Wives for All
THESE were the thoughts on my mind, when we arrived in Sambisa Forest and the infidels drove us deeper and deeper into its dark bowel. And we felt like Jonah inside the belly of the great Whale, except that it was not voluntary escape from God’s mission to evangelise. We were being held against our will and forced on a journey we did not know. The ruffians did not stop until we went deeper and deeper inside. By the time they stopped, it was dusk and we had no idea where we were. It was trees and shrubs all around and nothing more. Night had begun to set and it looked so strange. It was a bit cool here, too. The settlement was large and it teemed with life. Women and children and men were all over the place. They came to us when we alighted from the trucks and led us to what would be our quarters.
They took our mothers to different tents and the girls to other tents. They kept us apart from our mothers, who soon became the domestic staff in their den; our mothers joined other women to work for the infidels. As the days passed, our role as girls in the camp of the enemy became clear. The girls would be the wives of the infidels for an impure god. As it stood, we had no say in the matter. It was not what we chose. But what power did we have to resist them? We were in a place so far away from home and so helpless. There was no one to defend us. We were hopeless. Our mothers were not allowed to see us; other women attended to us. They advised us to be calm. That it was useless to struggle against these beasts; that it only led to instant death in their murderous hands. They told us there was no need to give them that satisfaction.
But the thought of giving myself over to these evil men paralysed me. At 13 I stood in the tiny line between being a mere girl and a grown woman; that is how it is in our part of the world. It was my religion that stressed education of the girlchild, which stopped me from being married off. So, I could not claim ignorance of what the infidels of an impure god wanted of me and the other girls. Besides, we heard our mothers tell stories of how they started out at an earlier age – some a little over 10, 11 and 12. Not just that, we have seen films, read books and listened to young adults in the neighbourhood talk about what happens behind closed doors between men and women. So, I wasn’t such a child any more. My fear was not so much that I was ready, but of other things. Being pure, in the real sense of it, unlike these ruffians, was my concern. Their uncleanness of heart and action made them the embodiment of evil to avoid.
From age 10, I have had the vision of a great wedding to the handsomest man I could find in our town and the entire neighbouring villages, who would be the first and only man I would give my flower to and who would love me forever for my precious gift to him. How then would these ruffians take my flower without as much as a ‘thank you’? What was worse, right here in this bush? It occurred to me that no violation could be more total than what awaited us, the blossoming flowers of the desert soon to wither in the scorching heat of these infidels.
God in heaven, please come to the help of your children, I prayed! God, are you really in heaven and watching us and seeing what these men have done to us and whatever else they plan to do to us? God, arise with fire from heaven as in the days of Elijah and deal with these men the way they have dealt with us so they would see your glory and give praise!
I silently prayed many prayers and asked God to take revenge and rain fire down on our enemy and rescue us from what evil these men were plotting for us. But either God did not hear my earnest prayers or He was too slow to act on our behalf or He was simply too busy in other parts of the world dealing with similar or worse problems! It was one of the things those who did not want to believe in the gospel of our Christ always said: Why does God allow evil to befall His children? Why does He not respond quickly to their cries for help? And no matter what reasons you gave, they always seemed not satisfied. Now we had a bunch of infidels taking the matter out of the hands of their ‘god’ and fighting and killing and maiming just to get the laws of that ‘god’ obeyed at a heavy cost on other people. What then is the right way to go about believing?
I was angry with myself. I was angry with God, who seemed to have abandoned us here in the hands of an enemy of His children. When was the right time for His salvation for us in these bad situations? Perhaps, I was not thinking right. Our situation was enough to make a good man bad; it could not be worse.
If our horrible experience in our town earlier in the day made it seem we were singled out for suffering because of the faith we practised, then I was wrong. All around me in the camp were young girls of various ages. Some of the girls were obviously from the faith these infidels pretend to be fighting to impose on everyone. It did not look as if they came to the camp of their own free will. They too were forced like us to be their slaves. But why, I saw myself asking no one in particular? Did they also kill their fathers and brothers like they did to ours? If they did, who would be left to practise the faith these ruffians desperately want to impose on others? Were they so stupid? At 13 I could see how hopeless their mission was. If their mission were true, why force people against their will to be part of it when simple evangelism could successfully work?
I was thinking these thoughts when a young girl my age, who was heavily pregnant, walked up to where I stood surveying the miserable camp that would be my home for how long I could not tell. I could see suffering written in her large, round eyes. Inside of me, I felt a knife cutting deeply through my intestines. Who could have done this to her?
“You just arrived?” I heard her ask and I nodded. “Which village did they take you?”
I did not know why, but I felt drawn to her, a kindred spirit bearing the burden of these infidels.
I just made some noises in my throat and gestured wildly. She nodded as though we were bonded together by our collective suffering.
“Oh, not far from my place. Mife!”
“No, I know Mife,” I said. “How long have you been here?”
“Over a year now,” she said. “This is the result.”
And she indicated with her hand, pointing at her rounded belly. I hesitated, not sure whether what I had to say was right. But curiosity got the better of me.
“Did you have to do it?”
“Do what?” she asked.
“I mean, whatever got you like this,” I also pointed at her belly.
“Do we have a choice?” she asked. “Do you think you have a choice here? You wait till they come for you. Girls who resist them end up being stabbed to death. You don’t want to die like your father and brothers probably did, do you?”
I was shocked. How did she know that?
“Oh, you’re surprised that I know?” she scoffed. “It happened to us, too. That is their trademark, to kill off the males and marry the young girls, who will produce their next fighters. But it may not be so bad. There’s a chance I can escape with my child when I deliver him. He does not have to be like these animals!”
I was shocked at Amina, which she later said was her name. She had it all reasoned out.
I spent two nights in the camp without incident. However, by the third night, I was summoned to a large tent. There were many men there. Without ceremony, the man who appeared to the leader pointed out one of his men to me. He said I should have been married off long ago, but these foolish, foreign ways our foolish parents had planted in our brains would not allow us to think clearly.
“From now on this is your husband!” he announced. “You shall go with him to his tent. If I hear of any trouble from you, you’re dead!”
He waved us away. The young man came to me without ceremony and held me by the hand and led me out. Outside, he paused and regarded me briefly and began to stride away. When he realised I still stood where I was, he came back and grabbed my arm again and pulled in the direction of his tent. I followed meekly; I didn’t try to resist.
When we got there, he opened the tent and we entered. He drew the opening shut. The tent was bare, with just the basic things a man fighting a war would need. A flattened mattress, a log of wood for a chair, a few clothes scattered here and there, his gun and knives and other odds and ends. He motioned for me to take a seat. I stood. He looked at me and a faint smile came to his lips.
“Where did they take you?” he asked at last, gently.
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Perhaps, his gentility confused me. I did not expect him to be gentle. What they did to us two days ago was not gentle at all. So how could he be gentle? Perhaps, he was testing me…
“You don’t have to be scared,” he said. “You will be surprised, but I’m not one of them. I didn’t come here to defend any faith or plant a Caliphate. They forced me to fight for them. I was taken from Damboa. They killed our emir. I know you don’t like it, but it will be better not to be foolish here!”
“So, why are you fighting for them?”
I found my voice at last.
“You are not deaf, are you?” he seemed angry. “These are very cruel people; they kill without thinking. The only thing they respect is obedience. Just obey and you will be fine.”
I looked at him closely now. He was still a boy, although the life he now lived had toughened him and forced adulthood on him.
“Soooo, what are you going to do with me?”
“They said you are to be my wife,” he said. “That is what you must be!”
“What if I refuse?”
He looked at me again and closed his eyes, like someone who was tired. In that moment, I too felt his pain. He could not be the young man he was created to be. Other men had taken over his manhood and his ability to do as he pleased. He was a toy in other people’s hands. Instantly, I knew we were in the same plain of helplessness. My heart went out to him; I saw in him the young brother I had lost a few days ago.
I knelt down by his side and held his knees where he sat on the log of wood in the tent.
“Please help me, help us get out of here! This place is not for us. We must find a way out of here. But… my mother! How do I get to her to come with us?”
