When you arrive in Abuja for the first time, you are struck by the vast swathes of construction, apparent wealth and seemingly endless opportunity around you. Take one more UN flight to the hard-to-reach Maiduguri in the north east of the country and you’re in what seems like a different country; not because of the different religious or ethnic backgrounds of the communities, but the sheer scale of human suffering and underlying exhaustion that comes with many years of war.
It’s hard to fathom that one part of a country can be shining so bright on the world stage, and the other be left for so long in the dark. If it weren’t for the tiresome journalists and aid workers reporting on the stories of human suffering and gathering data to make the headlines, the catastrophe would go completely unnoticed.
Borno State was poor before Boko Haram began its brutal and relentless campaign to terrorise and kill “non-believers”, eradicate the education system and displace millions of people. The impact that this insurgency is having on a whole generation of children is nothing short of devastating. Education systems, healthcare facilities and basic services have all been affected. More than 2,000 schools have closed because of Boko Haram.
It was a Thursday in the 40 degree midday heat when I witnessed a sight that will stay with me forever. Long lines of families as far as the eye could see, winding slowly through arid terrain amid mirages rising from the road.
With wooden carts loaded with possessions, gaunt cattle, and huge containers of water, families were walking towards Maiduguri to seek shelter in the displacement camps, where they can get access to healthcare, psychological services and water from organisations like Unicef.
I was told they could have been walking for days from recently liberated areas of Borno State. But first they had to spend weeks, even months, in a Government Screening Centre. Set up in a disused and dilapidated Government building, it is in place to ensure Boko Haram is not infiltrating the internally displaced people heading for the town. It is only when they reach the bigger camp of Dalori that the children will get a sense of normality again; friends, school, and routine.
While we know about the story of the 270 schoolgirls that were abducted two years ago, it is sad to say that you don’t have to go far in Maiduguri to hear the same stories over and over again. Stories of girls being kidnapped, raped and forced into marriage.
As the Nigerian government and military continue rescue efforts, more and more girls and are returning home. The community perceptions of them and the children born out of sexual violence are presenting big challenges for reintegration.
I recently spent some time with two girls, Aisha and Noor, who were held in captivity by Boko Haram. Both had babies born out of sexual violence, escaped and are struggling to rebuild their lives. Aisha told me, “I was taken from my home, when my town of Bama was set on fire by Boko Haram. They put a gun to my father’s head and said they would kill him if he didn’t let me go. So I left.” A scenario so hard to comprehend.
More than 2,000 women and girls have been abducted by Boko Haram since 2012, many of whom have been raped, trained to fight, or used as suicide bombers.
When these girls do achieve their freedom and return to their communities, however, they often face mistrust, rejection and persecution.
I asked Noor what hope she had for the future. She was silent for moment and then, heartbreakingly, said, “nothing”. Then, she looked down at her little girl wriggling around, smiled and said “my baby”.
*Names have been changed to protect identities.
Source: UNICEF
