It is that time of the year when I usually embark on my annual leave. This time, I really do not have a particular place in mind to travel to save for Makurdi, the Benue State capital, to see my aunt.
Having settled for Makurdi, I put a call across to her to notify her of my coming.
On the day of the travel, I boarded a 14-seater Toyota Hiace commuter bus from Iddo bus terminal in Lagos. After an hour delay at the garage, our bus hit the road while the driver meandered through the early morning notorious Lagos gridlock. But barely five minutes drive, our driver got a call to return to the garage
. “What! Do you know that Makurdi is almost a day’s journey? When are we going to get there with all the delays”, a middle-aged passenger yelled as the bus turned and started heading back, while majority of the passengers murmured. On getting to the garage, a woman dragged a teenage girl towards our bus. “You cannot disgrace me, go back to Alhaji and deliver the baby there, no more housemaid, I will do the chores myself”, she said while asking after the girl’s luggage; a thick cellophane bag.
It is after taking off again that we discovered that earlier, the girl tried to escape from the bus leaving her luggage behind after her “madam” had paid her fare to Gboko, another town in Benue State, where Alhaji, the middleman resides.
She is one of the internally displaced people across many Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) camps in north-east region of Nigeria. She is also among the many girls convinced by the middlemen-who visit their camp in Adamawa Stateto leave the camp to the city where they will earn money as housemaids. Helpless and confused, the 14 years old Zainab from Dikwa Local Council in Borno State agreed to leave the camp for a paid job in the city because she cannot trace her family members (who are taken to different IDPs camps outside the state) after the bombing of an IDPs camp in Maiduguri in Borno State by Boko Haram, an Islamic sect in north-eastern Nigeria in November 2014.
Now impregnated by an unknown man, (or rather, raped) Zainab is suffering double jeopardy, and risks not being admitted back in the camp. The sad teenager revealed these to an older woman in Hausa language who pressed on her to speak while in transit. On hearing her story, I imagined how vulnerable other inmates of the camps are. Also searching with my mind’s eyes, it is disgusting figuring out how ugly the situation could be. It is at this point, (about three hours into a 12-hour journey) that I decided to visit the nearest IDPs camp to see for myself.
But I am not prepared beyond Makurdi, yet my spirit pushes me to go. After a tortuous journey, our bus arrived Makurdi at 7:30 pm (12 hour 30 minutes). As some of us alighted, the bus headed to Gboko afterwards. But I missed following Zainab to Gboko to see the notorious middleman. My consolation is the fact that I will be heading to the IDPs camp in Yola the next day.
On getting to my aunt’s place, I did not mention my mission just to avoid discouragement. I did not leave for Yola until two days after, just to rest and garner strength for my mission. On the day of my departure, I left without telling anybody, but text my aunt while our Honda SUV car is about entering Gboko.
The text read: “Hello Ma. I am already on my way to Yola to see someone. I will be away for one day. Please bear with me”. The only reply I got is: “I hope you are safe. Please be careful”.
From Gboko, our car sped on the smooth road until Katsina-Ala where it cruised on River Benue Bridge and descended to experience bad road till Wukari in Adamawa State. With the state of the road, we got to Jalingo, the Taraba State capital in three hours, and another two hours from the town to Yola, the Adamawa State capital. But the roads to Yola from Wukari and Jalingo were not as smooth as the Benue State end of the route, yet it was far longer than the whole journey from Makurdi. Getting to Yola without contact, I lodged in a hotel and started my inquiry on how to get to the IDPs camp.
Usman, the waiter who attended to me in the bread and breakfast hotel, also fixed the movement for me. With his description, I left the next morning to the Internally Displaced Persons Camp in Malkohi, in the outskirt of Yola. The camp is the largest in the country as it hosts IDPs from other states, and features several makeshift tents and some solid structures. At the entrance, some tough-looking security officers paraded around. Inside, the camp was busy with lots of people, especially children playing around, most of whom are looking haggard.
Remembering Usman’s advice, “No camera, no peeping, listen more, talk less, and try and help someone with a chore”, I quickly walked to a health officer carrying a first aid box. At first she did not look at me and also did not want to release her second bag when I offered to help.
I followed her further inside the camp, and my neat dressing portrayed me as a health or government official too; a kind of disguise I needed. Of course, some parts of the camp stanched, food and water were in shortage, the adult inmates looked more concerned, while the children played around. But one particular child ran away on seeing us, thinking we were coming to give her injection.
However, the officials of the camp depended on government, NGOs and corporate and humanitarian organisations for supplies. Looking around and seeing many internally displaced persons in the camp I could not count, I say rhetorically; innocent people suffering in their fatherland because of the attacks of the Boko Haram sect. I became moody the more I imagined the inconvenience they pass through.
While still in that state, the health officer startled me, saying something in Hausa, the language of the locality. Sadly, I do not understand Hausa, hence asked her to repeat in English. She hissed and asked in English; “I am sorry, I thought you understand Hausa. What are you doing here and how will you communicate with these people who speak only Hausa”.
Scared of her further probe, I simply explained: I work with an NGO and we are here to know the plights of the people and pressurize government to alleviate their problems. She did not believe me, and rather asked after my identity card. To ensure the situation did not get out of hand, I pretended to unzip my trousers to bring out my identity card.
On seeing that, she asked me to stop, and gave me a bag of sachet water to carry, a sign of approval to at least assist her in that day’s work. That was the biggest relief I got so far on the journey. It is through, Yakubu, a staff of the National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA), who I meet while trying to take some pictures secretly (against Usman’s advice), that I discover that the health officer is also a police officer.
When I hinted Yakubu my mission, he laughed. “Yes, people come here pretending to help but end up becoming agents for middlemen who make brisk money connecting the IDPs, especially the girls to people who need them as housemaids, while some force them into marriage”, he said.
At this point, I remembered Alhaji that connected Zainab to her erstwhile madam in Lagos, where she got raped and impregnated. “It is not easy”, Yakubu said. “What is not easy”, I asked.
“Some notorious people often come here with money to lure people working here to connect them with some young girls that are willing to follow them to town. It is simple if you can convince the girls to insist the person is a relative. The camp officials will let go because there is pressure on food, water, and space”, he explained. Again, most Nigerians reasoned that with some attacks on some of the IDPs camps, the inmates and even security personnel are not safe, and if anybody finds a safer heaven elsewhere, the person can go.
Sad that some Nigerians can do such evil to displaced people, Yakubu explained the impact of the ugly situation with an accuracy that baffled me saying: “There are 2.3 million IDPs in Nigeria with 470,500 individuals displaced in 2013 alone. On a global scale, Nigeria is ranks behind Syria with 6.5 million IDPs and Colombia with 5.7 million IDPs”.
Though there is an unprecedented rise in IDPs in Nigeria last year due to the increased number of Boko Haram attacks, however, Yakubu noted that beyond the sect’s attacks, inter-communal violence, and natural disaster, especially flood are also reasons for the rise in the number of IDPs in Nigeria. “Incredible”, I said to Yakubu on his knowledge and clarity of facts on IDPs. I keep following Yakubu around even to the inside of one the tents in the camp near the warehouse that exploded some months ago killing seven innocent IDPs.
The further I move, the more gory sights I see mainly of unkempt children separated from their families, teenagers without guidance, worrying adults, and different organizations visiting with relief materials. At a point, I decide to leave after appreciating Yakubu for his assistance, and Usman, the waiter.
But I did not get to Makurdi until two days later and headed back to Lagos after another three days. But on my way back, I kept wondering when Boko Haram, the root cause of the sufferings of IDPs will be addressed. Of course, Chibok Girls are yet to be found after almost two years of forceful adoption by the sect.
