The al-Minuki raid raises questions about Nigeria-US military ties

The fight against the Islamic State in Africa received a major boost with the announcement that one of the most influential terror commanders on the continent was killed over the weekend in Borno State, northeast Nigeria.

President Trump’s social media announcement that Abu Bilal al-Minuki was killed in a joint operation with the Nigerian military on 15 May sparked a media frenzy marked by both relief and confusion, chiefly over who al-Minuki actually was. That confusion deepened when Trump labelled him the second-in-command of ISIS globally and added that he had been hiding in Africa.

Further uncertainty emerged when Nigerian media dug up previous military reports from February 2024 announcing the same commander’s death. The military was forced to issue a “clarification,” suggesting that the Abu Bilal al-Minuki of 2024 and that of 2026 were two separate individuals.

“It is important to state that within the Northeast region and across the Lake Chad Basin, the use of similar or identical names, aliases and nom de guerres is common among ISWAP and Boko Haram terrorists,” the military’s statement noted. Yet in the 2024 announcement, the military had been very specific, telling the press that al-Minuki, “famously known as Abubakar Mainok, was a head of ISWAP.”

For those familiar with the Boko Haram crisis, including the dynamics surrounding the 2016 split that led ISIS to recognise the breakaway ISWAP, there was only one famous Abu Bilal al-Minuki: Abubakar Mainok, popularly known as Bor Mainok, Bukar Mainok, or simply Abor. As Boko Haram’s top commander in charge of the Lake Chad islands, he played a major role in ensuring the split succeeded: he welcomed, hosted, and provided security for the defectors led by Abu Musab al-Barnawi and Mamman Nur.

The military’s walk-back on Mainok, combined with Trump’s misidentification of him as ISIS’s global second-in-command and his suggestion that Mainok was not a Nigerian, cast doubt over what should have rightly been a welcome development.

Compounding the communication gaffe, Nigerian presidential spokesperson Bayo Onanuga joined the fray, calling people “doubters” and “critics” for raising questions, even when the Nigerian military’s own poor communication had fuelled those doubts.

While Onanuga claimed the 2024 “killing” of Mainok was a case of “mistaken identity or misattribution in the fog of sustained counterinsurgency operations,” defence spokesperson General Michael Onoja said the person killed in 2024 was merely someone using the name Mainok.

This pattern is not new. The Nigerian military’s communication about the conflict has largely been one-way traffic: press releases issued with little or no room for questions or critique. More critically, the military appears to treat communication with Nigerians as psychological warfare to be deployed against an enemy, including the use of propaganda.

On multiple occasions, the military reported that Boko Haram leader Abubakar Shekau had been killed, only for him to repeatedly debunk such claims with audiovisual proof. The military later insisted that the “real” Shekau had died and that others were using his aliases.

In 2014, the military said the “real” Shekau was dead after the terror leader appeared in a video. Two years later, in 2016, it repeated the same claim, adding that it had killed one Shekau impersonator and wounded a second. In 2019, Nigeria’s defence chief, General Lucky Irabor, claimed that ISWAP leader Abu Musab al-Barnawi was dead, only for al-Barnawi to re-emerge two years later as interim leader of ISWAP, leading the attack that killed Shekau in 2021.

This poor communication is why the public finds it hard to believe the military, even when it tells the truth. Despite numerous successes against Boko Haram, poor communication leaves room for suspicion, speculation, and controversy. Consider the country’s non-kinetic strategy, particularly the DDR programme known as Operation Safe Corridor.

The programme has received international recognition for its unique deployment during active conflict, unlike traditional DDR programmes that are post-conflict. Yet while Operation Safe Corridor has played a crucial role in depleting the fighting forces of both Boko Haram factions through defections and exits, the Nigerian public has largely viewed it with scepticism, mainly due to the military’s lack of proper public engagement.

Beyond communication failures, last weekend’s operation raises another set of important questions, this time about the nature of the military cooperation between Nigeria and the United States. The Nigerian military confirmed that ground troops were used but insisted that no US boots were on the ground.

The military also said human intelligence was used to confirm Mainok’s identity following his death. That suggests his body was recovered; if so, releasing appropriate photos would make sense. It would also be useful to know how officials determined that the real Mainok was killed this time.

Yet, quoting US officials, the New York Times reported that American forces were deployed on the ground for the operation, including members of the elite US Navy’s SEAL Team 6, a unit that specialises in counterterrorism, high-value target elimination, and hostage rescue. Officially known as the Naval Special Warfare Development Group (DEVGRU), SEAL Team 6 was responsible for the 2020 rescue of Philip Walton, the American citizen kidnapped in the Niger Republic and smuggled into Nigeria. If confirmed that US boots were on the ground for this operation, it would directly question the Nigerian military’s February 2026 statement that US soldiers deployed in Nigeria would not be involved in combat operations.

Given Nigeria’s escalating insecurity, marked by an influx of foreign terrorist fighters from ISIS boosting ISWAP’s ranks, and JNIM’s establishment of a presence in Nigeria, many Nigerians would not oppose US support, including boots on the ground. As the leader of the Global Coalition to Defeat ISIS, the United States could offer Nigeria considerable help in stemming ISWAP’s expansion, which ISIS supports.

However, Nigerians who have raised concerns about foreign troops, particularly U.S. troops, taking part in military operations in the country have genuine concerns that cannot be wished away. The US role in Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, and elsewhere is frequently cited, given how much worse off, arguably, those countries have been since US intervention.

The killing of jihadi figureheads, or any insurgent leaders, for that matter, has proven not to be a sustainable panacea. They can be replaced, and always have been. This is partly because kinetic approaches alone have never addressed the main drivers of violent extremism: governance deficits.

Compounding this reality is the risk that US involvement may put a target on Nigeria’s back. The very presence of active US combat troops could almost certainly provide additional motivation for foreign fighters to continue flowing into Nigeria, seeking to confront Americans on Nigerian soil to inflict damage and exact revenge.

If it is confirmed that US troops were part of the team deployed in the Lake Chad Basin to take out Bor Mainok, there seems to be a great deal that Nigerians do not know.

This is where Nigerians expect the government to be more transparent about the partnerships it has signed, specifically about how these arrangements benefit the country’s fight against terrorism in the short, medium, and long term, and about the government’s own responsibilities and obligations under the agreement.

In the end, the Mainok raid was a tactical success, but it was overshadowed by strategic confusion. Until both Abuja and Washington commit to clearer communication and greater transparency, every future victory will be met with the same suspicion, and each joint operation will raise as many questions as it answers.