On the evening of May 1, 2014, I tried relentlessly to call my sister's phone lines as anguish encircled my throat
Another bomb had gone off at the park in Nyanya, where she would normally board a cab home. And board a cab she did, minutes before the bomb went off.
As the call finally connected and I listened to Sister Esther recount how the blast had sounded so loud, anguish squeezed out hot tears which slid down my cheeks to my nightie; tears of relief and frustration. For a contraption that used to be a country, I shed tears for her nonexistent government.
That narrative changed with the Chibok girls. Somehow, 234 was no longer just our country dial code; it had become the code of blood.
This abduction would not be another sad news that would get swept under the carpet of denial and levity where all the other killings and abductions had gone.
We became street and cyber activists convinced that if we made enough noise about the missing girls, our government would stop pretending that over 200 vulnerable girls were not kidnapped by a heartless extremist group.
I joined the protests and chanted 'We want our girls! Bring back our girls! Abduction must stop! Bombings must stop!' I marched in the sun and rain so that the world would hear of this atrocity and come to our aid.
Our conviction worked. The ‘bring back our girls’ hash-tag caught on like an infectious disease.
Yet, that night as news of a second Nyanya bomb blast scrolled through my TV screen, it felt like that was our collective punishment for daring to carry out worker’s day protests across the nation. But we were not deterred; even as the death toll rose.
One month after the abduction, America sent troops to help our army find the girls and flush out the enemy.
Between videos of BH telling the world they were sanctioned to sell the girls, and another showing the girls as new converts to Islam, then news of mutiny within Nigeria’s soldiers, to more news of the girls being ill and in different camps, this ugly drama keeps unfolding, and we struggle to make sense of the many twists.
So far, it has been 53 days of not knowing what those unstable elements may have done, and are still doing to the girls. More than enough time to lose faith in your country, yourself and life in general. How many of them will return, whole in body and mind?