… between Alesi and Ochon, soldiers are hailed as saviors by one community and accused of brutality by the other, trapped in a political conflict they did not create
ALESI & OCHON, CROSS RIVER STATE – The dusty, tense streets of Alesi present a picture of fragile calm. A group of men—community chairman Michael Nkwam, youth leader Nton Richard Ntanbang, and others—gather under the watchful eye of armed soldiers. Their description of the Nigerian Army’s presence is one of gratitude, even reverence.
“The experience is a very fine one,” says Nkwam, without hesitation. “If it wasn’t for the intervention of this army, the whole of this place would have been burnt.”
Just kilometres away, across a disputed boundary in Ochon, the narrative fractures into a starkly different reality. In a dimly lit room, a woman named Dorothy speaks in hushed, traumatic bursts. She recounts a recent night when soldiers, she alleges, entered her compound, dragged her sister, and then turned on her.
“They come grab me… He come they touch touch me for breast,” she says, her voice a mixture of fear and defiance. “Immediately I hit him hand. And I run. You run from army? Yes.”
This is the impossible tightrope the Nigerian Army walks in Cross River state’s bitter communal crisis. Deployed as neutral peacekeepers, they have become a central character in the drama, viewed simultaneously as protectors and predators, their mission complicated by a vacuum of political resolution.
A Tale of Two Realities
In Alesi, the army is the thin green line between them and what they believe is annihilation. The community leaders credit the soldiers with enforcing a discipline that has kept the peace. “If you do anything that is wrong, they will correct you immediately,” says Youth Leader Ntanbang, praising the soldiers’ professionalism.
Their primary grievance is not with the army, but with the government –both state and local. They plead for a permanent solution: the demarcation of the boundary between Ikom and Obubra. “The government is delaying this matter,” states Matthew Edim, a community member. “They should make sure they come and give us the real thing.”
In Ochon, the army is seen as the problem. Residents like Ebokpo Emmanuel Epon allege widespread looting and destruction by soldiers. “They break the store all, collect their drink… collect cocoa, rice bag, beans bag,” he claims. Another resident, Joseph, confirms hearing about extortion, citing a case where a woman said soldiers took ₦30,000. Despite these allegations, there has been no evidence from the community to substantiate the claims.
The most serious allegations involve sexual violence. Dorothy’s account is raw and direct. While other testimonies are more fragmented, the fear is palpable. An elderly woman, Josephine, acknowledges the army’s presence has created an atmosphere of terror, even if she hasn’t personally experienced the worst of the allegations.
However, efforts by NEGROIDHAVEN to meet with the lady who was alleged to have been sexually assaulted and extorted were not successful as the residents alleged they were in hiding.
The Army’s Burden: “Deemed the Enemy”
Caught between these two realities is the army command. Rationalizing the challenge, an army personnel without authority to speak officially on the matter anonymously encapsulates the frustration of a mission where every action is misinterpreted. “Doing domestic peace keeping operation is very daisy because you’re dealing with your own citizens,” he says. “You can be misunderstood by both parties. Now the army is being attacked and deemed the enemy. Again, the nature of the exercise is wearing and having a toll on the officers and men, besides being capital intensive.”
His comment reveals a force aware of its precarious position. The soldiers are tasked with keeping peace between two communities that fundamentally believe the other is the aggressor, and now, one community believes the peacekeepers are too.
Concerning the allegations of perceived misconduct, the military hierarchy has initiated an investigation process to uncover the truth about the allegations against her officials. Findings will be reported to the public accordingly.
Community Onslaughts against the Army
Interactions with the army command suggests that at some point, the warring communities have left off fighting between themselves to engage the army, in a situation which left an officer shot in the leg, and a soldier with a bullet brush on the head, across the eyebrow. This situation pitches the army at cross purposes.
An Unsustainable Peace
The calm in Alesi is an illusion maintained by force of arms. Nkwam admits that despite the army declaring “free movement,” his people are too afraid to go to their farms. “We are pleading with the Nigerian Army that they should not go,” he says, fearing that once the soldiers leave, the violence will return with a vengeance.
In Ochon, the presence of the army is itself the source of fear, driving people from their homes and deepening resentment.
Albeit, the experience of madam Josephine Isek is different owing to the fact that despite the palpable fear arising from the tensed situation and the resultant medical crisis she experienced, she discloses that the army intervened by providing food, medication and even calm, a development which went a long way to soften her anxiety and already heightened blood pressure
Both communities, however, agree on one thing, a point that highlights the core failure: the state and local governments’ absence. From Alesi’s plea for boundary demarcation to Ochon’s cries for justice, the calls are directed at a political authority that remains conspicuously silent.
The Nigerian Army is left holding the line in a crisis it cannot solve. It can enforce a ceasefire, but it cannot legislate a lasting peace. Until the government steps in to address the root cause, the soldiers will remain—praised by some, condemned by others, and stuck in the bloody fault lines of an abandoned and forgotten conflict.
