Terwase Akwaza, popularly known as Gana, was a notorious bandit who terrorized Benue State and its neighboring states between 2015 and 2020.
Terwase Akwaza, better known across the valleys and villages of Benue State as Gana, a name that struck fear into the hearts of many, and yet, curiously, brought hope to others.
Born in the 1970s in the village of Gbishe, deep within Katsina-Ala local government of Benue State, young Terwase’s life was shaped by hardship. Orphaned early, he was said to have inherited supernatural powers from his father, a traditional herbalist known for his deep connection to the unseen.
Stories whispered in the shadows say Gana could disappear at will, change form, and reappear like a ghost. Some claimed these powers came from a shrine hidden atop a rocky hill, while others insisted he gained them through darker rituals, even alleging he buried his own daughter in a sacrifice.
But Gana didn’t start big. As a boy, around the age of 10 or so, he began by stealing chickens and eggs, hiding them in a “Ghana Must Go” bag, which earned him the nickname “Gana.” That bag would become the first sign of the man he would become, crafty, determined, and daring.
By his teens, Gana was waylaying traders on market days. And in time, as tensions rose in the region between local communities and nomadic herders, Gana found purpose in violence. He joined a militia to defend his people from attacks by Fulani herdsmen and rival militias. Many praised his bravery, and village elders even claimed spiritualists fortified him to become bulletproof. Whether fact or myth, no one dared challenge him directly.
As his influence grew, so did his cruelty. Gana became more than a bandit, he became a warlord. He led a fearsome militia across the Sankera axis, which includes Katsina-Ala, Ukum, and Logo. He extorted money from farmers and traders, issued taxes, and met resistance with death. His feud with former allies left entire communities burned and broken.
Yet, in his village of Gbeji, he was a folk hero. He built a clinic, a science secondary school, awarded scholarships, and handed out cars, motorbikes, and grinding machines. People in his village loved him. He was their Robin Hood, their protector, even as the world outside called him a terrorist.
By 2015, the Nigerian government had had enough. A bounty of ₦50 million was placed on his head. Police and military raids, by air and land, were launched to catch him, but Gana always slipped away, like smoke in the wind.
In 2015, Governor Samuel Ortom declared an amnesty for criminals in Benue. Gana stunned the nation by accepting the offer. On August 31, 2015, he led 500 of his men to surrender and submitted 84 rifles. He was given a position in the government as the head of a task force on revenue and awarded a contract to collect Produce Tax. For a moment, it seemed Gana had turned a new leaf.
In 2016, he was accused of masterminding the assassination of Denen Igbana, a senior security aide to the governor. Gana denied it, claiming Igbana was part of a kidnapping ring. But instead of appearing before the police, Gana vanished back into the shadows. The government revoked his amnesty, terminated his contracts, and relaunched the manhunt.
For four years, Nigeria’s most wanted man evaded every trap. His network was vast, his hideouts elusive, and his enemies many. Multiple military operations, Operation Ayem A Kpatuma and Whirlstroke, failed to capture him.
In the meantime, Gana’s return to crime was worse than ever. He razed villages, assassinated chiefs, and ruled Sankera like a dark king. He was accused of murdering high-profile figures, including local rulers and even the wife of an Appeal Court judge. That judge, unable to bear the grief, died not long after his wife.
By 2020, even the people who once defended Gana begged the government to try peace again. A second amnesty was arranged. On September 8, 2020, Gana turned up at the Emmanuel Akume Atongo Stadium in Katsina-Ala, in full public view, ready to embrace peace. Traditional rulers welcomed him. Plans were made to take him to Makurdi for formal reintegration.
On the way to the state capital, the Nigerian military intercepted the convoy and Gana was killed near Masaje, close to Yandev in Gboko. His death sparked controversy and questions. Had he truly surrendered? Was he silenced for what he knew?
While in hiding, Gana had spoken to journalists and even wrote to the National Human Rights Commission, claiming that some state officials were involved in gunrunning and criminal activities. He alleged betrayals and claimed his only crime was knowing too much.
Behind his legend, however, was a man responsible for deep suffering. He was accused of burying people alive, of wiping out families, and of inflicting terror across Benue and beyond. His last wife, Queen, revealed haunting details, how he killed their only daughter and buried her in a shallow grave.
And yet, this same man gave scholarships and built schools. He was both a giver and a killer, a hero and a villain, a paradox that still stirs debate.
The story of Gana is not just the tale of a bandit. It is the story of a society caught between neglect and violence, poverty and power, tradition and modern law. It is a story that forces us to ask: what makes a man a monster, and what makes a monster loved?
@ Copied
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