CHIBOK (COMPLETED)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The high tropical sun was scorching the dusty grounds of the IDP camp.

Collapsible shelters and makeshift tents lay strewn in a discord of randomness across the sandy landscape that teemed with men and women who roam endlessly up and down between the fragile looking structures staked on poles by guywires. Washed clothes were hung on a line not so far from where a laundry man displaced from his hometown made a living in the new ever increasing settlement at the edge of the Borno state capital.

Cynthia sat on the bench under an umbrella tree. Her eyes scanned the terrain, and once again the children playing around, many she was told fended for themselves as their parent were either lost to or killed by the insurgence.

Over here she felt the heaviness in the atmosphere, a weight that seem to gain buoyancy the more she saw of the dirty children in thread bare clothings roaming the place with a bowl perchance someone would drop some money for them. The way the same children fought over food few minutes ago when Madam Jibril gave out some cooked rice was a sorry sight. Cynthia could recall a boy squatted on the sand, scooping rice that had spilled over during the serving. Their gaunt face, and overexpose collar bone jab at Cynthia's conscience and at all the pride she felt for the difference WES was making. She knew by just looking at the children that there was a long way to go. Longer than she had thought.

He phone rang, it was Mrs. Ade and they must have reached the hotel by now as they were gone as soon as they delivered the supplies to the woman in charge of the camp. "Hello,"

"Just want to check if you are okay... Once you've seen the girl, please do not hesitate to come over here." She said with such force and haste that Cynthia had to remember her mother's tone when she was leaving for prom night years ago, in the arms of a handsome guy-Richard-whom Cynthia's mother had a dim view of. The same young man that presently rule the music industry in the country under his stage name X-Rich.

"It's alright," she replied smiling at the reminiscence. The team members had not really thought well of her staying behind to see a girl that had escaped the insurgence. But she waited nevertheless, as the Camp commandant had said, Aminat, a part-time volunteer had gone with some boys to fetch some supplies and as Cynthia looked at her wrist watch, she concluded that the girl would arrive soon as the woman had told her that she would in at least twenty minutes, that was fifteen minutes ago.

For a moment, she found herself thinking of Bello. Bello had gone like a mist in the wind; the police never found him and no one knew where he was. The crazy happenings of recent times left Cynthia wondering how any can tell who is who. The thought of his predicament was quite overshadowed by the current view that greeted her sight.

Madam Jibril, the Nigerian IDP commission officer for the camp walked up to her from the store room, her dark-blue apron had dust particles clinging to them; Cynthia could see a weevil crawl towards the edge. "I'm sorry for the delay, but I am quite sure that she will be here in no time," she was saying as Cynthia shifted on the small bench, and invited her to seat.

The bag underneath the woman's eyes and her sweaty face spoke of exhaustion, she could use some rest, Cynthia thought. "These children, what to do with them?" Cynthia asked.

Madam Jibril looked back with a puzzled expression that seems to ask, "What can be done?" but she said, "I hope the state government can establish schools and skill acquisition centres for them. It saddens me to think of what these children would end up becoming if they continue like these. Almajiri is quite a problem in this part of the country, and not many children have a fair chance to compete in the ever modernizing Nigerian society."