On the 14th of April in the early hours of the morning, Boko Haram terrorists came to our school. For several hours, they gathered us together and then went into Chibok town to look for lorries. They took their time as we cuddled and prayed and pinched ourselves hoping it was just a dream. The nasty looking terrorists spent more time raiding stores in the town and collecting provisions. For the over eight hours it took, there was no help for us; there was no one to come rescue us. There was no police or army to save us and put up a fight at least.
On the rough roads they drove us in lorries to their den in Sambisa. It was a journey of perhaps six hours but to us it felt like a year. We never lost hope through the ride, cuddling together and praying the Good Lord does not abandon us. We never stopped hoping we would hear helicopters and see military vehicles ambush the convoy and rescue us so we could return to our mothers and fathers.
The next day we heard some courageous Civilian-JTF with some of our family men braved it to the edge of the forrest to try to rescue us. We held some hope, that since they knew where we were the Nigerian army, that strong army that sorted out the crisis in Liberia will come rescue us.One night after the other we hoped. As the terrorists laughed at us, telling us we will never be rescued, that the Nigerian government did not care about us; we still held on to hope. We hoped the United States will do something at least if Nigeria didn’t. We hoped France will intervene. We held on to faith and then days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months. We prayed but also we cursed. As we heard the news that some of our parents were dying, we cursed. We prayed and cursed those who did this to our land, who did this to our parents and to us.
As time passed, some of us died; some got pregnant, some were married and some were taken away. One by one we got used to these men. They fed us, they tended to us, they tried to keep us alive and these monsters became our benefactors. There was no one else but them and God that provided for us and kept us alive.
We held on to hope as we lost trust. Why did this happen to us we asked? Why did this happen in Nigeria? Why were we born in this country where this would happen to us? Why, we asked, why? Why were we being punished for having dreams and going to school? What had we done to deserve this? The terrorists had money. They bragged to us: you see the money your government you are waiting for to rescue you gave us? Can you see the money the French gave us? We care about you, they do not. Forget them. We are your family.
We saw helicopters drop money, food and guns. We saw suspicious men talking with our captors; men who we knew were from the outside. Gradually all hope we had began to fade away.
It is 606 days since. There are bombardments going on around everywhere. We don’t really care. We have been diminished. We might as well be dead. There is not much left here to return to normal society. And what society are we returning to? Is your society normal where you leave your daughters to be defiled and no one wages Jihad to liberate them? Some of us are angry, very angry. Some of us have had child for these men, and are connected to them. We do not know how we will fare in that your world anymore, honestly, we do not really care. We stopped caring a long time ago. But there was just one thing we wanted to know. We wanted to know why?
Dear Dasuki; Dear Goodluck Jonathan. Is this why? Was it all about this money?