By Abdulmutallib Mukhtar
Our village had been under constant attacks by a group of people whom we had no iota of knowledge about.
They would come and start shooting sporadically. The shooting usually lasted for about three to four hours in a broad daylight and sometimes in the night.
Those who were mostly killed are men because they were always outside, either at the markets or at their various farms trying to survive the lashing economy of the country. And when they attacked in the night, women were not also left out. It was in one of such terrible attacks that I lost my two loving parents.
The attackers set the whole village on fire after the operation. I wouldn’t have been narrating this story had I not visited my grandmother in a neighboring village on the day of the attack. I would have also been killed.
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How painful and sympathetic the life of a girl of my age without both parents? I was about 17 years old then. That was how I miserably settled in the village of my grandmother who had grown so old that she could kick the bucket even in the next minute.
The village was also not free from attacks as many people were killed at the market the following day after the massacre of my parents.
My grandmother fell sick again. I knew she would die because the sickness of old age has no cure unless one can become young again. The following morning, I woke up only to see her dead body like a log beside me.
I could remember the peaceful life we used to have in the village before the frequent bloody attacks started. Those precious days of gold and silver that we used to play the cultural dance in the moonlit night. I missed the days boys would come and propose to us while playing. I could recall how we used to play all night, especially when there was a wedding or during the festive period. I wish death would come and take me out of this endless misery.
Seeing that the horrible attacks seemed to have no end, the villagers decided to migrate to a distant place which I unwillingly followed them without anybody to console me. However, I thought of my uncle who went for a business in the city, settled and married there. My father once took me to his house. I had little money with me which I got to the park where I would get a car to the city. I was sure I could locate the house.
On our way to the city, we came to a roadblock which we thought was a police checkpoint only for us to discover it were kidnappers disguised as policemen with their guns.
They took five of us to a place we could not tell. Three of us are women and two are men. Among the women, I was the youngest because I was about to attain the age of 18. I had a body that made me looked older than my age. That was the reason I think the leader of the kidnappers dragged me to his room. After raping me not once, not twice, not thrice but times I could not tell, he offered me to a number of men I could also not tell.
They needed money again to set us free. They asked the phone number of our relatives but for me I told them I had non. I could hear how they were negotiating the ransom with the relatives of other people kidnapped along with me.
I was the only one who remained in the camp as all others were released after their families had paid the ransom. These men didn’t deem it fit to release me after all that they did to me. They said to my ears that they would continue to rape me and that would serve as my ransom. I spent about 30 days in their camp. They planned for another ambush and so they set me free by dropping me on the road with my eyes veiled and hands tied. I had been lying down on the road for long without any car stopping to assist me because everyone was scared of the evil plan of armed robbers or kidnappers. But like that one fearless generous man stopped and picked me out of the horrendous place.
While the man was driving, some number of men shot the car to stop him but fortunately, he was able to escape. With our hearts beating like a tambourine drum we reached the city.
That is how we live in this time and that is how we leave to our graves in this time.
Written by Abdul Mutallib Muktar
abdulmutallib.muktar@gmail.com
