North East Nigeria has over the past few years been known to be troubled with insurgency as the dreaded islamist group "Boko Haram" ravaged several communities in the wake of their activities, with Borno, Yobe and Adamawa states being the hardest hit.
The desert can be very hostile and unforgiving like a troubled sea. With extreme day and night time temperatures I wonder how the human body quickly adjusts from an extreme of 41°c in the day and 19°c at night. Unpredictable sandstorms, and soil so hard it breaks the skin off your feet. Such is the climate of Yobe state where we were posted for a month on a humanitarian activity.
Our job was to assess the food security situation in randomly selected rural and urban settlements of the state. Little did we know that this job will be more of an adventure than a job.
The heavy military presence in Damaturu is intimidating, coupled with a 7pm curfew for commercial tricycles otherwise known as "Keke" and 10pm curfew for other form of movements. You would think this enough to halt any form of insecurity.
We had five days of intensive training to prepare us for the field. The last day of this training was a practical field trip to a sample Enumeration Area. I had in the few days gotten my self acquainted with "Kanuri" which was the main indigenous language although there are other languages such as "Babur", "Shuwa" and "Fulfulde".
We took a tour to our sample Enumeration Area to trace and take data from random residents. Like every other insurgent afflicted community, it was devoid of any major social life. Kids playing, vendors hawking their wares and a couple of Quranic school children recitingntheir Arabic.
One thing I must say is that violence steals childhood away from children. The children were initially apprehensive to see us. It was sort of strange for them to see decently a large number of seemingly westernized people writing and taking shots of the area. I was awe struck listening to a couple of kids who wouldn't be older than nine years coonversing in Hausa language regarding our presence.
One of the kids was inquiring from an older one asking who we were, and the older kid replied that were government workers doing government work. The third was seemingly disgusted and blurted out "Aikin gwamanati aikin Allah ne? Ya kamata a kore yan arnen nan domin ba aikin Allah su ke yi ba" meaning "Is Government work God's work? We ought to chase these pagans out of here because they are not here for God's work."
His statement stunned me beyond words and I had to look pass him to really ascertain his age without making him feel I understand his language. This formed the basis on which I would relate with my respondents.
What could have made this boy susceptible to being misguided?
Who is responsible for this?
How can his mindset be changed?
These and many more were questions racing through my mind throughout the day.
Few days later my team was despatched to Nguru, a town rich in historical culture and even more beautiful than Damaturu which is the state capital. The five hour drive through a poor road network was quite hectic. Drifting through the desert sand with beautiful scenery and a fear of attack by insurgents are more than I can describe.
I could almost feel like I was in the sahara when a couple of camels passed by
On arrival, we enjoyed a warm reception from the Local Government and we set out to oir tasks immediately. It should be noted that as at the time of writing this article, Nguru as a whole has not been directly hit by the insurgents. Although there are communities housing internally displaced persons who migrated from areas where the insurgence activities were at an all time high.
Obtaining real time data regarding the livelihood styles of families was an emotional aspect of the job. Being an empath, I could feel the emotions and the pain in the eyes of respondents when they describe their living conditions as well as the nutritional content of their diet.
Northerners in Nigeria are about the most content people I have ever lived with. From a cobbler to a farmer, a petty trader to a mobile Tea shop. The only thing they care about is their daily bread and are always grateful for any assistance no matter how little.
However, less can be said about the family lifestyle and this I believe gave me answers to the questions I raised concerning the kids Imran into in Damaturu.
Imagine an unlettered forty five year old small scale farmer with three wives and about twenty children. His income can barely get him by much less his family. The boys learn survival skills at a tender age while the girls already know they'll end up as housewives sooner or later.
Surviving means serving under the tutelage of a Mallam (Religious scholar) as Al-Majiris (Disciples). They beg for food early in the mornings and are content to eat stale left over foods. Bathing is a luxury they can't afford, not for the lack of water but for the fact that personal hygiene is not a priority.
Inasmuch as several international organizations and NGOs have done so much to promote the need for education, there is a high preference for Arabic education to any other kind of education. Unfortunately the content of what these children are taught is not monitored. More often than not the Al-Majiris end up being buggers, sourcing for funds for the Mallam.
Its so sad to see children sleeping on mats or bare sand in the blistering heat of the day or in the cold of the night. On a certain hot morning my friends and I took a short walk to procure "Kosai" (local bean cakes) we saw this two year old kid naked, crying and sitting on the hot sand with flies all over his face. There was no adult in sight thus my paternal instincts kicked in. I carried him and hugged him, cleaned up his face while looking around for a local adult to inquire about his parents. Fortunately a lady in her twenties ran towards me thinking I wanted to kidnap the baby. I scolded her asking if truly she was his mother. I asked how she'd feel if she was left bare in the hot sun. I had to tell her the level of stress she put the baby physically and psychologically. All the while, the baby held on to me and was content lying in my arms. After a few coos and giggles I handed the baby back to the mother.
Two days later I walked by the same street and the baby recognized me. Crying in his mother's arms he urged her to come to me. She felt shy buy admitted that she was amazed he recognized me. I told her it was the power of love. That was the key I needed to reach the youth. Thus I started a reorientation program. Every evening I took out my free time to talk to the kids on the street and enlighten the parents on the dangers of child neglect. I also enlightened them on the need to embrace western education while not abandoning their religious educational standards.
I felt happy and found fulfillment in this.
My next article will focus on the events leading to the kidnap of 110 students in Dapchi, Busari LGA of Yobe state.