Boko Haram (15 page)

This was different, however. It certainly could not be ruled out that some northern politicians had played a role on the margins, as had been alleged with Ali Modu Sheriff, who was governor of Borno state from 2003 to 2011, but Boko Haram was in the process of growing into something far more complex, beyond the control of any politician or traditional ruler. Blaming northern elites for the violence could give the president and his team a convenient excuse for failing to stop it, but it would do nothing to get to the heart of the problem and in fact obscure the root causes, suffocating hopes that the government would act to address them. Such conspiracy arguments would become even harder to defend as the situation spiralled further out of control and Boko Haram's targets widened. Even the northern emirs – meant to be upholders of Muslim tradition in the region – were not spared. One of Boko Haram's most high-profile attacks was an assassination attempt against the emir of Kano, when gunmen opened fire on his convoy in January 2013. He was not hurt, but two of his sons were wounded and at least three people were killed.
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Another awful line would be crossed on Christmas Eve 2010, showing how bad the threat was becoming and how much worse it could get. It would demonstrate that Boko Haram had evolved into a more lethal, sophisticated and diffuse force, likely with various cells that operated independently and for their own reasons.

It had been a busy day in Abuja. President Jonathan had hosted a summit of West African leaders to discuss responses to a dangerous political standoff in Ivory Coast, with Laurent Gbagbo at the
time refusing to cede power after losing the presidential election to his rival Alassane Ouattara. When it finally broke up and the region's presidents made their way back to their home countries, Nigerians were beginning to celebrate, popping off fireworks as night descended to commemorate Christmas and the upcoming New Year.

In Jos, a major city in Nigeria's ethnically and religiously divided central region, many Christians headed to church, and markets were crowded with shoppers stocking up for the holiday. The city and surrounding region had been deeply torn in recent years by unrest not linked to Boko Haram. It had often been described as religious violence because it opposed Christians and Muslims, though the disputes were really ethnic in nature, sparked by local power struggles, land disputes or cattle theft. Such violence often saw residents shot or hacked to death with machetes and houses set on fire, sparking cycles of attacks and retribution. The last serious outbursts in the region had occurred early that year, in January as well as in March 2010, leaving hundreds dead.
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The violence on Christmas Eve would, however, involve explosives.

Seven bombs planted at various spots ripped through the city, including at a market busy with Christmas shoppers, killing at least 32 people.
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On the same evening in Maiduguri, hundreds of miles away, extremists attacked three churches and killed six people. In Jos, where even the slightest spark is capable of setting off ethnic tensions, rioting broke out in the days following, killing dozens more. It was unclear if the attacks in the two different cities were planned together, but the simple fact that they occurred at all were startling enough. Bombs had never before been used in Jos, and churches had not been previously singled out for attacks.

On 28 December, a statement appeared on a website believed to be from Boko Haram claiming credit for both the Jos bombings and the church attacks in Maiduguri. A video was also posted of a man believed to be Abubakar Shekau, Boko Haram's new leader, calling the attacks part of a ‘religious war'. In the video he said:

The bombings marked the group's first move out of the north and into the tinderbox known as the middle belt, as central Nigeria was often referred to, threatening to inflame the ethnic and religious tensions that had long haunted the region. It was exactly the kind of provocation that had so worried those afraid that Nigeria could again go to war with itself, as it had more than forty years earlier. Nigeria had repeatedly defied such doomsday predictions, somehow surviving repeated catastrophes and remaining together as one nation, however fragile, but escalating the conflict in the middle belt posed new, unpredictable risks.

There was at first widespread scepticism about whether Boko Haram was indeed responsible for the Jos bombings. In some ways it seemed more likely that those involved in the ethnic conflict in the middle belt would carry out such an attack in Jos, even though bombs had not been previously used there. The middle-belt conflict had gradually worsened over the years, from the use of rudimentary weapons such as sticks and arrows to guns, and it was certainly plausible that bombs could be the next stage in the crisis. Another factor that was especially important was that election season was approaching, and it had long seemed that local power brokers had exploited the region's tensions and stoked some of the violence for political gain. In the face of all of that, however,
as time passed and Boko Haram was blamed for more violence in central Nigeria, the group's claim seemed to ring true.

Speculation over the Jos attack would quickly be interrupted. The next bombing would be yet another escalation, not in terms of casualties or scale, but location. It would occur in Abuja, the nation's capital, on New Year's Eve night as crowds gathered in an area known as Abacha Barracks, where an outdoor market and bar were located. Though it was next to a military barracks, it was a popular place for civilians, similar to many other spots across Nigeria where people go to relax, sip Star and Gulder beer and eat grilled fish at tables set up under the stars. The bomb would go off early in the evening, killing at least four people and wounding around 12 others.
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Nigeria's president spoke of the bombing at a church service the following day, referring to whoever carried it out as ‘criminals' being used by ‘demons' and employing biblical language to describe the country's struggles. He seemed to hint at political links with elections approaching and politicians from northern Nigeria opposing his candidacy, but his remarks were too vague to interpret.

‘Some people say they are politicians, some say they are religious fanatics, but to me they are pure criminals', Jonathan said. He continued:

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The election campaign ground ahead. Despite having earlier signalled that he may not run, leaving open the possibility that the north could regain the presidency, Jonathan eventually launched himself into the campaign with the strong backing of his southern political benefactors. This had led to a rift within the Peoples Democratic Party, with northern politicians plotting a way to win the primary and deny Jonathan the nomination for the office he already held. Prominent northerners announced their candidacies, including former military dictator Ibrahim Babangida, the so-called Maradona and evil genius of Nigerian politics. Babangida, who had remained influential despite having left office in 1993, was remembered by much of the country, however, particularly in the south-west, for his cancellation of the 1993 elections. After Babangida announced he was running, posters went up in Abuja with ‘June 12, 1993' written on them, reminding everyone of the annulled vote. Other northerners to announce their candidacies for the PDP primary were Atiku Abubakar, who was vice president under Obasanjo and a wealthy ex-customs official invested in sectors ranging from telecommunications to oil; Aliyu Gusau, a former national security adviser and intelligence expert known for his ample connections and behind-the-scenes influence; and Bukola Saraki, the then-governor of Kwara state and scion of an influential family.

The campaign for the nomination largely amounted to a series of negotiations, not to mention the distribution of cash-stuffed
envelopes as the 12 January primary drew near.
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In the end, the party would have to decide whether it would maintain what it called ‘zoning', a policy of rotating the presidency between the north and south every two terms, or if it was prepared to abandon it and hand the nomination to Jonathan. As the weeks passed, it became increasingly clear that Jonathan's team was having some success in building support for his case that the country was better off without ‘zoning', that such a power-sharing agreement was no longer needed to hold the vast and complex country together, that it had moved beyond ethnic politics. Among the electorate, he seemed to inspire a certain amount of hope – somewhat ironically given his sleepy persona. His unlikely rise and calm demeanour led to the impression that he may be different from the country's dominant politicians who had robbed Nigeria of so much of its wealth over the years. His campaign managers seized on this and sought to capitalise on it, using Jonathan's Facebook page to announce his candidacy and emphasising his family's humble roots. Despite his sometimes fumbling speech and arguments from his opponents that he was ill-prepared, there was a feeling among many in the country that Nigeria had tried strongmen, military men and slick dealmakers, only to be left disappointed. Perhaps it was time for something else.

Meanwhile, as this feeling gained momentum, the northerners who had announced their candidacies and other elite politicians from the region forged ahead with discussions on how to proceed. All of the major northern PDP candidates eventually agreed on a united strategy, though perhaps for their own reasons. Babangida, Gusau and Saraki announced that they would drop out of the race in support of a single northern candidate, Atiku Abubakar, setting up a showdown between him and the president at the party's primary, where thousands of delegates would line up at Eagle Square parade ground in the capital and drop ballots in clear boxes live on national television. Their votes were counted aloud immediately afterwards as the cameras rolled, a process that would
not finish until the early hours of the next morning. As the count droned on, it became clear that Jonathan had managed to lock up more than enough delegates, and he would go on to dominate the primary vote.

In a sense, Nigerian history had been made. The PDP had cast aside its rotation policy and nominated a southerner when it was supposed to be the north's turn. Beyond that, Jonathan could also become the first elected president from the oil-producing and impoverished Niger Delta region, and since he was an Ijaw by ethnicity, the first not to be a Yoruba, Hausa-Fulani or Igbo, Nigeria's main ethnic groups. His journey was not yet complete, however. The general election awaited, and it posed a potentially significant challenge to the PDP's grip on the presidency, which the party had controlled since Nigeria ended military rule in 1999. His main opponent, the ex-military dictator Muhammadu Buhari, was a northerner with populist support, based largely on the impression that he was tough on corruption, even though his regime in the 1980s had been accused of major rights abuses.

As election day approached, there was intense focus on preparations and whether or not the polls would be fair this time around. There were high hopes for the academic now heading the electoral commission, Attahiru Jega, a respected intellectual viewed as relatively independent. The presidential election was to be the second of three votes staggered over three weeks, with the parliamentary polls set to be first on 2 April, the presidential vote on 9 April and the state governors' ballot on 16 April. It was going to be a marathon, and with so many uncertainties, there was a feeling of both hope and trepidation in the country. Could Nigeria finally get it right and set itself on a course that would allow it to fulfil its great potential? Or would the election descend into chaos and violence like others before it? The potential for both could be seen during the voter registration process in the weeks leading up to the election. Young and earnest election workers, intent on seeing their country improve, diligently sought to enlist
Nigeria's huge population using an electronic registration system. At the same time, registration centres lacked electricity, sometimes causing them to borrow or rent small generators from residents. When generators were not available, there were delays, and crowds waiting to register grew frustrated. Yet, despite such challenges, the electoral commission announced at the end of the process that 73.5 million people had been registered, and there was reason to see progress in the perseverance showed by both election workers and the public.