the economic needs of tricycle operators with legitimate security concerns?
- Will the “pray near home” directive become permanent, or will residents eventually return to communal Eid grounds?
These questions have no easy answers. But they deserve honest conversation—between citizens and security forces, between community leaders and government officials, between Nigerians who want to be safe and Nigerians who want to live freely.
Conclusion: Sallah in the Shadow of Fear
This Sallah, many Borno residents will pray in their compounds, visit neighbors within walking distance, and celebrate quietly—not by choice, but by necessity.
Some will accept it with grace, grateful for any measure that keeps their families safe.
Others will resent it, mourning the loss of communal joy that Sallah once brought.
Most will do both: accept and resent, comply and complain, pray for peace while preparing for the worst.
That is the reality of living in a conflict zone for 16 years.
As the sun rises on Sallah morning and the takbir echoes from scattered homes rather than packed fields, Borno residents will do what they have always done: adapt, endure, and hope for better days.
And perhaps, one day, those days will come.