How Operation Hadin Kai, human resilience and unseen sacrifices are reshaping Nigeria’s most misunderstood city
By Joy Odor Reportcircle News
For years, Maiduguri has lived in Nigeria’s imagination as a place frozen in fear, a city defined almost entirely by insurgency, displacement and grief. Yet stepping into Borno State during the recent Defence Media Tour of Operation Hadin Kai revealed a far more complex, human and quietly hopeful reality: a city rebuilding itself amid scars, sustained by military sacrifice and the stubborn resilience of its people.
The three-day tour, coordinated by the Directorate of Defence Media Operations (DDMO ) under Defence Headquarters, offered journalists a rare, unfiltered look into Nigeria’s counter-insurgency effort in the North-East.
It was not a choreographed spectacle, but an immersion into the evolving realities of war, recovery and the long road to peace.
From the moment the aircraft touched down in Maiduguri, old assumptions began to dissolve.
Markets hummed with trade, commuters navigated busy roads, and the city pulsed with a confidence absent from past narratives.
Traders spoke of customers returning. Farmers talked about going back to their fields. Normal life, once stolen by fear, was cautiously reclaiming its place.
Yet the past was never far away.
Bullet-scarred buildings and quiet conversations about lost relatives reminded visitors that this fragile normalcy was hard-won.
At the Theatre Headquarters of Operation Hadin Kai, the delegation was received by the Theatre Commander, Major General Abdulsalam Abubakar. His briefing revealed a counter-terrorism campaign that has moved beyond sheer firepower into intelligence-driven, people-centred operations.
According to the Command, sustained pressure has led to the surrender of over 16,000 terrorists and family members, the neutralization of more than 5,000 insurgent leaders, and the destruction of numerous terrorist enclaves. But beyond the numbers lies a strategic shift: a recognition that military success must be paired with stabilisation, rehabilitation and community trust.
That philosophy came sharply into focus at the Joint Investigation Centre (JIC) in Maiduguri. Often misunderstood as merely a detention facility, the JIC revealed a structured system rooted in justice, due process and rehabilitation.
Suspects awaiting trial were engaged in education, vocational training, farming and fishery.
Children were separated from adult detainees and placed in learning environments designed to protect them from inherited trauma.
Inside one workshop, a neatly tailored pair of jeans, sewn by a former insurgent, became an unlikely symbol of transformation — proof that deradicalization and reintegration are not abstract ideals, but ongoing, fragile possibilities.
The tour also took journalists to Forward Operating Bases in Tungushe and Molai, communities once overrun by Boko Haram.
Soldiers spoke openly about relentless patrols, nights spent on watch and the strain of protecting vast, difficult terrain. Yet it was the voices of civilians that underscored the meaning of security gains.
Farmers spoke of returning to their land. Traders talked about reopened markets. Parents described children going back to school. Their gratitude was clear but so were their needs.
Across communities, the same appeal echoed: water, healthcare and housing to cement the peace that soldiers have secured. Perhaps the most arresting moment came at the Maimalari Military Cemetery.
Row upon row of graves stretched quietly under the Borno sky, final resting places of soldiers who never returned from the Frontline. In that silence, the war’s true cost became undeniable. Each grave marked a life cut short so others might live without fear.
No briefing or statistic carried the weight of that moment. It was a stark reminder that every reclaimed road, reopened market and returning family rests on sacrifices rarely seen and too often forgotten.
Beyond checkpoints and command posts, Maiduguri revealed another truth: culture and commerce are returning. Markets buzzed, restaurants filled, nightlife flickered back to life. Traders from different ethnic backgrounds spoke of safety and acceptance. Religious gatherings held openly. The city’s social heartbeat, long subdued, was slowly finding its rhythm again.
What emerged from the journey was not a simplistic success story, nor a denial of lingering challenges. Rather, it was a portrait of a city healing unevenly but deliberately, guarded by soldiers, sustained by hope and driven by a collective determination to move forward.
Operation Hadin Kai’s story, as witnessed firsthand, is ultimately about more than military operations. It is about the delicate balance between force and compassion, security and justice, memory and renewal.
Maiduguri is no longer only a symbol of survival. It is becoming a testament to revival, quiet, imperfect and profoundly human.
And that story, long overshadowed by fear, deserves to be told in full.
