In this encounter with Edozie Udeze, some Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) in Bauchi State, share their experiences of trauma, close shave with death, narrow escape from Boko Haram attackers and their everyday recollections of the sordid events that forced them out of their homes in their various states. Theirs are stories of horror, pity and loss of faith in not just the system, but in life as a whole.
If all the children in the IDPs settlement in Fadamar Mada, Bauchi State, Yohanna seemed to be the most psychologically and emotionally perturbed. He is just 6 years old, but the trauma on his face, and constant yearning for his father, whom he lost during one of the Boko Haram attacks, has made him to somewhat stand out. Yohanna was about to celebrate his 5th birthday two years ago, when the Boko Haram terrorists struck. His father, Danladi was only 36, when he was cut down on his way back from his farm in Mubi, Adamawa State.
Due to some dint of good luck and fate, Yohanna was rescued from the rubbles of his home by a good Samaritan, who later handed him over to his mother. Since then, little Yohanna has found himself in that dire situation, where every man in white clothes is seen as baba (father). It has therefore become a habit for him to stretch out his hand to touch such a man, thinking – ‘Oh, this is my father.’
Yohanna is thus one of the alarming statistics of over 2.3million Internally Displaced Persons in Nigeria, majority of who have lost their fathers and loved ones to the senseless war unleashed on the nation by that dreaded sect, Boko Haram. There are some still, who have lost both parents and now spend their time in the IDPs camps without that natural parental care and love needed to pull through such difficult moments. Even when Yohanna is often found in the warm comfort of his mother, who answers his constant questions about his father, his innocent mind can’t seem to settle down to that reality of life without his father.
As it is with him, so it is with millions of other children, who will soon return to their homes. But these children did not cause the war, yet they bear the most brunt, and are most taken hostage by the pervading fear of the booming sound of gunshots and bomb explosions.
Usually, stories of refugees anywhere in the world are the same. Whether they are Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) or those running into strange territories for safety, the stories are riddled with agony and sorrow. In Bauchi, the Internally Displaced Persons have terrible stories of agony and close shave with death to tell – harrowing stories of how they were attacked and uprooted from their bases; stories of sadness, fear and uncertainty; told in a way that exposes the terror and realities of war. The attacks came to them by surprise, since they had little or nothing to do with the Boko Haram terrorists and were least prepared when they came calling.
The three IDPs communities in Bauchi town namely Tudun Salmamu, Fadamar Mada and Wuntin Dada have mostly persons who fled from Gujba in Yobe State, Gwoza and Gamboru in Borno State and Mubi in Adamawa State. They have been there in the care of their host communities more than a year now. Although to most people, there is no place like home, most of them still entertain fears that their homes may not be as sweet and alluring as they used to be anymore. The trauma of the last one year or so; the loss of many of their relations, encounters with death and narrow escapes, and the fear of possible reoccurrence of the attacks, have continued to haunt and hound them.
As those amongst them, who could summon the courage, told their stories, the streaming tears on their faces and tremour in their voices betrayed their inner emotions, leaving little room for doubts about the level of misfortune and disaster that has befallen them.
Zara Usman, 42, mother of 8 and first wife of Usman Ahmed, whose whereabouts cannot be ascertained, recounted her story this way: “When Boko Haram boys attacked us in Gwoza, Borno State, my husband left home. Unfortunately, I have not seen him since then. I have not been able to tell this story to anyone, for fear of what might befall us after that harrowing evening in August 2014, when deafening gunshots were heard everywhere. But I can trust you now to tell it properly, since you came with these government people,” she began.
Almost confirming the myth about how war plunder communities and put families asunder, Zara said: “Yes, I have not seen my husband, Usman Ahmed, whom I believe may have fled to Cameroon. You know it is not far from us… We were all at home around 5 pm, when they came. We – my husband and I, were relaxing in front of our house and telling stories, while the children were in the backyard, cooking our night meal. Suddenly, we began to hear heavy sounds of gunshots not too far away. Then people started running towards our side of the town, shouting and screaming. There was confusion everywhere, as we too quickly gathered whatever we could and began to run in different directions. Already, we had heard that these people were approaching Gwoza but we did not know what to do or where to run to. So, you see my problem now?” She asked, her eyes filled with tears and self-pity.
With 16 children and a co-wife to think about and console, Zara confessed that she is now the head of the family in the absence of her husband. “The children cannot stop asking after their father. It is even more painful to me for this 10 months old baby born in the camp. We got to Bauchi through the help of volunteers; people who saw us as we trekked on the road and gave us a ride. It was one at a time and as they got to their destinations, we disembarked and continued. Gradually, we got to Bauchi after several days on the road. With few loads on our heads and so many children to cater for, the journey at a point became really unbearable.
“When we first left the village, we ran to the farm where we stayed for two days. We trekked more at night for fear of being caught by the boys. Once it was morning, we would seek for a place to hide, with hunger, tiredness, fear and worries gnawing at our hearts… Oh, we could not wait to see if our houses were all burnt down. It was when we got here that we learnt that the town had been occupied and no single house was left standing in the whole of Gwoza. This is why going home, for us, is not certain anymore. What if the boys come back to torment us and tear us to pieces? Even my children who were in shock for days, cannot imagine going back to Gwoza,” she remonstrated.
Asked how they have been surviving, she said, “The government people give us food items from time to time. We also get beddings from them. Above all, my husband is a staff of Gamboru Local Government area, so the government of Borno State sends his salaries to us here to take care of the family. Besides, we feel safer here; at least we do not hear gunshots and explosion of bombs. What I miss most is my sleeping foam. The mat I sleep on here is not as comfortable. It is too hard on my skin.”
Abdullahi Aliyu Usman, 21, is also from Gwoza, although not from the same part of the town as Zara. He told his story: “The attackers hit our town around 5p.m. We first thought it was a joke and that a few people were having altercations with the police. Before then, we felt the presence of policemen more in the town. But it soon became clearer to us when one of my friends, Ibrahim, in company of his people approached our side of the town with loads on their heads. His little sister of about 6 years, was crying, asking ‘Where is baba (Father)?’ I asked him what was amiss and he simply pointed to his left and said: ‘The boys are in town. Can’t you see smoke everywhere to your left?’ So we quickly ran inside and picked a few property that we could carry on our heads.
“Baba (he points to his father in the crowd) was not feeling too well then; we had to wake him up. It was he who suggested that we moved to the farm first because darkness was approaching and there was no safer place to run to. It was later that one of my childhood friends (I won’t tell you his name) told me that Usman was the one that brought Boko Haram to our town. Yes, he was the one that accompanied them to the place, pointing to them houses of important people in the town to deal with decisively.”
Abdullahi, who initially felt reluctant to grant an interview, insisting that I might be a secret agent of the boys, only inclined when the camp director, Ibrahim Mohammed, allayed his fears. He said, “I fear every stranger now. If Usman could betray us; if he could have the heart to engineer the destruction of a whole town, including his own people, then I will fear every stranger, whether he carries a gun or not… Oh that boy (Usman), he was not married. He was only a small boy of 16 and still in secondary school in Gwoza. But we noticed that after a while, he disappeared from the community and his parents looked for him everywhere to no avail. You know, because of the fear in the air, no one had the courage to venture out. And that was how we lost him, until he was spotted leading the Boko Haram onslaught on our town
“Those who saw them said they did not bother to cover their faces. That was how Usman was recognised. It was indeed a terrible sight.”
‘What has become the fate of Usman, where is he now?’ We asked.
“Ah, may Allah be praised. Three months later, news came to us that he had been killed by government forces in Gwoza. This is why we can boldly tell you the story,” he replied with visible gratitude.
Abdullahi disclosed that even though Usman is dead, there are many young men and women like him who have been seriously hoodwinked and brainwashed by the Boko Haram ideologists, saying that Western education is bad and that Jihadist must rule the earth. “I fear for those people whose boys and girls have been enlisted, who can now only think of nothing but wars, skirmishes and destruction” Abdullahi said, hissing and holding back tears.
How do we go back home?
To date, there are 2.3 million Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) in 34 camps, located in different parts of Northern Nigeria. For Ibrahim Ishaku, 20, another victim from Gwoza, it is this increasing number of refugees that frightens him more than anything else. “We have already escaped and now feel safe and secure, but how about these fresh cases of attacks and people fleeing their homes every day?” he asked, as he clung tenaciously to his friend, Abdullahi. Although they are both from Gwoza, it was coming to the camp that has bonded them together as friends.
“I am more afraid for the remaining people in Gwoza. Each time I hear news of more bombings and destructions and loss of lives, my mind quickly flashes back to the day we were attacked. It is not something I like to recount or recall, for the fear of it all drives me mad. Even here in Bauchi, I still feel that we are within the reach of Boko Haram. It is not that they will come here to attack us again, it is just that the sad news I hear everyday keeps me on my toes. I am so scared; so scared that I do not know when I will be able to return home to begin again to tend to my farm and see some of my relations with whom I have lost touch.”
Ishaku stated that the most painful aspect of their stay in Bauchi is that they cannot move about freely. Since most of them are not artisans, but farmers, it is near impossible for them to find alternative means of livelihood. “We mainly live on what government and other donors give to us. By now, I’d have harvested my corns and grains and sold them out to my customers. Even if I go back now, where will I start from; who will I go to for assistance to begin again? he retorted, his voice quivering.
Ishaku confessed that until the harsh realities dawned on him that it would take long to return home, his plan was to increase his crops and possibly marry before he turned 21. “Does that look feasible now?,” he asked, as tears blurred his eyes. His friend, Abdullahi nudged him on the shoulder to console him. And with the impending idea of their returning home now being muted by the federal government, Ishaku is at wits end on how to get back on his feet again.
He inquired if government is prepared to shoulder the responsibility of resettling them on their farms and other professions. “We lost all”, he bemoaned. At this point, Abdullahi drew him closer and whispered into his ear. Then he smiled all of a sudden and looked straight into the reporter’s eyes. “I have hope. I know that Sai Baba will look into our plight as soon as we get home.”
That smile of hope perched perpetually on his face while the chat lasted. Without doubt, a lot of them need renewed hope to carry on.
Another victim, Zara Abdullahi, from Gujba in Yobe State, told The Nation that her town was attacked in the evening shortly after they returned from their farm. Mother of 8 children; 6 boys and two girls, Abdullahi’s immediate concern is how to appease the spirits of over 50 of her relations lost in the attack. “Those people were from my father’s side of the town. They were the first to be attacked and the boys took their time to exterminate everyone. Ironically, this was what even gave us enough time to escape to safety. By the time the sounds of the guns came nearer to us, the other part of Gujba had almost been leveled to the ground. With that, I lost over 50 of my paternal relations, most of whom were not given any chance to escape. The attack was in the night, when darkness had set in and it had become too difficult to know one’s left from right. Our own escape was by the special grace of God,” she explained.
Clutching her 5 year-old daughter, Fatima, to her bosom, she went on, “When we learnt that our houses were burnt and that the boys refused to vacate the vicinity, we knew we were really lucky to have escaped alive.
“Gujba was at the thick of the crisis and we were one of the earliest settlements to be attacked. The severity of it all cannot be quantified because no one really envisaged the extent of devilishness in the hearts of the boys,” Zara Abdullahi explained, saying “but we only thank God that we now live among our people here in Bauchi. Government people also give us food items to survive on. We heard that we will soon go home, but how safe is our home? Are we really sure that we will not be attacked again by these boys who have no fear for anything?” She asked, as her daughter watched her dab the tears from her eyes.
Aisha Abdullahi, 19, a native of Gujba was not at home when this incident happened. She was in Bauchi where she is a JSS 3 student of Government Girls College, Bauchi. Her story is based on what her mother and other siblings told her. “Mother came over here with my junior ones. They met me here, more than one week after I’d heard that my town Gujba had been invaded and that many people had perished. I lived in fear for more than one week until they arrived here on a certain evening. I was summoned from school to welcome them. In fact, the officials of the relief committee ensured I could identify them all.”
She went on: “My mother said they initially heard sounds of bombs in nearby villages. Already they had been told that Damaturu had been invaded and people were running helter skelter. That was the first place they moved to. They thought that being the state capital, life there would be safer. But it soon became clear to them that Damaturu was not good enough to protect them. This was why they first moved to Mubi in Adamawa State. When the fall of Mubi became imminent, they again commenced their movement towards Bauchi. By the time they got here, they had only a few belongings with them.”
Now visibly making effort to control her emotions, she continued, “I shed tears of joy and sorrow on seeing them. Tears of joy because they were alive, and tears of sorrow because the state I saw them was beyond me,” Aisha stated, amid suppressed laughter and euphoria as one of her pals, another Aisha, tapped her on the shoulder for telling the story so vividly. “You see,” she said, pointing, “this Aisha Mohammed is from Gwoza in Borno State, but this incident has brought us together. Today, she is my best friend.”
Unfortunately this second Aisha, 16, couldn’t speak a word of English. For this, her story was stunted, as she kept to herself most of the time. Even when she was persuaded to share her experience, she still kept to herself, hiding behind her friend to evade questions from this reporter.
Role of government.
Explaining the role of the Bauchi State government in taking proper care of the IDPs in the state, the man in-charge of relief camps in the state, Ibrahim Mohammed, said, “I am the one in-charge of relief assistance coming to the IDPs in the state. I am also in-charge of those involved in natural disasters like flood, fire outbreaks, storms and so on. We assist all of them in the state. Once news gets to us about an incident of this nature, we swing into action. We first assess the extent of damage, then we decide on what to do to assist victims.
“When the IDPs from Adamawa, Borno and Yobe States arrived here in 2014 in different sets and batches, we quickly rallied round to resettle them. Those who have relations here in the state first reported to them, while those who do not, came to our office for assistance. On the whole, we decided to use host communities to cater for them because we already had an IDPs camp in Plateau State. We didn’t want to duplicate issues and since we would reach out to them through their people, we decided it was a good thing to do.”
Mohammed equally told The Nation that they have provided a temporary school for them in their places of settlement. “This arrangement is to enable them continue with their education. We do not want them to feel totally out of place or miss out completely on their schooling. For now, there are many volunteers, who, in collaboration with government provide food items to them. We also ensure we give them beddings for their domestic needs. They have been here for over one year now and those who are artisans have been provided funds through cooperative arrangement to keep themselves busy. Most of them have lost their husbands, who were their breadwinners. Now, it behoves on us to provide for those who need help most,” Mohammed said.
According to statistics provided by the National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA), of all the IDPs in Nigeria, about 55 percent of them are children who have been orphaned due to the Boko Haram skirmishes. And of the remaining population of 45 percent, women and young boys and girls constitute majority. The most agonising reality in the camps is the absence of fathers and breadwinners. This has made most of the children to continually ask their mothers: ‘Where is Baba? Where is my dad?’ Often enough, the grieving women do not have the courage to continue telling the same stories over and over again.
So far, about 2.3 million Nigerians are Internally Displaced in different camps in parts of the country. They are mostly refugees from Adamawa, Borno and Yobe States whose towns and villages have been ravaged by insurgents. Members of Boko Haram profess and preach that Western education is bad and that people should take up arms to fight western influence and culture. At the moment, the crisis has spread to Chad, Niger and parts of Cameroon, where refugees, both from Nigeria and elsewhere abound. However, the federal government of Nigeria has promised that some IDPs will by the first quarter of this year, begin to go back to their homes, since their places have been liberated.
The emerging fear however, is that with many houses totally burnt down and decayed corpses and body parts littering the towns and villages, it may be hard to control the diseases that may be laying in wait for these hapless people in these places. This is the major fear being expressed by the majority of the IDPs, and it is indeed a palpable one.
