In Kogi East, the land is no longer silent; it now speaks in the language of fear, displacement, and contested ownership. From the floodplains of Ibaji to the agrarian communities of Omala, what should have remained a source of livelihood has become a theatre of tension. Farms are no longer merely cultivated; they are defended. Paths once used for trade now carry suspicion. Recent events have intensified this reality. In the Idrisu community along the Bagana road in Omala, two women were reportedly killed in a violent attack, one of them pregnant. The shock of such loss has deepened communal grief and sharpened the urgency of an already fragile situation. At such a moment, the question is no longer whether coexistence is desirable, but whether it is being pursued within the discipline of law. Without law, coexistence becomes fragile, and peace becomes temporary.
The foundation of any lasting solution must begin with legal clarity. There is no statute in Nigeria that permits any individual or group to settle arbitrarily on another person’s land or to graze livestock without consent. Rights of movement do not override rights of ownership. Any Fulani herder, like any Nigerian citizen, retains the right to live and conduct lawful enterprise anywhere within the federation. Yet that right is structured by legality, not assumption. Grazing without permission is not culture; it is trespass. Settlement without agreement is not coexistence; it is encroachment. When these distinctions are blurred, the authority of law itself begins to erode, and with it, the confidence of citizens in the system meant to protect them.
In Igalaland, a troubling pattern has continued to emerge where authority is diffused and, at times, compromised. Local chiefs, operating within traditional frameworks, have in certain instances granted access to land in exchange for informal payments. Yet these arrangements frequently exclude the very farmers whose livelihoods are directly affected. The individual whose crops are destroyed is rarely a party to the agreement that permitted the cattle to arrive. This creates a dangerous contradiction: consent is claimed, but not genuinely obtained. It is governance without accountability, permission without legitimacy. Like a contract executed in darkness, it cannot endure the scrutiny of justice.
Omala and Ibaji present an even sharper reality. In these communities, land is not merely an asset; it is survival. A single incident of cattle intrusion can erase months of labour and destabilise entire households. When such economic loss is combined with episodes of violence, as seen in the Idrisu tragedy, the consequences extend beyond property into the realm of human dignity and security. Yet this conflict is not inevitable. In parts of northern Nigeria, a more structured model has evolved. After harvest, crop residues are systematically gathered and sold as feed to livestock owners. What could have generated friction becomes a regulated transaction. Value is acknowledged, and therefore respected. Nothing is taken freely because nothing is without cost. This model offers a principle that Kogi East can no longer afford to ignore: where there is structure, there is stability.
The time has therefore come for a decisive shift from ambiguity to regulation. Grazing must no longer be treated as an informal privilege but as a lawful and negotiated activity. Cattle are economic assets, and economic assets function within defined systems of cost, consent, and responsibility. Bringing livestock onto another person’s property without permission or compensation is not a misunderstanding; it is a violation. When access is free, abuse becomes predictable. When access is regulated, behaviour adjusts accordingly. The land ceases to be an open corridor and becomes a governed space. This is not exclusion; it is the restoration of order.
The greater danger lies in what continued ambiguity will produce. Where law is applied inconsistently, alternative systems of control begin to emerge. Individuals and groups start to enforce their own rules, and over time, authority drifts away from institutions toward those willing to act outside restraint. This is how disorder takes root, not through sudden collapse, but through gradual erosion. A society rarely loses control in a single moment; it relinquishes it through repeated concessions. Each unregulated act becomes a precedent, and each precedent weakens the next line of defence. The tragedy in Idrisu is not only a moment of grief; it is also a warning signal of what unchecked disorder can yield.
Kogi East now stands at a defining moment. Omala and Ibaji are not isolated cases; they are indicators of a broader structural challenge. The path forward does not lie in sentiment or silence, but in clarity, enforcement, and fairness. Genuine herders who wish to live and operate within Igalaland must do so within the framework of law, just as farmers must be protected within the framework of justice. Coexistence is not the absence of boundaries; it is the disciplined respect for them.
Where law is absent, conflict becomes the landlord. Kogi East must now decide which one it is prepared to accommodate.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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