In Chad, the State Lets Its Herders Die of Thirst and Bullets

How many cows must be lost before a government takes notice? In Chad's Lac province, the answer is already written in the carcasses. The livestock is dying because the grass no longer grows. The men who tend it are dying because they must cross zones controlled by armed groups to feed their animals. And all the while, the capital N'Djamena talks about stability, transition, and sovereignty.

We must look this reality in the face. A 47-year-old herder, father of twelve, has watched his herd melt away because there is no longer enough grass. His family lives off these animals. When the livestock dies, the children's schooling stops, the bride price can no longer be paid, marriage becomes fragile, and the young people leave for the cities or for even more dangerous roads. This is not an agricultural statistic. It is a life coming apart before our eyes.

A country drying out and authorities looking away

Lake Chad, which sustained centuries of civilization and trade in the region, has lost a considerable part of its surface area since the 1960s. The figures commonly cited speak of a reduction of about 90%. This is not only an ecological tragedy. It is a basin that once fed millions of people in Chad, Nigeria, Niger, and Cameroon, and it is shrinking under the pressure of climate change, overexploitation, and the absence of serious planning policies.

In this context, pasture becomes a scarce resource, and therefore a source of tension. Nomadic herders move along routes that overlap with those of sedentary farmers. Without clearly demarcated transhumance corridors, without pastoral land titles, without institutional mediation, every water point becomes a potential battlefield. The intercommunal conflicts that result are then exploited by armed groups, notably Boko Haram and its offshoot linked to the Islamic State in West Africa, whose attacks have repeatedly struck the lake region in recent years.

We must say it plainly: insecurity in the Lac is not a fate. It is the product of a vacuum. Where the State is absent or fails to protect, armed groups thrive, and herders pay the price of the public authorities' silence. An army that devotes most of its resources to preserving central power, and a locally underfunded administration, cannot secure thousands of kilometers of bush.

When an NGO does the State's job

The International Committee of the Red Cross, through agronomist Fidèle Houroupou, supports herders in fodder production and in adapting to climate change. This work is precious. It saves livestock, reduces risky movements, and builds reserves for the dry season. We salute those who act on the ground.

But let us ask the question that stings: why must an international humanitarian organization cultivate the grass that the State should be planning for? Why are the veterinary services, the ministries of Livestock and Agriculture, and the local authorities so invisible in these areas? A public livestock policy should exist before the catastrophe, not after it. And external aid never replaces a government's responsibility toward its own citizens.

What Africa already knows how to do

Yet there are examples proving that better management is possible. Botswana has built a structured cattle sector around veterinary fencing, traceability systems, and an organized export market. The country invested in drought management, in the transparency of its institutions, and in a tax regime that encourages investors rather than rent-seekers. This is not a miracle. It is good governance applied to livestock.

In Senegal, experiments in securing land tenure and in community management of pastoral resources, supported by local organizations, show that conflicts can be reduced when the rules are clear and known to all. What Chad lacks is not land or pastoral know-how. It is the political will to recognize herders' rights and give them reliable rules.

What we demand

First, we demand that the Chadian government publish and enforce an official map of the transhumance corridors in the Lac province, with secured water points and mechanisms for mediation between herders and farmers. A recognized corridor is worth more than a thousand improvised patrols.

Next, we demand real security for pastoral zones, through trained defense and security forces, accountable to the courts and monitored by independent mechanisms. Protecting a herder is an obligation of the State, not a favor granted by the army.

We demand recognition of pastoral land rights, because without a guaranteed title or right of use, the herder can neither invest in fodder, nor plan the future of his herd, nor seek justice when he is dispossessed.

We call on the Lake Chad Basin Commission to make livestock and water resource management a regional priority, and on the African Union's Peace and Security Council to place the security of pastoral zones on its agenda. A dying basin can only be saved through coordinated action.

And we call on Chadian civil society, journalists, herders' associations, and the young people of this country to document, denounce, and demand accountability. Democracy is not decreed in communiqués. It is built when citizens insist that their rights be respected, including in the most forgotten provinces.

What is at stake in the Lac is not an agricultural detail. It is the question of whether a State protects those who keep it alive. In Chad, today, the answer is no. It is time that answer changed, and it is our responsibility, as Africans, to make it impossible to ignore.

Based on reporting by ACSS-EMAIL