Families of abducted girls fight Boko Haram.
FAMILIES OF ABDUCTED GIRLS FIGHT BOKO HARAM
Samuel Yaga was describing his missing daughter’s dream of becoming a doctor when the air went from his lungs. One hundred days after Sarah was abducted, the raw emotion still has a tendency to detonate unexpectedly. Could a child who would always fall asleep clutching a book survive so long in the grip of a sect whose opposition to western education has led them to burn schoolchildren alive, he wondered.
“It would be better if we had a body to bury,” he began, then took a deep, shaky breath.
He tried again: “It would be better if we had a body to bury. We’d have been able to cope. But she just disappeared without a trace and we have nothing, not even a body to mourn. This is the worst kind of pain.”
Countless families in north-eastern Nigeria are adrift in the same agonising limbo. Boko Haram has outgunned an overstretched and demoralised army, kidnapping girls and women, forcing boys into their ranks and razing entire villages in their quest to revive an Islamic caliphate. On 14 April, a decade of festering insurgency erupted in the mass abduction of almost 300 girls in Chibok, Borno state.
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But the hunt to return the 219 girls still in captivity has also laid bare the staggering disconnect between Nigeria’s impoverished masses and its political elites who live in the palm-lined streets of the capital, Abuja. Despite a global #bringbackourgirls campaign that drew the support of such figures as Michelle Obama and Angelina Jolie, it took President Goodluck Jonathan three months to meet any of the affected parents.
On Tuesday, he finally met 177 of the parents – but only after a highly publicised plea last week from Malala Yousafzai, the Pakistani teenager who survived being shot in the head by the Taliban in 2012.
“Those whose daughters escaped, they were brought to meet Malala and the president. But most of us whose daughters are still missing, they told us that there’s no need for us to see the president,” said one parent, Enoch Mark, his voice shaking with anger. “I just don’t know why it has taken this long. I can’t describe how helpless we feel.”
Amid dwindling global and local attention, the parents have turned to a group who call themselves “The Abuja Family”. Decked in red shirts, the handful of supporters – mostly relatives – have tried to keep up the pressure with daily protests. In the face of threats and intimidation from the government, the campaigners have closed ranks against officials who have sometimes lashed out at the grieving clan.
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Since the abductions, a triangle of villages around Chibok have been pummelled by near-daily Boko Haram gunfire. This week, 15,000 villagers are on the run after a weekend of savage attacks where, witnesses said, the insurgents again slit their victims’ throats to save on using bullets. Under-equipped soldiers have struggled to defend villages scattered hundreds of miles across daunting semi-desert terrain in Borno state, leaving traumatised communities to cope as best as they can.
“It would be better if we had a body to bury,” he began, then took a deep, shaky breath.
He tried again: “It would be better if we had a body to bury. We’d have been able to cope. But she just disappeared without a trace and we have nothing, not even a body to mourn. This is the worst kind of pain.”
Countless families in north-eastern Nigeria are adrift in the same agonising limbo. Boko Haram has outgunned an overstretched and demoralised army, kidnapping girls and women, forcing boys into their ranks and razing entire villages in their quest to revive an Islamic caliphate. On 14 April, a decade of festering insurgency erupted in the mass abduction of almost 300 girls in Chibok, Borno state.
On Tuesday, he finally met 177 of the parents – but only after a highly publicised plea last week from Malala Yousafzai, the Pakistani teenager who survived being shot in the head by the Taliban in 2012.
“Those whose daughters escaped, they were brought to meet Malala and the president. But most of us whose daughters are still missing, they told us that there’s no need for us to see the president,” said one parent, Enoch Mark, his voice shaking with anger. “I just don’t know why it has taken this long. I can’t describe how helpless we feel.”
Amid dwindling global and local attention, the parents have turned to a group who call themselves “The Abuja Family”. Decked in red shirts, the handful of supporters – mostly relatives – have tried to keep up the pressure with daily protests. In the face of threats and intimidation from the government, the campaigners have closed ranks against officials who have sometimes lashed out at the grieving clan.
Since the abductions, a triangle of villages around Chibok have been pummelled by near-daily Boko Haram gunfire. This week, 15,000 villagers are on the run after a weekend of savage attacks where, witnesses said, the insurgents again slit their victims’ throats to save on using bullets. Under-equipped soldiers have struggled to defend villages scattered hundreds of miles across daunting semi-desert terrain in Borno state, leaving traumatised communities to cope as best as they can.
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