Salvation

It is now seven or so weeks after the Chibok girls were kidnapped. Not only have they not been rescued, there is no evidence of on-going efforts or any reassurance from our leaders that gives us hope that they will be rescued.

In those seven weeks life has gone on for the rest of the world. We’ve had babies, celebrated weddings, funerals, birthdays. People have been promoted, fired, employed, jailed, freed. Buildings have been built, some torn down; friendships made and broken, and yet it’s more of the same for these girls and their families.

The sameness of despair, the sameness of not knowing if you’ll ever see your loved ones again, the sameness of wondering each day what kind of life you can possibly have after this horrendous ordeal.

Will Bulus still love me? Did they go ahead with Sister Sarah’s wedding without me or did they shelve it? Is Papa better after his eye surgery? Does Mama have anyone to help her fetch firewood? Is my baby sister Aisha potty-trained now? Can my brother John ride Papa’s bike to the farm now?

I don’t know. I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. I don’t know because I’ve been cruelly torn away from the life that I knew, from the bosom of my loving family. I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again. I do know though that my life will never be the same again.

I will never be that innocent girl with the playful smile anymore. I will never be that young girl with a bounce in her step anymore. People will never look at me without judgment in their eyes anymore. Would I be able to look in a mirror and see myself without judgment?

I don’t know the answer to that too. But I’m tired now. I’m tired of crying for help every day, and yet help never comes. I must arise now. I must find the strength within myself to carry on. I must find the strength to face another rising of the sun. I must be strong for my friend Ruth. Ruth is sick and each day I can a little bit of light leave her eyes. I must be strong for Mama. She would die if she knew the indignities I’ve suffered. I must be strong for Aisha, the child of my mother’s old age; the child that I have known since Mama got pregnant would be my responsibility to raise and educate one day.

I’ll dry my eyes now and get on with it. The enemy must not see me broken. To him I am defiant. To him I am an enigma. I have not broken down and given in like most of the other girls. He does not know that I weep in private. I weep under cover of darkness. I weep under my headpiece in the dead of the night. My soul is constantly awash with tears but I will not let him see them. I will not let him taste the victory. If I give in to despair what hope would my friends hold on to? I will sink into depths so low I may never find my way back up. So I cling stubbornly to hope. I cling stubbornly to defiance. I cling stubbornly to my savior, in whom I know I’ll find salvation. Someday, somehow.