spent nearly three years in captivity and wrestle
with lingering trauma.
AUN officials say the protection is necessary.
But some see it as sheltering them. “After they
were first released, they were kept together by
the government in some facility in Abuja. After
that they were shipped off to AUN,” said Anietie
Ewang, the Nigeria researcher at Human Rights
Watch who has closely followed the case. “It feels
like at every stage they’ve been secluded.”
The Nigerian government and private donors
are covering the costs of at least six years of
education for each of them. Some are eyeing
law school. Others plan to become actresses,
writers, accountants. Fifteen students have
graduated from the NFS high school program
and are studying at the university. Mary K., who
escaped on the day after the kidnapping, arrived
on campus in 2014, unable to speak English.
After two years, she was accepted to AUN. The
transition wasn’t easy. She knew other students
gossiped about her, and thought about transfer-
ring to another school. Now she roams campus
and seems to know everyone. Once a week she
mentors a group of NFS students on how to man-
age their time, perfect their English, and pass
the three standardized tests they need for AUN
admission. This year she’s spending a semester
abroad, in Rome.
Not all the survivors of Boko Haram’s war have
such opportunities. In Borno State, the epicenter
of the crisis, classes were canceled for two years.
There and in two neighboring states, roughly
500 schools have been destroyed, 800 are closed,
and more than 2,000 teachers have been killed.
Fifteen miles from AUN’s campus, Gloria
Abuya gets up at 5 a.m. and walks two hours
to school from the 2,100-person camp for dis-
placed people where she lives. When Boko
Haram militants first arrived in Gloria’s home-
town of Gwoza in 2014, they killed the men and
ordered their wives to bury the bodies. Later,
they took the girls. Gloria spent two months in
captivity before escaping one night as her cap-
tors prayed.
Many women held prisoner by Boko Haram
return to communities that fear them and fami-
lies that shun them. Gloria doesn’t know when, if
ever, she can resume her old life. “There’s noth-
ing left at home to go back to,” she said.
In May 2019, a week before the start of their
summer vacation, the Chibok students prepared
to mark the anniversary of their release from
captivity. “It’s very sad because we remember
our sisters in the forest,” said Amina Ali, as she
dressed for dinner after a day of rehearsals for
the day’s events. “And here we are, happy.”
The next day the drama club performed a play
in which two girls were kidnapped for ransom
and their families fought to bring them back.
The script poked fun at ineffective police, lazy
elected officials, and greedy kidnappers. When
the captives were freed and reunited with their
families, the audience burst into applause. At the
end, a row of students read messages for their
missing classmates before a balloon release.
“Dear sister, I know the angels are watching
over you.”
“Dear sister, I feel you walk beside me.”
“Dear sister, I can’t wait to see you again.”
Three families of missing girls who live in
Abuja say they have no number to call for
updates, have no warning before news comes out,
and have had no contact with the government
since a tense meeting with President Muham-
madu Buhari in 2016. The government now rarely
comments. Last April, the fifth anniversary of the
abduction, Buhari released a message assuring
Nigerians that “diverse efforts are being inten-
sified to secure the release of the Chibok girls.”
On a small hill behind a neighborhood of
embassies and mansions in Abuja, Rebecca
Samuel lives in a crammed cinder block home.
Her daughter Sarah is among the students still
missing. Three pictures she keeps in her purse
show Sarah as a five-year-old graduating kinder-
garten, a sassy 14-year-old, and a serious teen
dressed in white. When 82 girls were released in
2017, Samuel rushed to the hospital where they
were held. Security wouldn’t let her in.AS SUMMER 2019 APPROACHED, AUN got word
that militants had burned down the houses of
several Chibok students’ families. The head
of security, Lionel Rawlins, discouraged the
young women from returning home, but 90 or
so decided to go anyway. For some, it was only
the second summer since their release, and theyAfter Esther Joshua (at
left) was released from
captivity, she received
a call from her friend
Patience Bulus, who
escaped during the
abduction and is now
studying in the U.S.
Patience urged Esther
to seize her second
chance at life. “This is
our best opportunity
to make something
good,” she said.CHIBOK SCHOOLGIRLS 95