My Untold Story

Jan 26, 2018

My name is Amina Ibrahim. A native of Garu Chibok Town, Chibok Local Government Area of Borno State, Nigeria. I am a Christian. I am a girl child and I love that identity. I am this girl with great passion for life. I love the Philosophy of life that says, 'in every impossibility, there is possibility'.  I guess that's what helped me conquer what has seemed to be a nightmare to the me. But I thought it wise, telling the world my untold story, will be of great help to me and maybe I can come to acknowledgment of my life threatening trials.
This is my story …
On that fateful Wednesday night, being April 4, 2014, around 11: 20 pm, after reading. Most of us, girls precisely, had gone to bed. I couldn't sleep; I sensed fear and smelt danger. And I had this butterfly feeling in my stomach. You know that feeling you get out of anxiety and curiosity. I heard that noise from my stomach, like a running thunder.  I felt lonely. Yes! I was lonely. I felt cold and I shivered. My mind raced through many things. I thought of my late parents, my sisters, brothers. How they were killed. I watched them. I witnessed everything. It was on a Friday.  School dismissed on time. That's just the norm, for the sake of the Muslims who will be going to the mosque.  I was very happy, extremely happy, my elder brother, Adamu who had gone to leave with one rich business man, Mr. Musa Shagari in Maiduguri would be coming back. I can remember, he left with tears in his eyes. He never wanted to live our family. We loved each other  amidst our poor financial condition.  He was going to save us from dearth. That was our hope.
As I approached home, I smiled within myself. I heard this sound like gun shot or was it really a gun shot? I needed to ascertain my curiosity. I ran fast, very fast like I never had. I was home but no one was near. Then, I saw some men with masks. Goose pimples covered my body immediately. My legs frizzed as if I was in cold blood. I struggled with my body and was able to tip toe a little.
Thanks to the mango tree adjacent to our home. I hid behind it. I looked closely and what I saw was better imagined than witnessed. I viewed it like a movie in the cinema.  It happened so fast but slowly. Nollywood actions are more like fake compared to it. It was real.
My Dad was lying on the ground. Beside him were, my sisters and brothers, Ahmed, Aisha, Zainab, Abubakar, and Miriam. Then I saw one of the masked men as he dragged my dear mother out of the hut. Her pleas fell on deaf ears. I saw the tears as they ran down her cheeks. I could feel her pain.  My mother was such an ambitious woman. She inspired me by her courage. She was my role model and mentor. Naomi Ibrahim, that's her name.
Suddenly, one of the masked men hit her at the back of the head, she yelled and fainted. I saw it clearly. She fainted. I watched my dear mother fight for breath. The sun wasn't helping matters at all.
My Dad couldn't bear seeing his lovely wife struggle with life, so he stood up, with courage and with such braveness, he faced them. I felt like coming out from my hiding place but I couldn't, for fear of joining my ancestors. Who in my shoes would even think of that?
They again commanded him to lie down and he bluntly refused. Some of them pounced on him and they hit him more. I saw blood as they slapped him, it gushed out like water. I looked at my brothers and sisters lying on the ground, under the hot sun.  I wondered what will become of them.  Then they shot him and he slumped. One after the other they killed my family except little Abubakar, whom they abducted. After they were gone, I quickly ran to the house. I was left speechless. I cried and cried silently.  
I was about standing up when a hand gripped my leg. My heart sank. I looked back, it was my mother. She still had little breath left. That was her last breath and she gave up. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. Not far had I gone when I heard a big noise, I looked back. Lo and behold, it was our house. It exploded.   
I was still deep in my thoughts when Nancy touched me. Nancy is my classmate. We've been best of friends since I was admitted into Government Secondary School Chibok in Upper Basic Two. That's my school. We were all shifted to the school because of the attack from the popular terrorist group in Nigeria, Boko Haram. Most students were admitted to my school for the same course as mine. The population of G.S.S Chibok increased tremendously after much attack from them.
I told her of my fear. I felt this emptiness and loneliness I couldn't just explain. I leaned on Nancy's shoulder in the pool of my tears. For some minutes, I felt secured and free. But that changed after that miserable night.
 It was exactly now 11: 34 pm; we were still together when a gunshot was heard. Then we heard a voice commanding everyone to stay put. Fear gripped me once again. Nancy and I stayed together. Soon, some masked men came inside the hostel and commanded everyone to move outside. I saw three big trucks and many masked men. They again commanded us to enter the truck, and we did.
All this while, Nancy and I prayed that God sends his angels to deliver us from the hands of these men. It was a night of silence as no one spoke to another till we alighted at a place which has remained a land of no return to some of us till date.
The life that followed suit is what has left me with more sorrows in my heart and a big thanks to God.  We were subjected to hardship, hard labour and abuse. We were indeed in terror.  There we were taught no other God than Allah. We were taught to memorize the Holy Koran. I can't forget this chapter and verse of the Koran; Quran (4:76) - "Those who believe fight in the cause of Allah…”  We were made to believe that it is the will of Allah to fight one another, especially Christians who do not believe in Allah.
We were subjected to sex. I remember the day I was deflowered; I lost my virginity. I had gone in to the hut of the men to serve them food, when one of them called me to an inner room in the hut. That was it, I lost it. I bled, I cried all day. Sex became a play to me because that was what we were made to believe. Females are solely created for sex and nothing greater or lesser than that.  Some of us got pregnant, some were given pills that killed  them, some were killed for the  refusal of dancing to the sound of the music, and some were used as suicide bombers. Nancy, also ended as suicide bomber; May her gentle soul rest in the bosom of the Lord.
We were made to believe that the society hated us; if not the then president would have come rescue us from their hands. The grace of God never left me as luck shone on me on one fateful Friday. We had gone to the field of our camp to get pastures when I saw my little brother, Abubakar.  At first, I pretended not to have seen him because we were not allowed to talk with the abducted males. I managed to talk with him, and then we started meeting in our little secret place unknown to the terrorists.  We planned of escape and to God be the glory we succeeded (just the two of us). We left the camp with no hope or means of survival.  
April 4, 2018, will be the fourth year since our abduction. Some are still there. Some are married to these terrorists with no hope of return. I have never forgotten to put them in my prayers. One can never tell the story better until one becomes a survivor of wicked fate of our dear country.  Terrorism is as bad as HIV/AIDS and deadly as Ebola Virus.
I plead that our country becomes united as one in peace, the government with less corruption and the world with one love. We should all be one and our lives will be better.
One love!
One Nation!!
One Nigeria!!!
One Africa!!!!
One world!!!!!



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