Trapped in Camps: Lived Experiences of Internally Displaced Persons in Bakassi and Dalori,Northeastern Nigeria

Pre-displacement Experiences

As Table 1 illustrates, the pre-displacement phase represents a critical period in the trajectory of IDPs, defined by the escalation of insurgent violence, the systemic failure of state protection mechanisms and the early manifestations of sociopolitical marginalisation that precede forced flight. In northeastern Nigeria, particularly in Borno, Adamawa and Yobe states, the rise of Boko Haram in 2009 transformed what were historically peripheral communities into conflict epicentres. These regions, long characterised by chronic underdevelopment, high unemployment and limited state presence, became highly vulnerable to insurgent attacks. In many cases, residents faced an imminent threat to life and livelihood even before they physically fled their homes.

Empirical evidence from Bakassi and Dalori camps shows that many IDPs experienced a protracted period of fear and insecurity in the months and sometimes years leading up to their flight. Communities reported recurring raids on villages, with insurgents targeting schools, markets, religious institutions and public gathering spaces. The attacks were not random but carefully orchestrated to maximise terror, destabilise local governance and weaken community resilience. Women, children and the elderly were disproportionately affected, experiencing direct violence, abduction and forced recruitment, while men and young boys were often executed or coerced into insurgent ranks (Ajayi, 2020; Aliyu, 2018).

Many IDPs recounted that state security forces either withdrew prematurely, redeployed inadequately or failed to respond in time during critical attacks. One 38-year-old woman from Gwoza described her experience:

Before Boko Haram attacked our town, soldiers left their checkpoint. My husband and son were killed while trying to defend our house.

This testimony underscores a recurring pattern documented in the literature: the withdrawal or inaction of security actors significantly contributed to the conditions that made displacement unavoidable (Matfess, 2022). In some instances, the absence of protection was perceived as negligence; in others, as a form of structural betrayal, whereby state authorities implicitly failed to recognise the rights and security of peripheral populations.

Beyond the immediate threat of violence, pre-displacement experiences were often compounded by community-level tensions and social fragmentation. In several communities, some residents collaborated with insurgents, whether voluntarily or under duress, further eroding trust. One elderly woman from Konduga, now living in Dalori camp, recounted:

When Boko Haram entered our village, they didn’t come alone. Some young men from our town joined them. My daughter was raped in front of me. Our neighbours who used to eat with us helped them. That was when I realized our community was gone.

This account highlights how interpersonal betrayal and local complicity intensified the psychological burden of pre-displacement trauma. IDPs were not merely fleeing abstract threats; they were confronting the collapse of familiar social structures and witnessing the perversion of communal relationships, which had historically offered protection and mutual support. Such dynamics illustrate that displacement is as much a social and political phenomenon as it is a humanitarian or military one.

The loss of property and livelihoods during this phase was another significant vulnerability. Boko Haram’s insurgency frequently involved the systematic looting or burning of homes, farms, shops and livestock. IDPs reported fleeing with only the clothes on their backs, abandoning essential assets that would have enabled their post-displacement survival. A young man from Bama recalled:

When the insurgents came, they burned our houses and looted everything. We ran into the forest without food, water, or money. Our livelihoods were gone in minutes.

Such losses are not merely economic but also symbolic and psychological, as homes, land and productive assets represent social identity, stability and cultural belonging. The destruction of these assets before displacement adds a layer of chronic vulnerability, as IDPs enter camps not only traumatised by violence but also materially stripped of the means to reconstruct their lives.

Gendered dimensions of pre-displacement experiences are also critical to understanding vulnerabilities. Women and girls often faced sexual violence, forced marriage or abduction as part of Boko Haram’s broader terror strategy (Ajayi, 2020). Men and boys, while more likely to be executed or forcibly conscripted, also endured profound trauma as witnesses to attacks on female family members or forced participation in violence. A 27-year-old mother in Dalori camp recounted:

Before we fled, my daughter was abducted by Boko Haram. I begged them to let her go, but they refused. We had to leave our home because we could not protect her. Every night, I feared for the rest of my children.

These narratives underscore that pre-displacement trauma is multifaceted, combining threats to physical security, sexual and gender-based violence, family separation and social disintegration. They reveal that displacement is not a sudden event but a slowly accumulating process of chronic insecurity, where the precursors of flight are embedded in everyday life.

In addition, institutional failures at the state level exacerbated these vulnerabilities. The Nigerian state’s response to Boko Haram was often reactive and fragmented, with security deployments concentrated in major towns while rural communities were neglected. IDPs repeatedly reported that military presence was limited, inconsistent or deployed without clear protective mandates, leaving civilians exposed. In some instances, the pre-displacement phase was marked by coercive state practices, such as arbitrary arrests of men suspected of insurgent sympathies, which heightened community distrust and encouraged early flight (Lenshie & Yenda, 2016).

Furthermore, psychological trauma during pre-displacement was compounded by anticipatory stress—the fear of impending attacks even when immediate violence had not yet occurred. IDPs described sleep deprivation, chronic anxiety and hypervigilance as part of daily life in villages under threat. One adolescent from Konduga noted:

Even before the insurgents came, we were afraid to go to school or the market. Every sound at night made us panic. We knew something bad was coming, but no one could tell us when.

This anticipatory stress demonstrates that displacement is preceded by a prolonged period of mental suffering, which is often invisible in official statistics yet profoundly shapes coping strategies and subsequent resilience.

Social networks played a critical role during this phase, even as they were strained or broken. Families and neighbours often acted as early warning systems, sharing information about insurgent movements or offering temporary shelter. Local leaders, in some cases, advised families to flee before attacks occurred. However, these informal strategies could only partially mitigate the structural vulnerabilities created by state neglect, underdevelopment and insurgent predation. The dependency on social networks highlights both community resilience and fragility, as overstretched or compromised networks often failed to provide adequate protection.

From a broader analytical perspective, pre-displacement experiences in northeastern Nigeria illustrate the intersection of structural, political and security dimensions of vulnerability. It is insufficient to consider displacement purely as a reaction to insurgent violence. Instead, displacement must be understood as the outcome of systemic neglect, governance failures and sociopolitical marginalisation that create conditions in which fleeing becomes not only rational but also necessary for survival (Adeola, 2021a; Matfess, 2022). The chronic nature of pre-displacement risk in these communities challenges dominant humanitarian narratives that frame displacement as sudden or episodic, emphasising instead a continuum of vulnerability that begins long before flight.

Pre-displacement experiences also reveal the ethical and legal dimensions of state responsibility. Nigeria, as a signatory to the African Union Kampala Convention and the UN Guiding Principles on Internal Displacement, is mandated to protect civilians and prevent displacement where possible (African Union, 2009; UNHCR, 2016). The consistent reports of state withdrawal, inadequate protection and indirect facilitation of displacement through coercive practices highlight gaps between legal obligations and lived realities, underscoring the need for both preventive and protective interventions prior to flight.

In northeastern Nigeria, the pre-displacement phase is characterised by escalating insurgent violence and inadequate state protection, which leave civilians highly vulnerable. Communities face social fragmentation, betrayal and gendered or age-specific threats, while the destruction of property and livelihoods undermines material security. Chronic psychological trauma and anticipatory stress accumulate during this period, and although informal social networks offer some support, they are often insufficient.

Overall, these experiences reflect the structural and political dimensions of displacement, emphasising that it is a prolonged process rather than a singular event. Together, these factors demonstrate that pre-displacement experiences in Nigeria’s northeast are deeply rooted, multidimensional and enduring, forming the foundation upon which subsequent phases of displacement—journey and post-displacement—are built. Recognising these early vulnerabilities is essential for developing preventive, protective and durable solutions that address not only the immediate aftermath of displacement but also the underlying structural and institutional causes.

Displacement Phase

The displacement phase represents a critical and highly perilous stage in the experience of IDPs in northeastern Nigeria, encompassing not just the act of fleeing but also an extended period of vulnerability, uncertainty and trauma. For many IDPs in Bakassi and Dalori camps, the journey from their communities in Borno, Adamawa and Yobe states to relative safety in Maiduguri or nearby towns is neither short nor straightforward. Often spanning several days, and in some instances weeks, the route is fraught with dangers arising from both insurgent activities and the structural inadequacies of state protection. The experience of displacement in this region is thus best understood as a complex interplay between forced flight, the failure of protective institutions and the ongoing threat of violence in transit.

Displaced persons recounted moving through forests, open savannahs and sparsely populated terrains to avoid detection by Boko Haram operatives or to circumvent military checkpoints that were often perceived as unsafe. These journeys were characterized by exhaustion, hunger and constant anxiety. Many individuals travelled on foot, carrying children and any possessions they could salvage, often improvising shelters at night in the bush or in abandoned buildings. A young man from Marte recounted:

We moved at night to avoid Boko Haram. When we got to a checkpoint, they beat the men and called them Boko Haram. We had no food for days.

This testimony highlights a central tension of the displacement phase: while fleeing conflict is the immediate cause of flight, the journey itself exposes IDPs to further threats, not only from insurgents but also from state actors whose counterinsurgency measures often fail to distinguish between civilians and combatants. Displaced men, particularly young adults, are frequently suspected of being insurgents and subjected to prolonged interrogations or arbitrary detention, while women and children face heightened risks of sexual violence, abduction and coercion.

Sexual violence emerges as a particularly distressing aspect of the displacement phase. Women and adolescent girls report being coerced by both armed groups and, in some cases, opportunistic individuals in transit, including local bandits or even corrupt actors within formal security structures. A 25-year-old widow in Dalori camp explained:

I lost my husband in Gwoza. As I fled with my two children, soldiers stopped us and said we must sleep with them for protection. I refused, and they left us without food or direction.

This form of victimisation underscores the gendered dimensions of displacement, where pre-existing social hierarchies and vulnerabilities are amplified by the conditions of forced mobility. Sexual violence during displacement is compounded by inadequate access to medical, psychosocial or legal support, leaving survivors to navigate both the physical trauma and the social stigma associated with such experiences. As a result, displacement is not merely a physical movement but a period of cumulative harm with long-lasting implications for mental health, social cohesion and individual dignity.

Children, too, face extreme vulnerability during the displacement journey. Separated from family members or travelling with unaccompanied siblings, many children experience not only the physical challenges of long-distance travel but also the psychological trauma of witnessing killings, abductions or sexual assaults. Several IDPs reported that children were left alone during periods of transit because caregivers were forced to divide their attention to manage the group’s survival, increasing the risk of kidnapping or conscription by insurgent forces. These experiences align with findings from regional studies in the Lake Chad Basin, which indicate that children are disproportionately affected by forced migration and often bear the psychological scars of displacement long after reaching camp settlements (Ajayi, 2020; Lenshie & Yenda, 2016).

The displacement phase also brings IDPs into direct contact with Nigerian military operations. While the military is theoretically mandated to protect civilians and combat insurgents, field reports indicate that counterinsurgency strategies often exacerbate civilian suffering. Soldiers manning checkpoints have been accused of profiling displaced men, detaining them without charge and using coercive force. In some cases, families attempting to flee violent areas report being turned back or separated by soldiers who perceive all young men as potential Boko Haram operatives. One 19-year-old IDP from Dikwa, now residing in Bakassi camp, recounted:

They [military] picked all of us at the checkpoint. We were young boys, so they said we were Boko Haram. We slept in their cell for nine days. They beat us and gave us only garri. My cousin is still missing. We don’t know if he is alive.

This demonstrates that displacement is not simply a consequence of insurgent attacks but also a product of securitised governance that can inadvertently produce additional harm. The militarisation of transit routes, combined with weak oversight and limited accountability, leaves civilians doubly exposed—caught between insurgents and the very institutions charged with their protection.

Non-state actors, including local vigilante groups such as the Civilian Joint Task Force (CJTF), further complicate the displacement experience. Although such groups have been instrumental in repelling Boko Haram and providing some security in local areas, they are not formally regulated and have been implicated in rights abuses, including extortion, forced recruitment and physical intimidation of displaced populations (Aliyu, 2018). For instance, in Dalori, a youth reported being recruited by the CJTF at age 15 under the promise of protection and food, only to be forced to carry arms:

They promised food and security, but I ended up carrying a gun. Now I cannot go home. People think I am a fighter.

These accounts reveal how displacement can entangle civilians in cycles of coercion and involuntary militarisation, further complicating post-displacement reintegration and psychological recovery.

In addition to physical threats and institutional failings, the displacement phase is characterised by severe deprivation. Food, water and medical resources are typically scarce during transit. IDPs often rely on sporadic assistance from humanitarian convoys or sympathetic strangers, but such support is inconsistent and insufficient. Many families report walking for days without adequate sustenance, facing dehydration, exhaustion and exposure to harsh climatic conditions. Women, in particular, must navigate these challenges while caring for children and the elderly, highlighting the compounded nature of vulnerability in the displacement process.

Family separation is another pervasive dimension of this phase. Amid chaotic flights, children, elderly relatives and sometimes spouses are inadvertently or forcibly separated from the group. Several IDPs in Bakassi and Dalori report not knowing the fate of family members months or even years after initial displacement. This prolonged uncertainty contributes to psychological stress, grief and a sense of social dislocation, which persists even after arrival at camps or host communities. As one mother recounted:

I am still looking for my eldest son. He ran in a different direction when we fled. We have no idea if he is alive. Every night, I pray he is safe.

The displacement phase also exposes structural vulnerabilities in local governance and humanitarian systems. Unlike some international conflict zones where safe corridors, coordinated evacuation plans or temporary shelters are provided, IDPs in northeastern Nigeria largely traverse unregulated routes. The absence of formal support highlights systemic failures in planning, coordination and accountability. Even when humanitarian convoys are available, access is limited, selective or inconsistent, often leaving the most marginalised—women, elderly, disabled or unaccompanied children—particularly vulnerable.

These dynamics demonstrate that displacement is a multi-dimensional process extending far beyond the moment of flight. It encompasses not only physical relocation but also exposure to violence, deprivation, exploitation and institutional neglect. The phase illustrates the dual role of both conflict actors and state institutions in shaping the experience of displacement. While Boko Haram directly generates the need to flee, failures in governance, weak protective mechanisms and securitised approaches by the state amplify the risks and vulnerabilities of displaced populations.

The displacement phase in Northeastern Nigeria underscores that flight from violence is rarely straightforward or safe. It is a prolonged, hazardous journey shaped by physical danger, institutional failures, social dislocation and psychological trauma. IDPs are forced to navigate multiple layers of risk, including insurgent attacks, state profiling, abuses by non-state actors, deprivation and family separation. The phase highlights how displacement is not merely a humanitarian emergency but also a process rooted in structural vulnerabilities, governance gaps and protracted insecurity (Ajayi, 2020; Akpoghome, 2016; Lenshie & Yenda, 2016).

Understanding the displacement phase is critical not only for humanitarian planning but also for broader policy interventions. It emphasises the need for coordinated protection measures, including safe corridors, emergency shelters, food and medical provision during transit and mechanisms to prevent gender-based and age-specific violence. Moreover, it draws attention to the ethical and legal responsibilities of the Nigerian state under frameworks such as the Kampala Convention and the UN Guiding Principles on Internal Displacement, which mandate the protection of IDPs throughout all stages of displacement (Adeola, 2019; African Union, 2009; Global Protection Cluster, 2010).

By highlighting the lived realities of IDPs during this phase, this study contributes to a deeper understanding of internal displacement as a prolonged, multi-layered process rather than a discrete event. It underscores the importance of integrating protection, humanitarian assistance and legal oversight into all phases of displacement to mitigate the compounded risks faced by civilians in conflict-affected regions. In the context of northeastern Nigeria, the displacement phase demonstrates that the journey itself is a site of vulnerability, suffering and resilience, reflecting broader systemic failures that extend beyond the immediate threat of insurgent violence.

Post-displacement Phase

The post-displacement phase, encompassing life in camps or host communities after fleeing violence, represents a prolonged period of uncertainty, vulnerability and systemic marginalisation for IDPs in northeastern Nigeria. While the immediate threat from Boko Haram may have been temporarily mitigated by relocation to camps such as Bakassi and Dalori, the end of physical displacement does not equate to safety, stability or access to basic human rights. Instead, post-displacement life often presents a complex web of challenges, including inadequate shelter, food insecurity, restricted access to healthcare and education, lack of livelihood opportunities, social exclusion and psychosocial trauma.

In many ways, the post-displacement phase constitutes a second, protracted form of vulnerability. IDPs arrive at camps physically exhausted and psychologically traumatised, only to face overcrowding, under-resourced facilities and poorly coordinated humanitarian assistance. Reports from Bakassi and Dalori indicate that families of six to eight people often share single-room shelters, with multiple households crammed into makeshift structures such as classrooms, tents or partitioned spaces. Overcrowding not only undermines privacy and dignity but also exacerbates health risks, including exposure to communicable diseases such as cholera, malaria and respiratory infections (Ajayi, 2020; Tsokwa, 2019).

A woman from Dalori camp described the situation:

There is no space to sleep. We lay mats close to one another. During the rainy season, water comes in. At night, the heat is too much, and the children cry. It is not a place for human beings.

This account highlights the humanitarian inadequacies that persist long after flight, underscoring the fact that the post-displacement phase is not simply a period of shelter but also one of sustained deprivation. The chronic under-resourcing of camps reflects broader state and institutional failures to implement the provisions of the Kampala Convention and the UN Guiding Principles on Internal Displacement, which emphasise adequate housing, protection from harm and access to basic services as core rights for IDPs (African Union, 2009; UNHCR, 2016).

Durable Solutions and Reintegration Challenges

Durable solutions—whether return, local integration or resettlement—remain elusive for many IDPs in northeastern Nigeria. Premature returns to insecure villages or uninhabitable areas are common, exposing returnees to renewed violence and displacement. Where local integration is attempted, lack of formal employment opportunities, social support and access to services limit the effectiveness of these solutions. Resettlement programmes are often ad hoc, donor-dependent and poorly coordinated, reflecting the absence of comprehensive state planning (Adeola, 2021b; Eweka & Olusegun, 2016).

A displaced woman from Monguno, now living in an informal settlement, described the precariousness of post-displacement life:

They told us to leave Bakassi, but where are we to go? We’re living in someone’s uncompleted building. Every time it rains, everything is soaked. We’re tired of moving.

Such accounts illustrate the cyclical nature of displacement, where flight from one form of insecurity often leads to exposure to new risks and continued marginalisation. The post-displacement phase, therefore, is not an end point but a continuation of vulnerability and structural neglect.

The post-displacement phase in northeastern Nigeria highlights the protracted nature of displacement, where protection gaps, structural inequalities and humanitarian deficits combine to create long-term vulnerability. IDPs face inadequate shelter, limited access to healthcare and education, economic exclusion, social marginalisation and ongoing exposure to violence and exploitation. Gendered and age-specific vulnerabilities compound these challenges, with women, children and elderly populations experiencing disproportionate risk.

Understanding post-displacement life as a multi-dimensional and prolonged phase underscores the importance of integrated interventions. Durable solutions must combine protection, livelihoods, education, health, psychosocial support and secure housing, alongside formal recognition of IDPs as rights-bearing citizens. Only through such holistic approaches can displacement be transformed from a cycle of vulnerability into a pathway for recovery, resilience and reintegration, in accordance with both the Kampala Convention and international human rights obligations (Adeola, 2021b; African Union, 2009; UNHCR, 2016).