Don't forget Chibok Girls Please

Please don’t forget the horrifying sound of the T.V, the sad face of the beautiful correspondence, the faded clips projecting the raided schools and the wailings of the hurt parents who lost their girls on the 14th and 15th of April, 2014.
So now, I’m standing in front of a mirror talking to myself, I don’t feel anything and I’m angry with myself. Like most Nigerians, I’m moving on, fabricating excuses to justify my decision, “The girls were never kidnapped, it’s just mere political
propaganda” or maybe “They’ve returned the girls without our knowledge”. Yes, I know, it’s easy to believe that, makes you sleep well at night, but wait! What if we were all wrong? What if they did kidnap over 200 girls? And they are languishing in some kind of strange camp patiently waiting for the Nigerian soldiers to rescue them.
Young girls between the ages of 16-18, who had managed to go to school in a region of the country where schooling is less appreciated, some of them probably wanted to be doctors, so they could improve the deteriorating health of the region, some wanted to be teachers, so they could educate more children, some lawyers, writers and even presidents. Dreams, crushed in a matter of minutes. Young girls, now sex slaves and the lucky ones, kitchen girls. Everyday of their lives, they go through stages of physical and psychological abuse. Any misbehavior by these girls probably results to heavy beating or worst, catching a bullet, and there it is, a girl is dead, along with her dreams.
So I shout at myself, don’t forget. Their sorrowful parent who probably walks around with red eyes as a result of continuous sobbing, they probably don’t joke with neigbours and friends like they used to, husbands and wives talking less and less to each other and even stopping the remaining children from going to school because of the fear of loosing them again.
The pain of not knowing the faith of your children for over 500 days, loosing the memory of how they look and relying on the family portrait to remember how bright their smile could be, knowing full well they would have changed into women with rough skins as a result of malnutrition and lack of care, black eyes as a result of heavy beating and indecent labours and sad faces as a result of the darkness surrounding them.
First, these parents pray their girls comeback unharmed now they just pray they see their kids again, even if it’s from a distance. Days pass, taking slices of hope with it; these parents hold their breath, becoming more certain they would never see their girls again, they watch their doors with faith, hopelessly waiting, knowing full well that nothing is going to happen. They go to bed having horrible fantasies, then they wake up, attacked with an accustomed pain, their babies are not yet back.
So please don’t forget, even if you can’t pick up a riffle and storm the Konduga area of Sambisa forest or influence the government to send in more soldiers, sing, shout, jump, write, pick placards, organize conferences for them, organize matches for them, agitate the government because you never can tell, one of these girls might just be in the kitchen across the camp’s setting room and seeing on T.V, the will of Nigerians to save them, might ignite her lost hope.
Akintan is a social commentator

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