Stolen Girls by Wolfgang Bauer

Author:Wolfgang Bauer [Bauer, Wolfgang]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620972588
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

naira ( about 180 euros ) dowry. That is a good price for us in Gubla. He also wanted to add five boxes of clothes, cosmetics, underwear, and earrings. Iddi’s father was the chairman of the farmers’ association. They’re a good lot. I hear now that Iddi has fled to Yola.

Rabi: I want to marry only in five years, once I have finished school. The man I marry must respect my mother. He should not scream or hit me. He should be a little funny. And gentlemanly.

Batula: I did not meet my daughter Adda even once in the forest.

I heard she is in a camp deep in the Sambisa. She is very sensitive, sometimes also difficult. You have to tell her everything twice. Rabi has more friends and has more visitors than Adda. She also does better in school. Adda is a shy girl.

She was always very quiet.

I fled the Sambisa, but I still think often about that forest.

Shekau put a spell on us. That’s what they told us in the forest.

“Shekau will find you wherever you are.” When it is quiet all around me, very still, and no one speaks or wants anything from me, then I am once again in the forest.

• The United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization

** The title of the ruler of all Kanuris

† Her husband

“You will now really understand the person called Shekau. You don’t know my madness, right? It is now that you will see the true face of my madness. I swear by Allah’s holy name that I will slaughter you. I will not be happy if I don’t personally put my knife on your necks and slit your throats. Yes! I’ll slaughter you! I’ll slaughter you! And I’ll slaughter you again and again.”

—Abubakar Shekau, April 2014

THE CAVE

The house in Yola where we meet Sakinah makes us feel uneasy. It is a building between two major roads. Now and then vehicles stop behind the entrance gate. Men now and then stand in front of the house with their cell phones. Sometimes they look out at the street, sometimes up at us. Our interpreter had thought this would be a good place to meet. We are in the offices of the Islamic Council. The administration handed over the building to the translator for two days. He had told no one that foreign reporters were coming. No one else is on the premises. We did not want to interview thirty-three-year-old Sakinah in a Christian parish because she is Muslim. In the tense atmosphere in Yola, we

did not want to make any mistakes. But now we don’t feel comfortable in this building. Perhaps, however, we are just being too anxious. We close all windows and doors for the next few hours to prevent anyone from looking in. Our driver waits in the car in the forecourt, listening to the radio for news of the latest bomb attacks and looking out for anything suspicious.

Sakinah comes with her twenty-three-year-old cousin Isa. He works as a goat trader in Gulak.

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