An Open Letter to 20 school girls abducted by Bokoro Haram in Borno State

Written by Netng's Chris Ihidero, please hold yourself together before reading this letter. Remember even if you cry for a whole day nothing will change but your consistent prayer can move mountains. Read below...

Dear Girls,

 
I want to say good morning to you, but I can’t. I need not to be told that it cannot be a good morning wherever you are. I doubt very much that you all have had any good thing happen to you in the 19 days since you were abducted.

Tales of abductions in war torn areas of our continent abound. They are heart-wrenching tales. Every fibre of my being fervently prays that this will not be your story.
Why did they take you? What do they want from you? You were children who had gone to school to learn, in hope of a better life in a part of our country that is bedevilled with all sorts of attitudes and realities that stunt a child’s growth. Is that your crime? Are they going to make you pay the ultimate price?

Since you were taken away from your studies, friends and loved ones, Mr. President has
addressed the nation at least twice. Nothing was really said about your abduction but 20 seconds of silence was observed for you and the dead but we don’t even know your names…why don’t we know your names?  Why can’t they tell us who you are? Did your school not have a register?

Can you all hear me? Can you please tell us your names? Can we know more about you? Can you be more to us than just a number?  Is this why your abduction is still being treated so lightly — because we can’t put a face to this tragedy?
Are you really missing? Did they really take you or is this all a mirage?
Halima? Memuna? Ladidi? Khadijat? Laila? Asanatu? Can you please tell us your name, please?

Can you hear me?

Please don’t think that we all don’t care. Please don’t think that since you’re not related to me by blood that your tragedy isn’t my reality. Some say we are an abused people. They say that we have had our sensibilities abused for so long that tragedy no longer has any deep effect on us, that it no longer sticks…just like water off a duck’s back. But that’s not true.
I couldn’t worry about you more if your passage into this world had been between my mother’s legs. I wouldn’t wish this ordeal on the worst of my enemies.
I think about you all everyday but I have to stop myself so I do not think about what I fear they are doing to you. I am a coward. I do not wish to accept the likelihood that you will be marked for the rest of your lives by this experience…that your lives will never be the same again.
What were your dreams? What did you plan to become when you were through with your studies? What will happen to your dreams now?

I’m sorry it has taken so long to try to reach you, my sisters. Please don’t be angry. If you ever get this letter, please make a sign…make a fire, send smoke signals, scream, shout and leave broken sticks on the footpaths to wherever they are taking you.

I wish to ask you not to give up, to fight, to hold on, to find the strength to survive this nightmare, but I do not know how to. You shouldn’t need to, you shouldn’t have to; we should be trooping to find you and bring you all safely back home but I hear we are helpless where Boko Haram is concerned; I hear terrorism is all over the world and it is our turn to experience this mayhem.
I am so sorry this is all we can offer you.
When I go to bed tonight I will pray for you. I will ask all my friends reading this letter to do the same. I will pray that your spirits and souls survive whatever it is they are doing to your bodies; that you return to the arms of your loved ones and we can all heal together.

It is faint hope, I know. But right now it is all I cling on to.
I wait to hear from you.
I hope you come home soon.
Your brother,
Chris.