How a cattle settlement policy detonated a national political crisis and left millions questioning whether RUGA was ever really about cattle
By Oladimeji Bolarinwa
On a Tuesday in late June 2019, most Nigerians had never heard the word RUGA. Within days, however, it had become one of the most explosive words in the country’s political vocabulary. It appeared in State House press conferences, triggered ultimatums from northern youth groups, attracted fierce opposition from leaders across the South and Middle Belt and was eventually suspended by the Federal Government before a single RUGA settlement had been established. Understanding why a rural livestock policy became such a powerful political flashpoint requires looking beyond the cattle and examining the deeper questions it raised about land, ethnicity, federal power, security and the future of Nigeria’s increasingly fragile farmer-herder relationship.
RUGA, officially described as Rural Grazing Area, was presented as a plan to establish settlements where pastoralist cattle herders could live and rear their livestock permanently. The underlying objective was to reduce the seasonal movement of cattle across the country, which had increasingly brought pastoralists into conflict with farming communities. The idea itself was not entirely new. Different versions of livestock settlement and grazing policies had been considered under previous administrations, including those of Olusegun Obasanjo and Umaru Musa Yar’Adua. The Buhari administration had also introduced the 2018 cattle colonies proposal, but the idea met strong resistance from states across the country. RUGA effectively revived the settlement concept under a new name at a time when farmer-herder violence had already become one of Nigeria’s most politically sensitive security issues.
What made the 2019 proposal different was the manner in which it entered the national conversation. The plan was publicly announced in June 2019 after being considered by the National Economic Council, with early descriptions suggesting that land would be identified for RUGA settlements across the federation. For many Nigerians, that immediately raised questions about whether states would have the freedom to reject the programme and whether the Federal Government was attempting to determine how land would be used within states.
That concern was particularly significant because of Nigeria’s land administration system. Under the Land Use Act, land in each state is vested in the governor, who holds it in trust for the people. Critics therefore questioned the constitutional and political implications of a federal initiative that appeared to contemplate the allocation of land across the country for the settlement of pastoralists. To opponents, the issue was not simply whether cattle farmers needed a more organised system of production. It was whether a federal government could effectively create permanent settlements for a predominantly Fulani pastoral population in different parts of Nigeria without the consent of the communities and governments that controlled those territories.
The opposition quickly became unusually broad. The Southern and Middle Belt Leaders Forum accused the Buhari administration of “seeking to colonize Nigeria through the establishment of Ruga settlement.” Afenifere in the South-West, Ohanaeze Ndigbo in the South-East and the Middle Belt Forum in the North-Central region also opposed the policy. These groups did not ordinarily speak with one voice on every national question, but RUGA produced a rare convergence of opposition. Their concerns reflected a wider fear that the policy could have consequences beyond livestock production and potentially alter patterns of land ownership, settlement and demographic influence.
This was where the controversial idea of “Fulanisation” entered the centre of the debate. Critics argued that creating permanent settlements specifically for pastoralists could amount to an ethnic policy disguised as agricultural reform. Their argument was strengthened by the fact that the RUGA proposal emerged during a period of intense farmer-herder violence, particularly across parts of the Middle Belt. Communities that had already experienced killings, displacement and destruction of farmland were being asked to consider a policy that appeared to offer organised settlements and infrastructure to the pastoral population associated with many of the conflicts. For opponents, that raised a fundamental question: why should a group associated with a violent land-use conflict be given a government-backed settlement structure without first resolving the grievances of the communities affected by that conflict?
The Federal Government rejected the interpretation that RUGA was an ethnic expansionist project. Its argument was that the programme was designed to address Nigeria’s livestock crisis, reduce open grazing, modernise cattle production and prevent the recurring clashes between farmers and herders. From this perspective, the policy was not about giving land to one ethnic group but about creating a more sustainable system for an economic activity that had historically relied on open movement across the country.
There was, however, one aspect of the government’s defence that complicated the claim that RUGA was an unavoidable nationwide land-grab scheme. Eleven northern states reportedly offered roughly 55,000 hectares of land towards the programme, while many southern states declined to participate. This suggested that, at least in practice, participation was closer to an opt-in arrangement than a compulsory nationwide allocation. The distinction mattered because it meant that states could resist or refuse the programme rather than automatically surrendering land to a federal settlement policy.
But by that point, the political damage had already been done. RUGA had entered the national debate at the worst possible moment and under the worst possible conditions of public trust. Nigeria was already dealing with farmer-herder clashes, displacement, ethnic suspicion and competing narratives about who was responsible for the violence. The government’s previous cattle colonies proposal had also created considerable distrust. As a result, the public debate over RUGA was never conducted on the narrow question of whether livestock settlements were economically sensible. It became a referendum on the intentions of the administration itself.
The controversy also exposed the difficulty of designing a national livestock policy in a country where land is closely connected to identity, history and political power. For pastoralists, permanent settlements could offer access to water, veterinary services, markets, schools and other infrastructure while reducing the risks associated with long-distance migration. For farming communities, however, the same settlements could be interpreted as a permanent government-backed expansion into territories they considered their ancestral or economic space. The difference between those two interpretations was enormous, and the government failed to bridge it before announcing the policy.
The violence gap made the problem even more difficult. Supporters of RUGA argued that the existing system of open grazing was unsustainable and that settlement could reduce the movement that brought herders into conflict with farmers. Critics countered that settlement alone could not solve the crisis without accountability for attacks, compensation for displaced farmers, protection of farming communities and a credible mechanism for resolving disputes over land and water. In other words, the disagreement was not simply about where cattle should graze. It was about whether a livestock policy could succeed without first rebuilding trust between communities that had already suffered years of violence.
RUGA was eventually suspended by the Federal Government in July 2019, barely weeks after it had become a national political controversy. The speed of the suspension demonstrated just how politically explosive the proposal had become. A policy that had been presented as an attempt to resolve a long-running agricultural and security problem had instead become a symbol of the country’s unresolved ethnic and political tensions.
The controversy did not end completely with the suspension. Subsequent investigative reporting also raised questions about the finances associated with RUGA-related activities, including allegations that billions of naira in contracts connected to the programme were awarded to newly registered companies with limited documented histories. Those allegations added a corruption dimension to an already controversial policy. They require careful examination and evidence, but they further contributed to questions about the transparency and management of the programme.
Ultimately, RUGA failed politically before it had the opportunity to prove itself as a livestock policy. Its supporters saw a potentially practical solution to Nigeria’s farmer-herder crisis. Its opponents saw something far more consequential: a policy that could institutionalise ethnic settlement under the cover of agricultural reform. The truth of the controversy cannot be reduced to either interpretation without examining the evidence, the policy’s actual design and what the government ultimately did with it.
What RUGA demonstrated, however, was unmistakable. In Nigeria, policies involving land, settlement and pastoralism cannot be separated from the country’s history of ethnic competition, insecurity and political distrust. A policy may be presented as economic reform, but if the communities expected to host it believe it threatens their land or identity, the policy can quickly become a national political crisis.
The cattle problem that RUGA was created to address also did not disappear when the programme was suspended. Farmer-herder conflict, open grazing, land disputes, livestock modernisation and the question of how pastoralists should transition into a more settled system remain unresolved. Nigeria still needs a comprehensive livestock policy, but any such policy will require genuine consultation with states, farmers, pastoralists and host communities, alongside clear safeguards over land ownership and security.
That is why RUGA remains politically relevant years after its suspension. For the Federal Government, it was presented as an attempt to solve a national problem. For its opponents, it became one of the clearest symbols of their fears about the direction of the Nigerian state under the Buhari administration. And for millions of Nigerians who never accepted the government’s explanation, the central question remains unanswered: was RUGA really just about cattle, or was there something much bigger embedded in the policy?
The answer to that question requires more than political slogans. It requires examining the policy, the land arrangements, the implementation plans, the beneficiaries, the money involved and the decisions that followed its suspension. Until those questions are confronted honestly, RUGA will remain less a forgotten livestock programme than a political symbol of one of Nigeria’s most enduring struggles over land, identity and power.
About the Author
Oladimeji Bolarinwa is the President of Think Yoruba First (TYF) and Co-Director of the Think Yorùbá First Political Action Committee (TYFPAC). He is a writer, political commentator and public affairs analyst whose work focuses on geopolitics, political strategy, identity, governance, regional interests and Nigeria’s position within Africa and the wider international system.
As President of Think Yoruba First, Bolarinwa is involved in advocacy around Yoruba political and economic interests, cultural preservation, regional development, political participation, true federalism and security reform. His public work examines the relationship between ethnicity, political power, demography, governance and national development, with particular attention to issues affecting Yorùbáland and Nigeria’s wider political landscape.
Bolarinwa also writes on international affairs and geopolitical developments, examining how historical forces, regional alliances, political movements and shifting centres of power shape contemporary Africa and the global system. His analysis frequently connects Nigeria’s domestic political questions with wider developments across West Africa and beyond.
He is a columnist with The Yoruba Times, where he writes “Geopolitics with Oladimeji Bolarinwa,” a column examining major geopolitical developments, historical forces, regional power struggles and political questions shaping Nigeria, Africa and the wider world.