Battling the beliefs of Boko Haram brides

Some of the women and children rescued from insurgents by Nigerian troops, in Sambisa forest, Nigeria, in April 2015. Picture: EPA

Some of the women and children rescued from insurgents by Nigerian troops, in Sambisa forest, Nigeria, in April 2015. Picture: EPA

Published Feb 8, 2017

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Maiduguri, Nigeria -

Hanging her son's nappy, a wry smile flickered across Aisha's

face as she recalled the power she wielded as the wife of a

leading Boko Haram commander, living in the jihadists' forest

stronghold in northeast Nigeria.

"I had many slaves - they did everything for me," the

25-year-old said, explaining how women and girls kidnapped by

the Islamist militants washed, cooked and babysat for her during

the three years she spent in their base in the vast Sambisa

forest.

"Even the men respected me because I was Mamman Nur's wife.

They could not look me in the eye," Aisha said in a state safe

house in Maiduguri, where she has lived for almost a year since

being captured by the Nigerian army in a raid in Sambisa.

Aisha is among around 70 women and children undergoing a

deradicalisation programme - led by psychologists and Islamic

teachers - designed to challenge the teachings they received and

beliefs they adopted while under the control of Boko Haram.

Thousands of girls and women have been abducted by the group

since it began its insurgency in 2009 - most notably the more

than 200 Chibok girls snatched from their school in April 2014 -

with many used as cooks, sex slaves, and even suicide bombers.

Yet some of these women, like Aisha, gained respect,

influence and standing within Boko Haram, which has waged a

bloody campaign to create an Islamic state in the northeast.

Seduced by this power, and relieved to escape the domestic

drudgery of their everyday lives, these women can prove tougher

than men to deradicalise and reintegrate into their communities,

according to the Neem Foundation, which runs the programme.

With more women likely to be freed from Boko Haram or

widowed as Nigeria's military strives to defeat the militants,

experts say insults, rejection and even violence towards them as

they return to their communities could hinder efforts to repair

the social fabric of a region splintered by Boko Haram.

"There is a possibility of violence (when these women go

home) because they were married to Boko Haram militants," Fatima

Akilu, the head of Neem, told the Thomson Reuters Foundation.

"There is still a lot of anger and resentment from

communities that have been traumatised for years, and subjected

to atrocities by the group," she added.

Newfound power

While other women huddled around the communal television in

the safe house in Maiduguri, the capital of Borno state,

22-year-old Halima recalled the 'beautiful home' built by her

Boko Haram husband in the Sambisa, and the easy life she

enjoyed.

Trucks arrived regularly with food and clothes, a hospital

staffed with doctors and nurses tended to the ill, and Halima

was given her own room in the house she shared with her husband.

"Anything I requested, I got," said Halima, sitting under a

tree in the yard and lazily picking her toenails.

Life in the Sambisa for women like Halima was a far cry from

the deep-rooted patriarchy in the mainly Muslim northeast, where

rates of child marriage, literacy among girls, and women in

positions of power are far worse than in the rest of Nigeria.

The escape from reality, and taste of freedom and autonomy

afforded to the wives of Boko Haram militants, highlights the

challenge facing Neem to deradicalise the women.

Many are not ready to relinquish their newfound power.

Despite being kidnapped by Boko Haram when they attacked her

town of Banki four years ago, Aisha was not forced to marry Nur,

the suspected mastermind of a suicide bomb attack on U.N.

headquarters in Abuja in 2011 that killed 23 people.

Aisha was courted for months and showered with gifts by Nur,

who has a $160,000 state bounty on his head, before agreeing to

become his fourth wife. When she told Nur to divorce his second

wife - because she did not like her - he did so right away.

After arriving at the safe house, Aisha complained about

being separated from Nur, and asked the staff how they would

feel if they were suddenly deprived after years of regular sex.

"That's when she threatened that she would soon rape one of

the male staff," said one of the support staff. "For almost two

weeks, the men didn't come to work ... they were all afraid."

Going home

The aim of Neem's programme is to change the mindset of the

women and girls, make them think more rationally, and challenge

the beliefs instilled in them over several years by Boko Haram.

Neem employs psychologists who treat trauma and provide

counselling, while Islamic teachers discuss religious and

ideological beliefs, and challenge interpretations of the Koran.

The women and girls in the safe house were subjected to nine

straight hours of Koranic teaching a day by Boko Haram during

their time in captivity in the Sambisa forest, Akilu said.

"You can treat a person's emotional state ... but if you

don't change the way they think and just release them into

society, you perpetrate a vicious cycle," said Akilu, who used

to run a state deradicalisation program for Boko Haram members.

Akilu said she had seen huge improvements over the past nine

months in the women and girls in the safe house, with most now

believing that the actions of their former husbands were wrong.

"I laugh at what he (Nur) was saying," said Aisha. "I now

realise that he is not doing the right thing."

However, with the nine-month-long deradicalisation programme

drawing to a close, the staff at Neem were anxious about how the

women and girls would be received upon their return home.

Female former Boko Haram captives, and their children born

to the militants, often face mistrust and persecution from their

communities, who fear they will radicalise others or carry out

violence, said the U.N. children's agency (UNICEF).

But Aisha is not worried about rejection or stigma. Her only

fear is returning to an ordinary life - one without power.

"Only when you get married to a rich man, or a man of

authority, can you get that kind of power," she said. "But if I

am single yet have plenty of money of my own, I will be fine." 

Thomson Reuters Foundation

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