Although this is a fictional narrative, sadly it is to convey what an abducted girl in captivity may write:
I had to abruptly stop writing the other day because I heard one of the captors coming and if they had found me writing they would have beaten me mercilessly to the point of death like my best friend. I miss her, my sister and everyone I love. I try to remember their faces so that I never forget them. I can only write this letter because I had a notebook and pen with me when we were abducted. We take turn hiding the items so that they are not found.
This letter gives us a dim flicker of hope that you will send troops to rescue us from this quagmire. It seems that we will never be rescued. The captors laugh at us. They laugh at our nakedness, tell us we are worthless and will be sold as sex slaves. It is just so awful to hear and contemplate. They tell us that our government does not care about us and will not rescue us, and that even if the government tried, they will not be able to rescue us. Is this true? For if it is, that is nothing but damnation for us. For we are damned by the acts of the foreseeable abduction, that was not prevented, and the failure to rescue us, to a wretched existence of shame, torture, ridicule, bondage and repeated violation. If you will not or cannot rescue us, have you asked other countries that can rescue us to save us from this cursed forest.
Words cannot adequately describe the depth of my despair nor convey the feeling of helplessness at being violently uprooted from the foundation of my life. It is a state of complete desperation. I am deathly afraid. I have not seen my mother’s smile nor heard my father’s voice in weeks, let alone the streets of my community or the sunset over my home. Why? I know that my grandmother wears her black garment of lamentation to mourn for me. Yet I am not dead. Alas, the pathetic irony is that I may be alive, yet I am not living. How could this happen to me, all because I am girl who went to school in Chibok. I miss my life.
It is another forsaken day in captivity. It is raining again and there is minimal shelter. We sit huddled together and dare not express our real feelings or we will feel the cold ends of the guns against our heads. We wait silently for the sun to come out to dry our skin and our clothes. I no longer like the sound of rain. I tried to cry but no tears came. I tried to console another girl who does not speak any more but no words came forth, so I hold her hand and it is very cold. When will this suffering end? Will it ever end?
I wonder, is it right that some men because they have power over vulnerable school girls, can change the course of our lives, sending us to premature deaths and selling us into slavery. Why are we the scapegoats and sacrificial lambs at the altar of anarchy and depravity? They boast. They say that they are more powerful than ever. They plan more bombings and kidnappings.
I must stop again. Save us please.
Fictional story to be continued – Chibox and now Dapchi Girls