In army’s absence, traditional hunters provide might and magic

Dressed in animal skins, wearing amulets and clutching handmade rifles, these men have become the only line of defence against cross-border armed groups.

Rachelle Sokpegande in Cotonou

Benin soldiers stand in Cotonou on 11 April 2021. (Photo: Pius Utomi Ekpei/AFP)

In northern Benin, where state security presence is weak and insurgents spill over from neighbouring Burkina Faso and Niger, a new protection force is gaining ground: traditional hunters.

Dressed in animal skins, wearing amulets and clutching handmade rifles, these men have become the only line of defence against cross-border armed groups, say residents in rural districts like Matéri, Tanguiéta and Kérou. They are not officially recognised, but they are respected in the community.

“I patrol every night,” said Idrissou, a 55-year-old hunter from a village near Tanguiéta. “We don’t get paid. We do it because the government isn’t here, and our people are afraid.”

“I’m no soldier but I know this forest better than any of them. When armed men approach, we don’t wait for the police. We act,” said Zachari, 42, as he twiddles with the leather charms hanging from his chest.

His group, a traditional brotherhood active for generations, operates at the intersection of the mystical and the military. They claim to use protective potions and night-time rituals to “read the intentions of intruders”.

Benin has deployed military units to Alibori and Atakora, regions that have experienced repeated insurgent attacks. But many remote villages are left to fend for themselves. The hunters have stepped into this vacuum but their growing role also breeds tensions.

There is no clear legal framework for regulating their actions. Where they are active, official mayors look the other way – or quietly collaborate.

In some areas, their authority has begun to rival that of state institutions which makes other local leaders, like village chiefs, apprehensive. “They are useful but ungovernable. What if one day they turn against us?” says a local official in Tanguiéta, speaking anonymously.

Still, few alternatives exist. For people living in zones where phone signals barely work and roads vanish into the bush, the choice is between trusting men they respect but also fear, or relying on a distant and disorganised state.

A young farmer in Kouandé says: “I prefer the hunters. At least they’re here. The police only come after the attack.”