A year ago, Magaji Sule led a deadly revenge attack on Christian villages near Nigeria's central city of Jos. Now he works with youths to break down the religious divides he says politicians are stoking.

Expensive tailored western clothing and gold jewellery cover his imposing frame as Sule speaks with intensity about his part on the Muslim side of sectarian clashes early last year which killed hundreds of people.

"In February, the governor declared a curfew because of the fighting. I was shopping at the market and I heard my house and car had been burned," Sule says, speaking in mixture of English and Hausa, the main language in Nigeria's Muslim north.

"I found out who did it, picked up my AK-47 and I told my boys to destroy everything. We were shooting for 8 hours."

Sectarian clashes in the "Middle Belt", the central region around Jos, have killed thousands over the past decade.

The cycle of violence consists largely of acts of retribution against both Muslims and Christians, who are targeted simply because of their religious or ethnic identity.

Hundreds died in clashes early last year and the violence flared up again in late December after a series of bombings during Christmas Eve celebrations. More than 200 people have been killed since then.

The tensions go back decades. They are rooted in resentment between mainly Christian ethnic groups, who consider themselves indigenous to the region, and incomers, largely from the Muslim north, who flocked here in search of jobs and fertile farmland.

Sule, whose wealth and status have made him an informal community leader, grows angry when he talks about the bloodshed, which he believes is deliberately provoked by politicians.

"You see these politicians give these boys money, just 2,000-5,000 naira to kill people. They are pushing the poor into this," he said.

Rights groups say local government policies exacerbate the tensions by openly discriminating against "non-indigenes", making it harder for them to attend state-run universities and denying them the right to compete for government jobs.

In a region suffering from widespread poverty and unemployment, it is a dangerous strategy.

"Politics is everything," says Yakuba Pam, leader of charity Interfaith which works with Sule and other influential figures.

"When you create divisions you create support, and religion is the best way to get your message to the grass roots."

ELECTORAL VIOLENCE FEARED

Soldiers now patrol the streets of Jos, once a weekend retreat for Nigerians from the big cities. Some have accused the military of partisanship and say its presence is prolonging the insecurity.

"The military is only a temporary part of it," Hassan Umaru, commander of the Jos special task force, said from his office in a fortified compound, armoured vehicles lined up outside.

"I believe peace is going to bounce back and we won't need to patrol the streets. It will be down to the people to bring peace," he said.

The office of the governor of Plateau state, of which Jos is the capital, said they were looking for options to stop the cycle of violence, in which attacks in the hills around the city have become an almost daily occurrence.

"Politicians have tried to exploit the situation for their own gain. They must look at the need of the state rather than themselves," said Dauda Lamba, spokesman for Governor Jonah Jang, who is standing for re-election in April polls.

Jang is about to launch "Operation Rainbow", a neighbourhood watch scheme based on a similar approach in Kaduna further north which helped stem religious violence there almost a decade ago.

But residents in outlying villages say the military is too slow to respond even when they report attacks, and fear further unrest as the elections draw near.

"Initially the crisis was not religious. It was started by indigenous and non-indigenous disputes. Then it became political" said Mohammed Ishaq, a legal adviser to Jam'atu Nasul Islam, a Muslim umbrella group.

"Religion is used to rally support. They push religion to create conflicts," he said.