Bandits’ Video Call Threat to D English Alhaji Exposes Security Gaps

When bandits are alleged to be turning to video calls, showing ammunition on camera and threatening a public critic for speaking out, Nigeria’s insecurity crisis has entered a darker and more brazen phase. D English Alhaji’s claim is not just a personal scare story. It is a warning that fear now travels through the phone…

Atlantic Post

May 11, 2026

5–8 minutes

Banditry, D English Alhaji, digital safety, Nigeria insecurity, NYSC Abba Musa, social media threats

Bandits’ Video Call Threat to D English Alhaji Exposes Nigeria’s New Face Of Fear

Nigeria’s insecurity crisis has taken another disturbing turn, with a social media influencer, D English Alhaji, alleging that suspected bandits did not merely threaten him from the shadows but confronted him directly on a video call, showed ammunition and warned him to stop calling for the summary execution of criminals.

It is the sort of account that sounds almost unbelievable until one remembers how deeply Nigeria’s banditry problem has normalised fear, silence and brazen impunity.

What makes the allegation especially alarming is not only the threat itself, but the confidence with which the callers reportedly operated. According to D English Alhaji, they no longer hid their faces.

They appeared on camera, spoke openly, and made it clear that they believed they could reach him wherever he was.

“Bandits called me on a video call, they no longer hide their face, they are everywhere,” he said.

That single statement captures the national mood around insecurity in a country where kidnappers, armed gangs and rural marauders have increasingly moved beyond remote hideouts into a more fluid and digitally connected form of intimidation.

In this case, the influencer alleged that the criminals had traced his WhatsApp contact from a Facebook page where his number was publicly visible.

“They got my phone number on my Facebook page where I have my WhatsApp number. When I saw the call, I was at first scared but I decided to be calm with them, so that I can know what they have to say,” he explained.

That detail matters. It suggests that, beyond bullets and bush paths, the new battlefield now includes social media profiles, exposed contact details and public activism.

In a country where many citizens use Facebook, WhatsApp, TikTok and Instagram to report insecurity or demand action, the line between digital visibility and personal vulnerability has grown dangerously thin.

D English Alhaji said the callers questioned his religious identity during the interaction, adding another layer to the unsettling encounter.

“They went on to ask me if I was a Christian or Muslim, I told them I am a ‘Christmus’,” he said.

He also alleged that they demanded Islamic recitations and switched languages during the call.

“They asked me to make some Muslim recitations, at some point they even spoke Yoruba,” he stated.

That claim, if accurate, is significant not because of the language itself, but because of what it may indicate about the mobility, local familiarity and social blending of violent groups operating across several parts of the country.

It reinforces a grim truth many communities already understand. These are not faceless criminals operating in isolation. They are embedded in communities, connected by informants, and capable of moving between terrain, language and identity with disturbing ease.

The influencer further alleged that the callers deliberately displayed ammunition during the video call in what he interpreted as a direct effort to frighten him.

“They turned the camera and showed me ammunition,” he said.

Even more disturbing, he claimed that one of the men openly challenged his public stance on insecurity and warned him against continuing to advocate the summary execution of suspected bandits.

“One of them warned me against speaking and asking that they be killed summarily, the bandit asked me that what if they catch me and kill me same the way I advocate for them to be killed,” he said.

That line raises an uncomfortable but necessary question about the kind of climate Nigeria has built for public debate on insecurity. When citizens speak angrily about criminals, and criminals in turn answer back with threats, the state’s failure becomes impossible to ignore.

The issue is no longer only whether the state can defeat bandits. It is whether the state can still protect the right of citizens to speak, complain and demand action without being hunted for it.

D English Alhaji said the threats were serious enough to shake him, though he stopped short of revealing everything that was said.

“I am scared for my life and some of the things they even said I cannot say it here because I am scared, I do not want them to take the information to their higher-ups and then order for my summary execution,” he added.

Yet, despite the fear, he insisted he would not withdraw from public advocacy.

“I don’t plan to stop agitating for better security, I have channeled my life to it and we must fight this insecurity to the end,” he declared.

That determination is admirable, but it also underlines the cost of activism in a country where insecurity has become a business, a territorial power and a psychological weapon.

For many Nigerians, the danger is not merely that bandits kidnap, rob or kill. It is that they increasingly behave like an authority unto themselves, issuing warnings, setting terms and projecting the image of a force beyond consequence.

The broader national context makes his claim all the more credible. Reuters reported in February 2026 that a local peace deal with armed men in Katsina State collapsed after attackers returned and killed at least 21 people, a brutal reminder that informal truces with gunmen can disintegrate without warning.

The same report noted that officials in Katsina and other northern states had been making similar arrangements with armed groups after years of violence and failed central security responses.

It also quoted a former intelligence officer saying people had “given up on the government’s ability to protect them” and were instead making deals with bandits.

That context matters because it helps explain the atmosphere in which someone like D English Alhaji now speaks. Nigeria’s armed violence problem is no longer confined to a single region, a single method or a single criminal brand. It has evolved into a pattern of kidnappings, intimidation, ransom economies, rural control and digital menace.

In that sense, the alleged video call is not just a personal threat. It is evidence of a wider psychological war.

The case also links back to the troubling story of Abba Musa, the recently freed National Youth Service Corps member whom D English Alhaji said had again been contacted by his abductors.

According to the influencer, Musa called him in distress after the men allegedly warned that they were monitoring him.

“When Abba reached out to me, he was just crying, the bandits told him that they saw he has gone back to his tailoring work, he replied in affirmative. The bandits told him that they are watching him,” he said.

That account is particularly chilling because it suggests that abduction in Nigeria does not always end with release. In many cases, the trauma continues long after the victim returns home.

ThisDay reported on 5 April 2026 that Abba Musa regained his freedom after 70 days in captivity, following ransom payments and other negotiations, and said his ordeal had renewed concerns about the safety of corps members across the country.

The report also said he had cried out in a video for help while in captivity, becoming one more symbol of how exposed young Nigerians remain in unsafe posting areas.

Taken together, the two stories paint a bleak portrait of a country where bandits are no longer content to operate in the bush. They are alleged to be reaching through phones, video apps and social networks, bringing fear into the most ordinary corners of daily life.

The deeper scandal is not just that such groups can make calls. It is that many Nigerians now believe they can.