By Adeolu Ojedokun

For many Nigerians, forests once symbolised wildlife, farming and conservation. Today, they increasingly serve as operational headquarters for kidnapping networks. From the forests of the Northwest to the reserves linking Oyo, Osun and Kwara States, criminal groups have discovered what the Nigerian state has been slow to confront: ungoverned forests provide ideal sanctuaries for organised crime.

The recent abduction of pupils and teachers in Oriire Local Government Area of Oyo State is therefore more than another tragic kidnapping. It is another warning that Nigeria’s forest corridors are becoming the country’s newest security frontier.

As an indigene of Ogbomoso, I received the reports with deep anguish. According to security reports, the kidnappers retreated into forest corridors linking Oyo to Kwara and Osun States, with escape routes reportedly leading toward the Old Oyo National Park.That detail, where they ran to, matters more than we have acknowledged.

Public attention understandably focused on rescue. Governor Seyi Makinde met grieving families and the Soun of Ogbomoso, His Imperial Majesty Oba Ghandi Afolabi Olaoye, Orumogege III, who remained actively engaged with both state and federal authorities. President Bola Tinubu directed security agencies to intensify operations and approved the deployment of forest guards. Religious organisations mobilised in prayer, civil society groups protested, and parents demanded accountability. The immediate priority was rightly the safe return of every child and teacher.

Yet beyond the urgency of rescue lies a deeper structural problem: Nigeria’s forests are increasingly becoming the operational infrastructure of a sophisticated kidnapping economy. This economy is sustained by ransom payments, informant networks, arms suppliers, negotiators and safe havens that allow criminal enterprises to function much like illicit businesses.

In recent years, a disturbing pattern has emerged. Abductions in Ekiti disappear into forests bordering Osun.

Kidnappings along the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway lead security agencies into the Omo and Oluwa forest reserves in Ogun and Ondo States. Criminal groups operating in Kogi exploit forests stretching into Nasarawa, the Federal Capital Territory and Edo State. In Kaduna, Niger, Zamfara and Katsina, forests have evolved beyond temporary hideouts into operational bases where hostages are held, negotiations are conducted, and criminal logistics coordinated.

What we are witnessing is the emergence of a contiguous forest corridor of insecurity, vast, under-governed, poorly mapped and increasingly connected by criminal networks that understand Nigeria’s geography better than the institutions charged with securing it.

The archetype of this crisis is Sambisa.

Once a celebrated game reserve in Borno State, Sambisa became Boko Haram’s headquarters after the group lost control of Maiduguri in 2013. It offered dense vegetation, difficult terrain, proximity to vulnerable communities and, above all, an absence of effective state authority.

It subsequently evolved into a training ground, logistics hub and hostage-holding site, including for many of the Chibok schoolgirls. It took years of sustained military operations to weaken that control, at enormous human and financial cost.

Sambisa also represents one of Nigeria’s most significant early warning failures. Long before the insurgency reached its peak, hunters, traders and communities living around the forest reportedly observed armed camps, illegal taxation, restrictions on farming and unusual movements of armed men. These were classic indicators of territorial consolidation. Yet there was no trusted reporting mechanism, no coordinated verification system and no timely institutional response. By the time those warning signs translated into national action, the forest had already become an insurgent sanctuary.

That history matters for Ogbomoso. Old Oyo National Park is not Sambisa, nor should anyone suggest that identical conditions already exist. But history demonstrates how quickly ungoverned spaces can become operational centres for organised violence when warning signs are ignored. The lesson is not that another insurgency is inevitable; it is that prevention is always less costly than recovery.

Historically, Nigeria’s forests were conceived as national assets. Old Oyo National Park, covering more than 2,500 square kilometres, was established to preserve biodiversity, cultural heritage and rural livelihoods. Similar objectives informed the creation of Kainji Lake National Park, Kamuku National Park and numerous forest reserves across the country.

Today, however, many of these forests are gradually becoming governance vacuums that organised criminal networks increasingly exploit.

The National Park Service remains responsible for protecting national parks but is underfunded, understaffed and primarily designed for conservation rather than counter-kidnapping operations.

State forestry departments have similarly declined in capacity, while the police and military concentrate most of their resources on highways and urban centres. Sustained forest operations require specialised skills, local knowledge and long-term deployment that conventional security structures often struggle to provide.

Into this vacuum have stepped hunters, vigilantes and community-based security organisations such as Amotekun. They possess intimate knowledge of forest routes, water sources, caves and seasonal pathways that rarely appear on official maps. Yet this knowledge remains insufficiently integrated into Nigeria’s broader security architecture. Their contribution is often reactive rather than institutionalised.

The consequence is a governance vacuum that organisedkidnapping networks continue to exploit with remarkable adaptability.

Kidnapping in Nigeria has evolved far beyond opportunistic banditry. It has become an organised criminal enterprise supported by intelligence gathering, arms supply chains, informant networks, financial negotiators and increasingly sophisticated logistics. Groups displaced by security operations in one region do not simply disappear; they adapt, relocate and exploit areas where forests provide concealment, inter-state coordination is weak and ransom payments remain profitable.

The expansion of kidnapping into the Southwest did not occur overnight.

For years, security analysts warned about the gradual southward movement of criminal networks and the growing vulnerability of the Ibadan–Ilorin, Ilesa–Akure and Akure–Owo corridors. Farmers, transport operators and rural communities repeatedly raised concerns about increasing criminal activity around forest reserves. Oriirewas therefore not an isolated incident. It was the predictable convergence of criminal adaptation and institutional inertia.

This is why a state-by-state response will remain inadequate. Forests linking Oyo, Kwara and Osun do not recognise administrative boundaries, and neither do the criminal organisations operating within them. Security operations confined to one state merely displace the threat into another jurisdiction, allowing criminal groups to regroup and return. Nigeria cannot secure interconnected forests through fragmented governance.

What is required is a fundamental shift from reactive security operations to proactive forest governance.

First, Nigeria should undertake a comprehensive national forest security audit. This should not become another committee report gathering dust on government shelves. Rather, it should be a technology-driven mapping of national parks, forest reserves and other ungoverned corridors vulnerable to kidnapping, banditry and illegal mining. Satellite imagery, drone surveillance, geographic information systems and community intelligence should be integrated into a continuously updated national database of forest security risks. We cannot effectively secure spaces we have neither adequately mapped nor consistently monitored.

Second, forest security must become a genuine partnership between the state and local communities.

Traditional rulers, religious leaders, hunters, vigilantes and forest-adjacent communities possess generations of knowledge about forest routes, water sources, seasonal movements and hidden pathways that rarely appear on official maps. Their participation should not be viewed as symbolic or ceremonial but as a strategic component of national security. Experiences from countries such as Senegal and Kenya demonstrate that community participation can strengthen the protection and governance of forested areas when supported by clear legal frameworks, adequate training and institutional coordination. Nigeria should adapt, not merely copy, such models to its own realities.

Third, the proposed forest guard initiative should be implemented with professionalism, accountability and inter-agency coordination. Recruitment alone will not solve the problem. Effective forest security requires specialised training, clear rules of engagement, modern communication equipment, intelligence sharing, adequate welfare and strong coordination among the military, police, Nigeria Security and Civil Defence Corps, National Park Service, Amotekun and other relevant agencies. Without these safeguards, the multiplication of security actors may simply increase institutional fragmentation rather than strengthen national security.

Finally, forest governance must be integrated with rural development and early warning systems. Many communities surrounding Nigeria’s forests continue to experience poor infrastructure, limited economic opportunities and weak state presence. Criminal organisations exploit precisely these conditions for recruitment, logistics and concealment. Investing in roads, telecommunications, schools, healthcare and sustainable livelihoods around forest communities is therefore not merely a development strategy; it is also a security strategy.

Equally important is the establishment of trusted reporting mechanisms through which local residents can safely communicate suspicious activities without fear of retaliation or official indifference. The lesson from Sambisa is clear: warning signs are valuable only when institutions are prepared to receive, verify and act upon them.

The rescue of the Oriire pupils should rightly be celebrated. It reflects the commitment of security agencies, government authorities, traditional institutions and local communities working together to save innocent lives. But rescue is not the same as prevention. If every kidnapping is treated simply as an isolated emergency rather than evidence of a deeper governance challenge, Nigeria will continue to win individual rescue operations while losing the larger struggle against organised criminal networks.

Ogbomoso has long been known for education, enterprise and stability. It is home to Ladoke Akintola University of Technology and occupies an important place in the history of the old Oyo Empire. Whether it continues to be associated with those achievements or becomes another symbol of Nigeria’s expanding kidnapping crisis will depend on whether policymakers see the Oriire tragedy as an isolated incident or as an early warning of a much larger problem.

Sambisa taught Nigeria a painful lesson: a forest ignored today can become a fortress reclaimed tomorrow only at enormous cost. Old Oyo National Park presents an opportunity to apply that lesson before history repeats itself. Every major security crisis begins somewhere the state stopped governing. Yesterday it was Sambisa. Today it is the forests around Old Oyo. Tomorrow it could be another corridor we choose to ignore.

The question is no longer whether criminals will use Nigeria’s forests. They already do. Nigeria still has the opportunity to prevent another Sambisa. Whether it does so depends on one question: who will govern the forests before the criminals do?

*Ojedokun is a Ph.D Candidate in International Conflict Management at Kennesaw State University, Georgia, USA. His doctoral research focuses on the early warning signs and prevention of mass atrocities in postcolonial Africa. He writes on conflict, religion, governance, security and development in Africa