I am in Bolivia.
I am not in Nigeria.
But my thoughts and fears and prayers are there.
It has been about three weeks since a terrorist group, Boko Haram, entered into a school in Chibok, Nigeria and kidnapped over 250 school girls at gunpoint.
This entry could address a myriad of topics – the stacked dominoes of issues as to why this happened: patriarchy, violence against women, misogyny, rape culture, negating education for women, religious extremism, terrorism, sex trafficking, child marriages, machismo, sexism, corruption, injustice…
But this entry is not about issues.
This is about her.
I do not know her, but she is my sister.
In the blink of an eye she goes
from solving physics problems,
from laughing with classmates,
from dreaming of her future,
She is thrown into a story she was never meant to be a part of.
This is a story that is my worst fear come to life…and she is living it.
This is a story that makes my skin crawl and my blood boil
and my heart break in the deepest places of who I am as a human and as a woman.
This is a story that makes God vomit and weep when She hears it.
This is a story that should never be…
And I am powerless to save her from this nightmare
of men negotiating price over her life,
of foreign hands groping and prying her legs open,
of mothers collapsing in anguish,
of fathers weary with indignation,
of countries’ complacency.
All I have are tears of anger.
All I have are supplications of grief.
All I have are sighs and groans too deep for words to express…
for this is a story that should never be.
For God’s sake,