A decree, billions in play, and a question that won’t go away
One signature on a decree. Billions of FCFA theoretically within reach. A new defense architecture. A reshuffling of responsibilities. Then, another mobilization mechanism emerges.
Taken individually, each of these developments can be passed off as a routine administrative or military decision. Taken together, they raise a far more sensitive question: who actually controls the manpower, the resources and the levers of national defense in Niger?
Three major figures at the heart of power find themselves tangled in this web: General Abdourahamane Tiani, General Salifou Mody and former Prime Minister Lamine Zeine.
At the center of the case sits 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 mechanisms lies a third, less visible yet decisive issue: money.
Decree 2024-309: a text that rewrote the equation
On May 9, 2024, decree No. 2024-309/P/CNSP/MDN formally established the Commandement des Forces de Protection et de Développement.
This was no symbolic gesture. 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 strategic corridors.
The decree also laid out a specific financial mechanism.
And that is where the file takes on a different dimension.
A military force does not run on manpower and orders alone. It requires equipment, transport, food, logistics, maintenance and, above all, steady funding.
The text organized precisely that machinery.
12,000 FCFA per man per day: the figure that opens a 20 billion FCFA question
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 to the CFPD according to actual troop numbers.
The minimum value stated is 12,000 FCFA per man per day. The text also breaks down several components of that 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 close to 1.8 billion per month and approximately 21.9 billion over a year.
One essential caveat: this is a projection calculated from the theoretical headcount and the mechanism set out in the text, not proof that such sums were actually collected.
That is precisely what makes an investigation necessary.
The real question is not merely: how much could the mechanism 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: it exists, it operates, but does it match the blueprint?
It would be too simplistic to dismiss 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 deployed to secure economic installations, particularly at pipeline-related posts.
The problem is therefore more complex.
The CFPD exists. It is officially integrated into the defense architecture. It carries out certain missions.
But another question remains: does its actual functioning fully match the architecture, troop numbers and financial mechanism originally planned?
This is where administrative and financial documents become essential. Between planned and deployed troop levels, between theoretically available sums and amounts actually disbursed, a considerable gap may exist. And that gap must be documented.
Who controls the financial chain?
According to information reported in this case, CFPD funding is said to have been at the heart of tensions between different power centers.
One particularly sensitive piece of information attributes to President Tiani an instruction aimed at blocking the implementation of certain financial provisions of the mechanism.
At this stage, no public document reviewed allows this instruction to be formally established.
But if confirmed, the implications would go far beyond a simple administrative difficulty.
It would raise a major institutional question: how can a mechanism created by decree function when some of its financial provisions are deliberately obstructed or delayed?
The question matters all the more because the decree itself organizes the CFPD’s resources and their use.
The Finance Ministry at the center of the storm
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 scrutiny. It reshuffles the levers without necessarily altering the broader political balance.
The question 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 subsequently considered taking the head of government, with the possibility of holding both Defense and the Prime Ministry.
This information is not established by the public documents reviewed. 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 picture
Then comes a new stage. In late 2025, Niger adopted an ordinance instituting general mobilization. Authorities presented it as a mechanism to enable the transition from peacetime to wartime and to mobilize the human, material and financial resources needed to defend 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 operate under the control and supervision of the Defense and Security Forces.
The mechanism thus 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 leans more toward territorial mobilization and community self-defense. But both meet on common ground: manpower, security, resources and the chain of command.
The real problem: blurred boundaries between mechanisms
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 answers politically and legally when something goes wrong?
These questions are not secondary. The more a state multiplies structures operating in the security domain, the more clarity in the chain of command becomes essential.
Sovereignty is not measured solely 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 based on actual troop numbers.
This means an apparently technical question becomes politically fundamental: how many men were actually deployed, and how many effectively generated expenses under the mechanism?
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 mechanism precisely.
Who controls the contracts?
The decree provides that corporate contributions rest on contracts established between these companies and the State. This opens another line 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 delivered? 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 far more serious dysfunction.
When security also becomes a question of power
At this stage, the file ceases to be a simple matter of a decree. It touches the very structure of power.
The CFPD concentrates manpower and missions. Companies may 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 mechanism. That is precisely what makes any opacity concerning.
High treason cannot be treated lightly
The term “high treason” is extremely heavy. It cannot be used simply 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, covered breach of oath, certain grave human rights violations, fraudulent cession of part of the territory, or compromising national interests in the management of natural resources.
The current institutional situation must nonetheless be assessed in light of the Charte de la Refondation, which now constitutes 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?
That question can only be settled by evidence.
The most sensitive scenario: instrumentalizing defense resources
Here lies the heart of the case. 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, in parallel, personal or institutional rivalries were to determine who receives the means, who controls them, or who can block 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 government can talk about sovereignty. Military officials can talk about mobilization. Communiqués can talk about security. But documents will tell another story that of expenses actually incurred.
It will therefore be necessary to compare: announced troop levels versus actual ones; planned missions versus executed missions; theoretical amounts versus actual payments; signed contracts versus services effectively rendered; announced structures versus their actual functioning.
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 tied to 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 ultimately accounts for their use.
That is perhaps the true crux of the case.
And if documentary evidence were to show that private interests had effectively taken precedence over national defense interests, the question would no longer be a simple standoff between officials. It would become a question of State.
For in matters of 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 Martin Ngu — Politique et sécurité nationale
