Why a 2024 decree still shapes today’s argument

A signed decree. Billions that could theoretically be mobilised. A brand-new defense architecture. A reshuffling of responsibilities. Then the arrival of yet another mobilisation mechanism.

Taken one by one, these developments can be dressed up as routine administrative or military decisions. Taken together, they raise a far more uncomfortable question: who actually controls the manpower, the resources and the levers of national defense in Niger?

Three central figures of the current power structure sit at the heart of that tangle General Abdourahamane Tiani, General Salifou Mody and former Prime Minister Lamine Zeine.

At the centre of the file is the Commandement des Forces de Protection et de Développement (CFPD), joined more recently by community self-defense organisations known as “Domol Leydi”. But behind both structures lies a third, far less visible and far more decisive issue: money.

What began as a technical matter of decrees and pay scales has since spilled into public debate, prompting questions from citizens, analysts and institutions about how defense resources are raised, tracked and spent and about who answers when the chain breaks down.

The arithmetic that turned a defense file into a public debate

On 9 May 2024, decree n°2024-309/P/CNSP/MDN formally established the Commandement des Forces de Protection et de Développement.

The measure was never purely symbolic. The force was designed to help protect mining and oil sites, strategic infrastructure, corridors and several development projects. The Agence Nigérienne de Presse presented the CFPD at the time as an instrument meant to secure extractive resources, the WAPCO pipeline, CNPC-NP, SORAZ and key corridors.

The decree also sets out a particular financial mechanism and that is where the dossier changes scale. A military force does not run on manpower and orders alone. It needs equipment, transport, food, logistics, maintenance and, above all, steady funding.

Twelve thousand FCFA a day, and a projection north of 20 billion

Article 28 of the decree states that company contributions are collected on the basis of contracts signed with the state, and that a Prime Unique d’Astreinte is paid over to the CFPD according to the number of personnel actually deployed.

The stated minimum is 12,000 FCFA per man per day. The text also breaks that envelope into several components: a daily duty allowance, food, hygiene, running costs and maintenance.

On the assumption of 5,000 men, the order of magnitude reaches roughly 60 million FCFA a day close to 1.8 billion per month and about 21.9 billion over a year.

One clarification matters here. This is a projection calculated from the theoretical headcount and from the mechanism written into the text. It is not proof that any such sum was ever actually collected.

That distinction is precisely what makes scrutiny necessary. The real question is not simply how much the system could have generated. It is far more specific: how much was committed, how much was paid, for how many men, for which missions and to which beneficiaries?

What officials have said and what remains unverified

It would be too easy to describe the CFPD as an abandoned structure. In 2026, Defense Minister Salifou Mody publicly stated that personnel from the Force de Protection et de Développement were engaged in securing economic installations, including posts linked to the pipeline.

The picture is therefore more complicated. The CFPD exists. It is officially part of the defense architecture. It carries out certain missions.

But another question lingers: does its actual functioning match the architecture, the headcount and the financial mechanism originally planned? Between intended and deployed personnel, and between theoretically available and actually disbursed sums, the gap can be considerable and that gap needs to be documented.

Reactions from the institutions at the centre of the storm

According to information circulating in this case, the financing of the CFPD is said to have been a source of friction between different poles of power. One particularly sensitive claim attributes to President Tiani an instruction aimed at preventing the implementation of certain financial provisions of the mechanism.

At this stage, none of the publicly available documents reviewed allows that instruction to be formally established. But if confirmed, its implications would go well beyond an administrative hiccup. It would raise a major institutional question: how can a body created by decree function when some of its financial provisions are allegedly blocked or delayed on purpose?

The issue matters all the more because the decree itself organises the CFPD’s resources and their use.

Defense, finance and the arbitration above them

The presumed conflict then takes on a wider dimension. On one side, the defense establishment seeks the means required for its missions. On the other, the finance ministry is bound to control public resources and how they are used. Above both sits the political authority that arbitrates.

That articulation deserves examination. In a highly centralised defense system, controlling resources also means controlling operational capacity. Whoever holds the credits holds part of the means. Whoever holds the personnel holds another share of the power. And whoever arbitrates between the two holds the ultimate lever.

A reshuffle that shifted the levers

In January 2026, Lamine Zeine lost the Economy and Finance portfolio while keeping the Primature. The change is worth noting: it alters how levers are distributed without necessarily altering the broader political balance.

The question that follows is straightforward why strip Zeine of direct control over the finances while leaving him at the head of government? According to information reported in this case, General Mody later considered taking the head of government himself, with the possibility of combining it with Defense. That claim is not established by the public documents reviewed. If it were confirmed, it would reveal something deeper: the concentration in the same hands of the two main levers of state power Defense and the Primature.

Domol Leydi enters, and the debate widens

Then came another stage. In late 2025, Niger adopted an ordinance instituting general mobilisation. The authorities presented it as a mechanism to move from a state of peace to a state of war and to mobilise the human, material and financial resources needed to defend the homeland.

Within that framework, community self-defense organisations called “Domol Leydi” emerged. In April 2026, the defense minister himself explained that these organisations must operate under the control and supervision of the defense and security forces.

Officially, the arrangement answers a security logic. Its emergence nonetheless raises a strategic question: why multiply mobilisation and protection mechanisms when a specialised command such as the CFPD already exists?

The missions are not identical. The CFPD is a military structure tasked in particular with protecting strategic interests. Domol Leydi leans more towards territorial mobilisation and community self-defense. Yet both meet on common ground manpower, security, resources and the chain of command.

Effectives: the number nobody has publicly settled

This may be one of the keys to the whole case. The CFPD’s financial mechanism is calculated on the basis of personnel actually deployed. A seemingly technical question therefore becomes politically fundamental: how many men were really sent out, and how many genuinely generated expenditure under the scheme?

The answer should be traceable in administrative records, among them:

• personnel statements and attendance records;

• mission orders and deployment logs;

• security contracts signed with companies;

• expenditure commitments and payment orders;

• execution reports covering what was actually delivered.

Without those documents, the billions remain projections. With them, it becomes possible to reconstruct the financial reality of the mechanism with precision.

Contracts, companies and the trail of the money

The decree provides that company contributions rest on contracts drawn up between those firms and the state. That opens a further line of inquiry. Which companies signed? What sums were agreed? What security services were envisaged? How many personnel were to be assigned to each site? Were the services actually delivered? Were the corresponding amounts paid in full?

And above all: which administration oversees this financial chain? The answers would determine whether this is a simple operating problem or something considerably more serious.

The legal question: where does accountability begin?

At this point the file stops being a matter of decrees alone. It touches the very structure of power. The CFPD concentrates personnel and missions. Companies may contribute to its funding under the planned mechanism. The Defense ministry supervises the operational side. Finance necessarily intervenes in the public resources chain. The Primature is another coordination hub. And the presidency retains supreme political authority.

In other words, several essential levers intersect around a single structure which is exactly what makes any opacity a cause for concern.

High treason is a term that cannot be used loosely

“High treason” carries enormous weight. It cannot be deployed simply to describe a political clash or a poor administrative decision. Nigerien law has historically tied the notion to particularly grave attacks on the fundamental interests of the state. The 2010 Constitution, for instance, referenced the breach of an oath, certain serious human rights violations, the fraudulent cession of part of the territory and the compromising of national interests in the management of natural resources.

The current institutional situation must, however, be assessed in light of the Charte de la Refondation, now the fundamental text governing public authorities during this period.

The journalistic task, then, is not to declare that high treason has already occurred. The demand is more rigorous: if public officials knowingly diverted, paralysed or manipulated a strategic defense mechanism for personal or factional gain, what legal and institutional consequences could follow? Only evidence can settle that.

What to watch next: documents, not declarations

The most sensitive scenario would be the instrumentalisation of defense resources. A state facing a major security threat builds a mechanism to protect its strategic assets. A financial scheme is designed. Personnel are to be mobilised. Companies are called on to contribute.

If, in parallel, personal or institutional rivalries were to determine who receives the means, who controls them or who can block their release, the problem would cease to be administrative. It would strike directly at the governance of national defense. That hypothesis still has to be demonstrated through documents, consistent accounts and a traceable financial record.

Figures will speak louder than speeches here. The authorities can talk about sovereignty. Military officials can talk about mobilisation. Statements can talk about security. But the paperwork will tell another story the story of what was actually spent.

The comparisons to be drawn are clear: announced versus real headcount; planned versus executed missions; theoretical amounts versus completed payments; signed contracts versus services actually rendered; structures announced versus structures that genuinely function. That confrontation is what will reveal the true scale of the case.

The question that remains open

The CFPD-Domol Leydi affair does not, on its own, establish an accusation of high treason. But it raises enough questions to justify a thorough examination of the chain of command, of personnel figures, of contracts and, above all, of financial flows.

When a defense mechanism is tied to potentially considerable resources, the only question cannot be who commands the men. It must also be: who controls the money; who controls the contracts; who verifies the headcounts; who monitors the services delivered; who can freeze or release the resources; and who is ultimately accountable for their use.

That is where the real knot of the affair may lie. And if documentary evidence were to show that private interests had genuinely prevailed over the interests of national defense, this would no longer be a mere tug-of-war between officials. It would become a matter of state.

In national defense, diverting resources, manipulating structures or deliberately neutralising a strategic mechanism would not be a simple power squabble: it would potentially be a grave attack on the fundamental interests of the nation.

For now, established facts, claims attributed to sources and hypotheses must be kept carefully apart. But one thing is certain: the only way to lift the veil on this affair is to follow the men, the orders, the contracts and, above all, the money.

By Boureima Amadou — Reporter

By Mariama Hamani — Grand reporter