A defense apparatus under scrutiny as questions mount
A decree signed in May 2024. A financial mechanism with billions potentially in play. A new security architecture. Shifting responsibilities at the top. Then a second mobilization structure emerges.
Taken one by one, these developments might look like routine administrative or military decisions. Taken together, they raise a far more delicate question: who truly controls the personnel, resources and levers of national defense in Niger?
Three key figures sit at the heart of this tangle: General Abdourahamane Tiani, General Salifou Mody, and former Prime Minister Lamine Zeine.
At the center of the case is the Commandement des Forces de Protection et de Développement (CFPD) and, more recently, the community self-defense organizations known as “Domol Leydi.”
But behind these two structures lies a third, less visible yet decisive issue: money.
The 2024 decree that changed the equation
On May 9, 2024, Decree No. 2024-309/P/CNSP/MDN established the Commandement des Forces de Protection et de Développement.
The move was not symbolic. The force was designed to help protect mining and oil sites, strategic infrastructure, corridors, and several development projects. The Agence Nigérienne de Presse at the time described the CFPD as an instrument meant to secure extractive resources, the WAPCO pipeline, CNPC-NP, SORAZ, and strategic corridors.
The decree also laid out a specific financial mechanism and that is where the case takes on a different dimension.
A military force does not run on personnel and orders alone. It requires equipment, transport, food, logistics, maintenance, and above all, regular funding.
The text organizes precisely this machinery.
The 12,000 FCFA daily rate and a multi-billion FCFA projection
Article 28 of the decree stipulates that corporate contributions are collected on the basis of contracts signed with the state, and that a Prime Unique d’Astreinte is paid back to the CFPD according to actual troop numbers.
The minimum rate indicated is 12,000 FCFA per man per day. The text also details several components of this envelope: daily duty allowance, food, hygiene, operations, and maintenance.
Based on a hypothetical 5,000 men, the order of magnitude reaches roughly 60 million FCFA per day nearly 1.8 billion per month and about 21.9 billion over a year.
But a crucial caveat: this is a projection calculated from the theoretical troop strength and the mechanism set out in the text, not proof that such sums were actually collected.
That is precisely why scrutiny is needed.
The real question is not just “how much could the system generate?” It is far more specific:
How much was actually committed? How much was paid? For how many men? For which missions? And to which beneficiaries?
The CFPD is real but does it match the blueprint?
It would be too simple to present 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, notably at pipeline-related posts.
The problem is therefore more complex.
The CFPD exists. It is officially part of the defense architecture. It carries out certain missions.
But another question remains: does its actual operation fully match the architecture, troop strength, and financial mechanism originally planned?
This is where administrative and financial documents become essential.
Between planned and actually deployed troops, between theoretically available sums and amounts actually paid, there can be a considerable gap. And that gap must be documentable.
Who controls the financial chain?
Information reported in this case suggests that CFPD funding was at the heart of tensions between different power centers.
One particularly sensitive piece of information attributes to President Tiani an instruction not to implement certain financial provisions of the system.
At this stage, no public document consulted allows this instruction to be formally established.
But if confirmed, the scope of the case would go far beyond a simple administrative difficulty.
It would raise a major institutional question: how can a system created by decree function when some of its financial provisions are allegedly deliberately blocked or delayed?
The question is all the more important because the decree itself organizes the CFPD’s resources and their use.
The Finance Ministry at the center of the problem
The alleged conflict then takes on a broader dimension.
On one side, Defense seeks the means necessary for its missions.
On the other, the Finance Ministry must control public resources and their use.
Above both sits the political authority that arbitrates.
It is this articulation that must be examined.
In a highly centralized defense system, controlling resources also means controlling operational capacity.
Whoever controls the credits controls part of the means. Whoever controls troop numbers controls another part of the power. And whoever arbitrates between the two holds the ultimate lever.
Zeine loses Finance but keeps the Prime Ministry
In January 2026, Lamine Zeine lost the Economy and Finance portfolio while retaining the Prime Ministry.
This change deserves attention.
It alters the distribution of levers without necessarily changing the overall political balance.
The question then becomes: why strip Zeine of direct control over finances while keeping him at the head of government?
According to information reported in this case, General Mody then reportedly considered taking the head of government, with the possibility of combining it with Defense.
This information is not established by the public documents consulted.
But if confirmed, it would reveal a much deeper issue: the concentration in the same hands of the two main levers of state power Defense and the Prime Ministry.
Domol Leydi enters the scene
Then comes a new stage.
In late 2025, Niger adopted an ordinance instituting general mobilization. Authorities presented it as a mechanism to allow the transition from a state of peace to a state of war and to mobilize the human, material, and financial resources needed for the defense of the homeland.
Within this framework, community self-defense organizations called “Domol Leydi” emerged.
The Defense Minister himself explained in April 2026 that these organizations must work under the control and supervision of the Defense and Security Forces.
The system therefore officially responds to a security logic.
But its emergence raises a strategic question: why multiply mobilization and protection mechanisms when a specialized command like the CFPD already exists?
The missions are not identical.
The CFPD is a military structure tasked notably with protecting strategic interests.
Domol Leydi is more about territorial mobilization and community self-defense.
But both structures meet on common ground: personnel, security, resources, and the chain of command.
The real problem: blurred boundaries between structures
From this point, one question becomes unavoidable: where does the CFPD’s role end and Domol Leydi’s begin?
Who recruits? Who trains? Who equips? Who funds? Who gives orders? Who controls the men?
And above all, who is politically and legally accountable when something goes wrong?
These questions are not secondary.
The more a state multiplies structures operating in the security domain, the more essential clarity in the chain of command becomes.
Sovereignty is not measured only by the number of soldiers mobilized. It is also measured by the state’s ability to know who commands whom, with what means, and under what oversight.
The mystery of troop numbers
This may be one of the keys to the case.
The CFPD’s financial mechanism is calculated according to actual troop numbers.
This means an apparently technical question becomes politically fundamental: how many men were actually deployed, and how many actually generated expenses under the system?
The answer should be found in administrative documents:
troop rosters;
mission orders;
attendance records;
security contracts;
expenditure commitments;
payment orders;
execution reports.
Without these documents, the billions remain projections. With them, it becomes possible to reconstruct the financial reality of the system precisely.
Who controls the contracts?
The decree provides that corporate contributions are based on contracts established between these companies and the state.
This provision opens another avenue of investigation.
Which companies signed these contracts? What amounts were agreed? What security services were planned? How many personnel were to be assigned to each site?
Were the services actually performed? Were the corresponding sums fully paid?
And above all: which administration oversees this financial chain?
These answers would determine whether the case is a simple operational problem or a much more serious dysfunction.
When security also becomes a question of power
At this stage, the case ceases to be a simple matter of decree.
It touches the very structure of power.
The CFPD concentrates personnel and missions. Companies can contribute to its funding under the planned mechanism. The Defense Ministry supervises the operational dimension. Finance necessarily intervenes in the public resource chain. The Prime Ministry is another coordination center. And the presidency retains supreme political authority.
In other words, several essential levers intersect around a single structure.
That is precisely what makes any opacity concerning.
High treason cannot be treated lightly
The term “high treason” is extremely heavy.
It cannot simply be used to describe a political conflict or a bad administrative decision.
Nigerien law has historically associated this notion with particularly grave attacks on the fundamental interests of the state. The 2010 Constitution, for example, targeted breach of oath, certain serious human rights violations, fraudulent cession of part of the territory, or compromise 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, which is now the fundamental text governing public authorities during this period.
Therefore, the journalistic issue is not to declare that “high treason” is already established.
The real question is more demanding: if public officials knowingly diverted, paralyzed, or manipulated a strategic defense mechanism for personal or factional interests, what legal and institutional consequences could follow?
This question can only be settled by evidence.
The most sensitive scenario: instrumentalizing defense resources
This is where the heart of the case lies.
A state facing a major security threat creates a mechanism to protect its strategic resources. A financial mechanism is planned. Troops are to be mobilized. Companies are called to contribute.
If, at the same time, personal or institutional rivalries were to determine who receives the means, who controls them, or who can prevent their implementation, then the problem would no longer be merely administrative.
It would directly touch the governance of national defense.
But this hypothesis still needs to be demonstrated. It requires documents, corroborating testimonies, and financial traceability.
Numbers will speak louder than speeches
The authorities can talk about sovereignty. Military officials can talk about mobilization. Press releases can talk about security.
But documents will tell another story that of expenses actually incurred.
It will therefore be necessary to compare:
announced troop numbers versus actual troop numbers;
planned missions versus executed missions;
theoretical amounts versus actual payments;
signed contracts versus services actually provided;
announced structures versus their actual operation.
It is this confrontation that will determine the real scope of the case.
The question that remains
The CFPD-Domol Leydi case alone does not establish an accusation of high treason.
But it raises enough questions to justify a thorough examination of the chain of command, troop numbers, contracts, and above all financial flows.
For when a defense mechanism is associated with potentially considerable resources, the issue cannot be solely about who commands the men.
It must also be about:
who controls the money;
who controls the contracts;
who verifies troop numbers;
who controls the services;
who can block or release resources;
and who is ultimately accountable for their use.
This may be the true knot of the case.
And if documentary evidence were to show that private interests had indeed taken precedence over national defense interests, the question would no longer be a simple standoff between officials.
It would become a matter of state.
For in national defense, diverting resources, manipulating structures, or deliberately neutralizing a strategic mechanism would not be a simple power quarrel: it would potentially be a grave attack on the fundamental interests of the Nation.
For now, established facts, source claims, and hypotheses must be carefully distinguished.
But one thing is certain: the only way to lift the veil on this case will be to follow the men, the orders, the contracts, and above all the money.
By Rose Njoya — Reportrice actualité politique
