Doma A no longer looks like a town.
The farms that once framed the settlement lie unattended. Compounds stand open, doors swinging in the wind. No children run through the narrow paths. No traders gather. What remains is silence.
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According to the MaiGari of Doma, Magaji Yahaya Doma, the community has been emptied since 3 February attack that left dozens dead and forced residents to flee.
“The town is scattered,” the community leader said. “My people have run in all directions. Some are in Ruwan Godiya, others in Guga, Bakori, Tahoki, and Funtua. As I speak to you, Doma is empty.”
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He said no meaningful security presence has been established since the attack, making a return impossible.
“There is no protection,” he added. “How can people come back when there is no safety?”
For the traditional ruler, the tragedy is not only in the number of lives lost but in the disintegration of a community that had endured years of violence and displacement before this latest assault.
Midday Violence, Not a Night Raid
The attack on Doma A did not occur under the cover of darkness. It unfolded in broad daylight. According to residents, the gunmen entered the community shortly before noon on 3 February and operated openly for about three hours, unchallenged.
“They came around midday,” said Sama’ila Doma, a resident of Doma B. We saw the attackers approach from Ruwan Godiya, south of the village. “We were sitting outside when we suddenly heard gunshots. The attackers arrived on motorcycles, he said, scores of them. Each motorcycle carried two or three armed men. Residents estimated their number at between 70 and 100.
Rather than forcing their way into homes when they got to Doma A, the gunmen turned the streets into killing grounds.
“They did not go from house to house,” he said. “They were shooting on the roads. Anyone they saw outside, they shot.”
Witnesses said the attackers moved freely between late morning and mid-afternoon, firing sporadically, assaulting residents, and setting homes and shops ablaze. There was no immediate resistance.
“They stayed for a long time,” Mr Sama’ila said. “They were shooting and burning things without fear.”
Several residents said the attack lasted well over two hours. By the time security forces eventually arrived, the gunmen had already withdrawn.
Mr Sama’ila said the killings shattered families across both settlements, turning routine farming life into sudden mourning.
“When one man is killed like this,” he said, “many lives are destroyed with him.”
He rejected claims that Doma residents had provoked the violence.
“We heard nothing before the attack,” he said. “No one told us about any killing. They just came and started shooting.”
A Killing on the Road
The attackers did not spare those trying to leave.
Among the dead was Muhammad Sagiru, a 34-year-old commercial driver from Doma B, who ran into the gunmen while driving along the road inside Doma A.
Mr Sagiru had spent the previous day transporting politicians to a rally in Katsina. On his return, he agreed to help relatives by driving them to a wedding in Dandume in his Volkswagen Golf.
“He left in the morning to help family members,” said his elder brother, Ahmadu Sagiru. “That was the last time we spoke to him.”
As Mr Sagiru drove through Doma A, he was intercepted by the attackers already operating in the area.
When relatives tried calling his phone, someone answered briefly in a different voice before the line went dead.
“That was when we knew he had fallen into their hands,” Mr Sagiru said.
Later, the family found his car burned. A trail of blood led them to a nearby ditch, where Mr Sagiru’s body was found.
“They shot him and burned the vehicle,” Mr Ahmadu said in a telephone interview. “We followed the blood trail and found his body in a ditch.”
Mr Sagiru left behind two wives, nine children, and an elderly mother who depended entirely on him, according to his family.
“He was our mother’s only son living with her,” Mr Ahmadu said. “Now everything has changed.”
How Many Died? — Why the Numbers Don’t Agree
Even days after the attack, the exact number of people killed in Doma A remained uncertain.
Residents insisted that the death toll is far higher than official figures suggest.
“We buried 27 people,” a resident who spoke under anonymity for fear of being targeted said. “Some died immediately. Others died later from injuries.”
The traditional leader provided slightly different counts, explaining that bodies were taken to different locations for burial. Some funerals were held in nearby communities, while others were held entirely outside Doma.
“We conducted funeral prayers for 19 bodies here,” the community leader, Mr Yahaya, said. “One was taken elsewhere.”
The Katsina State Police Command said 13 people were killed in the attack.
Residents dispute the police’s figure, noting that several victims died after the raid from injuries sustained during beatings and gunshots, while some bodies were not immediately recovered.
For families, the number is irrelevant.
“Whether it is 13 or 27,” Mr Sama’ila said, “the dead are our people and don’t deserve to be killed.”
The Truce That Depended on Fear
For months before the February attack, Doma A had been largely quiet.
Community leaders say the calm followed a peace arrangement reached around September 2025, after years of raids, kidnappings, and killings across parts of Faskari Local Government Area.
According to the MaiGari, Mr Yahaya, the agreement was not informal gossip but a structured understanding involving traditional authorities and local officials.
“The peace was made with everyone,” the traditional ruler said. “The district head, the village heads, and the authorities all knew about it.”
Under the arrangement, he said, weapons were not to be carried openly in the community, and residents were expected to report incidents rather than retaliate.
For a time, it appeared to work.
“There were months without attacks,” he said. “People began to farm again.”
But the peace, he acknowledged, was fragile.
“It was not peace because the problem had ended,” he said. “It was peace because people were afraid.”
Conflicting narratives persist about whether Doma A fully embraced the truce. Some residents say the community refused to trust the deal, believing armed groups would eventually return.
The MaiGari rejects that version.
“We did not reject peace,” he said. “The agreement included Doma B.”
What followed, he said, shows how easily such arrangements can collapse.
The Trigger — A Killing That Changed Everything
Why Doma A was attacked remains fiercely contested.
Residents like Mr Sama’ila insisted that the community had no warning and committed no act that could explain the scale of violence.
“We heard nothing before the shooting started,” Mr Sama’ila said. “No one told us anything. They just came and opened fire.”
But Mr Yahaya, the MaiGari, acknowledged that events preceding the attack may have played a role.
According to him, the peace that had held for months was fragile and easily broken. He, however, said he “was not contacted before the attack. No one reached out to us.”
A different account is offered by a security analyst, Yahuza Getso, who argues that the violence followed the killing of a bandit who entered Doma A after the peace agreement had been reached.
According to Mr Getso, the killing was viewed by armed groups as a violation of the truce and triggered a retaliatory strike.
He said the response came from armed groups linked to powerful bandit leaders operating across the Faskari–Sabuwa–Dandume–Tsaffe axis spanning Katsina and Zamfara states.
Residents dispute this version.
Mr Sama’ila said neither he nor other community members were aware of such an incident before the attack.
“That story came only after people had been killed,” he said.
The conflicting accounts underscore the opacity of informal peace arrangements – where violence can erupt from actions communities may not fully understand or control.
The Fragility of Informal Peace Deals
Security analysts say the events in Doma reflect a broader pattern across north-west Nigeria, where informal peace agreements between communities and armed groups have repeatedly broken down.
Mr Getso, who has studied banditry in the region, said such arrangements often rely on verbal understandings rather than formal enforcement mechanisms.
“When an agreement is reached, it is usually mediated by local leaders and sometimes local government officials,” Mr Getso said in an interview. “But there is rarely a structured monitoring system or guarantees from the state.”
He said allegations that a member of an armed group was killed in violation of the September 2025 agreement may have triggered retaliation. However, he acknowledged that details surrounding the claim remain contested.
Residents in Doma maintained that they were unaware of any incident that would have violated the truce before the February attack.
Across parts of Katsina and neighbouring Zamfara State, similar community-level agreements have been struck in recent years. In some areas, the deals temporarily reduced attacks. In others, violence resumed after disputes, leadership changes within armed factions, or disagreements over payments and compliance.
The Faskari–Sabuwa–Dandume axis, where Doma is located, has seen shifting alliances among armed groups operating across forest corridors that stretch into Zamfara. Analysts say these fluid alliances make informal truces particularly vulnerable.
“When there is no consistent state presence, the balance of power rests with whoever has the strongest armed network,” Mr Getso said. “That makes peace fragile.”
For Doma, the collapse — or alleged breach — of its agreement has now left residents questioning whether such arrangements offer protection or simply delay violence.
State Response — Arriving After the Dead
By the time security forces reached Doma A, the gunmen were gone.
“They came after everything was finished,” said Mr Yahaya. “There was nothing left for them to stop.”
Community members also reported the appearance of military aircraft later in the day. The jets, they said, circled briefly and left without engaging the attackers.
“They just hovered,” the MaiGari said. “They did not fire.”
Local vigilantes were present in the area, but they were powerless against the scale and firepower of the attackers.
“This was beyond them,” Mr Yahaya said. “They could not stand against such weapons.”
For residents who watched the assault unfold, the delayed response reinforced a familiar pattern: help arriving only after lives had already been lost.
Official Silence — Who Did Not Speak
In the days following the attack, residents waited not only for security but for answers.
They say none came.
Repeated efforts by this reporter to reach Katsina State’s Commissioner for Security, Nasiru Mu’azu, through phone calls and text messages over three days were unsuccessful. After sustained attempts, the commissioner referred inquiries to the chairman of Faskari Local Government.
But efforts to speak directly with the chairman for clarification also failed. Calls went unanswered, and messages sent via WhatsApp and text went unanswered, despite several follow-ups.
Other aides of the governor contacted for comment similarly did not respond.
For Mr Yayaha, the silence compounded the trauma of the attack.
“Only secondary officials and legislators visited the affected area. While their presence was acknowledged, residents said it did little to reassure families still displaced and fearful of returning home.
“There is no clear message,” the MaiGari said. “And without security, words alone are not enough.”
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A Town Scattered — Life After the Attack
Days after the killings, Doma A remains largely deserted.
According to Mr Yahaya, most residents fled immediately after the attack and have not returned.
“My people are scattered,” he said. “Some went to Ruwan Godiya, others to Guga, Bakori, Tafoki, and Funtua. As of now, no one has come back.”
He said fear – not distance – is keeping families away.
“There is still no security,” he said. “People ask me, ‘Who will protect us if we return?’ I have no answer for them.”
The displacement has fractured families and livelihoods. Farmers abandoned crops mid-season. Children were pulled out of school. Widows and orphans are now dependent on relatives and charity in host communities.
Some families, the MaiGari said, are still searching for missing relatives.
“Some families do not yet know where their people are,” he said.
For a community that depends almost entirely on farming, prolonged displacement threatens more than shelter – it threatens survival.
“Just Let Us Farm”
For Mr Yahaya, the tragedy of Doma is not only about the dead, but about what has been taken from the living.
“The ordinary person here does not ask for politics,” he said. “He does not ask for promises. He only wants to farm and feed his family.”
He said many of those killed were breadwinners with large families – men with multiple wives and dozens of children now left without support.
“How will these children survive?” he asked. “That is the question no one is answering.”
The MaiGari’s appeal is simple and direct.
“Give us security,” he said. “Let our people return. Let them farm in peace.”
Until that happens, Doma remains a cautionary tale of a community caught between fragile truces, armed violence, and a state that arrives too late – or not at all.
The gunmen have left.
But so have the people.
