Home, Sweet Home?
READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED AS SOME SCENES ARE DISTURBING
It was the holiday of a lifetime and the Dele-Ahmed’s had been long looking forward to it, especially since their daughter had never been to Nigeria. After two weeks, it was time to go back. The visit had been a roaring success. Their final experience is captured below as narrated by Mrs Dele-Ahmed herself.
“It was a beautiful evening, with the sun settingas we journeyed back to Lagos. Suddenly, two of our tyres ruptured. The car wobbled along for a while until the driver was able to safely park by the roadside. It would only be a matter of minutes to change the tyres, I reasoned and we would soon be on their way. It had been a long day visiting family and we were all tired. In the blink of an eye, we were surrounded by armed bandits, five in front of us and two behind. They started shooting at the boot of the car. It was like a movie. My daughter screamed out in terror, ‘Mummy, daddy what's going on?’ There was no time to respond as were ordered out and marched into the thick forest, their AK47s firing into the air. In panic, we all did as we were told. I wasn’t sure why but one of them gun butted me on my chest and also hit my daughter’s head. Immediately, blood started running down her face. In reflex I turned and shouted at him. He instantly grabbed me by the groin and tore off my wrapper and blouse. I was left semi naked with only my underwear on. My husband and daughter started crying in despair. Like wild animals, two of the men dug their teeth into my breasts to let us know they meant business. I can't begin to explain the fear I felt.
Listening to them, I knew they were speaking the Fulani language. During my secondary school years, I had lived with some Fulani girls and picked up on it. I started pleading with them, asking for mercy, especially for my 9-year-old daughter. They completely ignored me but rather stripped the little girl at gun point and carried her away. All we could hear was our baby crying ‘daddy, mummy, help me.’ I was half naked and she was completely naked; we marched for nine hours into the thick of the forest.
We eventually came to a large camp. It looked very well organised, with a kitchen and a crude medical section. There were other kidnapped victims too, some chained to trees. A lot of them looked half dead. At this point, the three of us were separated; my husband and daughter taken away. I felt very hopeless and helpless, wondering if I would see them again. I realised that there was a certain comfort in seeing my family near me. The mind begins to play tricks and suggest some things that could be going on. The next sound I heard was the piercing scream of my daughter calling for her dad and mum. I could only imagine what was happening to her. As a mother, you are ready to protect your child even with your life but in that instance, I wept in physical pain as I heard her screaming. Whilst this was going on, I saw them gather the remains of a woman who had just died for burial. New Fulani men also arrived the camp and a training was organised for them. They were taught how to use the AK47 and how to walk through fire in a ritual session. It was very well organised.
On one of the days , they asked my husband what he would prefer, to watch his daughter being raped (again) or his wife. He broke down in tears pleading. They gave him a third option of himself being raped by another man. He tried to reason with them saying he was a devout Muslim and that rape and homosexuality were forbidden in Islam. Immediately they hit him with the butt of a gun. ‘What do you know about Islam?’ They asked. ‘If you fail to make a choice, we will do all three.’ At this point, I decided to make myself the sacrificial lamb to save my family. My husband begged and begged and asked them to name their price. It was to no avail. In the end, he was beaten severely and I endured the desecration of being gang raped by our captors. Through it all, I wasn’t allowed to cover myself even though it was raining. I was there for the taking by them all.
After six days, an agreement was reached and a ransom was paid. We were then blindfolded and marched through the forest until we got to the motorway where we were recovered. We travelled back to Lagos and got the medical attention we needed. We couldn’t leave Nigeria fast enough. Although we have been set free from the kidnappers, we are still in captivity to the trauma. My daughter wakes up in the night screaming in terror. She keeps asking the same question, ‘Mummy, why? Why? Why?’ Unfortunately, I still don’t have an answer for her.
As devout Muslims, we have taken solace in our faith. I am also thankful for my husband who has been supportive towards me, encouraging me to write my story as a means of therapy. We have made a vow that none of our children nor ourselves will ever return to Nigeria in our lifetimes. Even in death, we do not wish to be buried there. Good bye Nigeria.”
This is truly a traumatic story and you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy. My heart goes out to them. I thank God that none of them were killed and that they made it out physically intact. May they find true healing and restoration IJN. My greatest heartbreak is that these sort of stories happen everyday in Nigeria and are barely reported.
Please pray for my nation if you can.😢😢😢