I stand Rejected ( the alfa's command.....

The Alfa’s Command. I heard the blasphemy while listening to I Salute Una , one of the few programmes I enjoyed listening to on Radio Zaria. The familiar voice of the presenter reeled out the content she had for that episode before I heard the voice of blasphemy urging people to fight the commandments of Allah. It was unbearable and I knew instantly that the excesses of the white woman should be stopped permanently. As I was preparing to visit the radio station to place a complaint against the programme, I met the young boys coming to meet me. From the look on their faces, I needed nobody to tell me they had heard the blasphemy. Three had transistor radios and the Hausa version of the blasphemy was on air. “Go to the centre and teach that cursed woman not to sponsor blasphemy again,” I commanded. They agreed and left immediately as more enemies of Islam kept talking nonsense on the radio. I took the remaining boys and left for the station. On reaching there, I met some faithful already complaining in annoyance. A police vehicle was parked at the gate while anti-riot policemen stood by. The station manager explained the offensive jingle had been pulled off and an inquiry had been initiated to find out how it was sneaked into the programme. “I will advise you to go and prepare a counter jingle and bring it, I will make sure it is aired for as long as you like,” he advised. Everybody marvelled at his ingenuity. A detachment of policemen to the centre saved it from being burnt down by the irate youths. The police later confirmed that the white woman, a staff at the radio station and a young girl believed to have been used for the blasphemy were rescued from being mobbed to death. The Police Commissioner advised the Irish Nun to leave Zaria for her own safety while the journalist was suspended indefinitely. The small girl who later confessed to participating in the blasphemy was handed over to her aunt in Zaria after she was flogged publicly. Her parents, out of fear of further attack, took her to Lagos to continue with her studies. A jingle that countered the blasphemy was produced and repeatedly announced for weeks on Radio Zaria while the Red Cross was handed over the management of the centre. Many requested for the name to be changed and it was renamed the Red Cross VVF Centre. Three years later, I received an invitation to attend the commissioning of a maternity hospital built by the Red Cross Society. That singular event made me understand what the scourge was all about and changed my life forever. The Red Cross Strategy. After the St. Theresa jingle disturbance as it was termed by the press, the government handed over the management of the centre to the Red Cross. Rekiya Maitama, a seasoned clinical psychologist became the director. She had worked extensively across three continents and had ample experience in dealing with patients going through trauma. Recruiting staff at the centre became a problem following the attack on the facility. The Red Cross requested and got approval to build a fence around the centre to assure patients and prospective staff of adequate security but still, people were reluctant to apply. She got volunteers to help out in the interim. Amina had become withdrawn since the attack; seeing the three people that took such risk for her and the others disgraced was making her feel guilty. She had been aware of the plot all the while and knew when the jingle was to be aired. The spontaneous reaction that followed the plan sunk her deeper into misery. The society showed their disdain for people suffering from an ailment they were part of the cause. Their counter announcement was being played more than ten times every day since then. She got to know the Nun went back to her native Ireland while Aisha was taken to the south. It was only Safinatu that still visited. She was fired from her job after the incident and decided to go back to further her education in Law at the university. On one of her occasional visits to the centre, she got talking about the St. Theresa jingle with Rekiya who dropped a hint of another strategy. “You made a mistake by confronting them,” she told Safinatu, “you should have persuaded them.” “Maybe you have been abroad for a long time,” Safinatu replied, “the men don’t care if the next child gets her vagina damaged,” she complained. “I have a commissioning coming soon,” Rekiya revealed, “I will persuade them.” The Governor’s Visit. The commissioning of the Red Cross Maternity was to be a big occasion; the clinic was located about two kilometres away from the centre. The Kaura community that was the beneficiaries had been without one for so many years. The Governor donated the land on which the project was erected and that was a political achievement which Radio Zaria aired all through the week. Many dignitaries were expected to grace the occasion and so tractor came to grade the road leading to the venue. The director welcomed the entourage of the governor who came with a team comprising his aides, friends, journalists and praise-singers. Drummers followed him all over singing praises to his Excellency for making them have a hospital. There were masquerades and horses decorated colourfully which entertained the guests. Many women group were present clad in Ankara clothes that had the imprint of the governor. They kept singing a song that told of how good the governor was to the women. When the governor cut the tape and commissioned the maternity, he lambasted the opposition for failing to see the good works he was doing. He requested that the director of the Red Cross ride with him to the state house where a big banquet was waiting. “She is very deserving of this honour and his Excellency will love to show he is a good host,” he joked and everybody laughed in agreement. While responding to the request of the governor, the director asked the governor to permit her go back to the centre to dress properly. Her request was granted and they drove to the centre. “Your Excellency, as you can see we have improved the security here at the centre and have also built new classroom blocks. I wish you would spare a minute and see the classrooms because we will want you to commission it as well,” she quietly asked. The governor obliged; it will be recorded as more of his achievements in office. When he stepped down, all members of his entourage came down with him. The director led the way into the centre and took them through the dormitories that housed the girls, the acrid smell was hanging in the air. “Your Excellency, I am quite sure this is your first time to our centre, I would like to introduce you to some of the brilliant girls we have here,” announced. “I will start with Kudirat,” the director started without waiting for a response from the uncomfortable politician, “she is 13 years old and was married to a 57 year old clothe dealer in Kano. She was 11 years when she became pregnant and could not deliver a child. Her bladder was punctured during a prolonged labour and as a result of the damage, she developed VVF and has since been abandoned by her husband who has since married another wife.” “Next to her is Ayeeshat, she is 16 years and a former pupil in a primary school in Jos. She lost her father when she was 10 years and her uncle married her to a man three times her age. She was 12 when she developed VVF and has been here for four years. She wishes to go back to school but who wants to have her around them?” “Zainab is 15 and is from Maiduguri. She is a VVF patient and is paralysed from her waist as a result of her effort to give birth to twins. They died inside her while she was in labour. Her relatives brought her on a wheel barrow and dropped her outside the gate before they fled. She was 10 years when this tragedy occurred.” The girls were lying down on their mats and looked at the August visitors who had handkerchiefs across their noses; they could not withstand the odour. “How many girls do you have here?” The governor asked. “One thousand two hundred and twenty two. I was informed this morning that three new patients came in last night,” the director answered. “Is it this rampant?” He asked. “Up to twenty marriage ceremonies happened last weekend in Zaria, all the girls are below 15 years of age. Next year, some of them who manage to survive the ordeal of childbearing, will be abandoned here in isolation from these men that became their husbands today,” Rekiya replied. As she made to lead them on, she noticed their reluctance to move forward. She kept walking down the hall with many girls lying helplessly on the floor. “We try to educate them here as no school accepts them, they are regarded as being cursed,” Rekiya explained. “Is there anyway we can help them?” The governor asked. The director stopped and nodded her head. “There are doctors in Ethiopia that specializes in corrective surgeries,” she supplied. “Can you talk to them, the government will pay for the surgeries,” he promised. “Thank you, your Excellency, let me show you further,” Rekiya said. “No, Madam,” the governor protested, his handkerchief was out and covering his nose. The director turned to face him and discovered he was standing some yards behind. “I have seen enough please, I can’t go on,” he pleaded. “If what you have seen here today have touched your heart, please instruct Radio Zaria to withdraw that jingle they play every day which promotes this child marriage practice,” Rekiya requested, “before the St. Theresa issue, the records shows only eighty patients were here then, it has risen to over a thousand within three years and I don’t need to tell what the catalyst for this development,” she explained. The governor’s eyes bulged in surprise on realizing the fact. “If the anti-child marriage initiative of the St. Theresa jingle was left on air, so many of these girls would not be here today,” the director said quietly. The governor nodded in agreement, “I will instruct my commissioner immediately,” he said, “can we go outside for a minute please?” he requested. “Yes your Excellency but before we do that, I will request you take some pictures with some of our girls. After all, you are their governor,” Rekiya asked smiling, “when the people see you with them, it will send a positive message.” The governor nodded. Smiling while he stood with some of the girls, the photographs were taken by the journalists. The governor went further to award some scholarships to some of the girls; Amina was a beneficiary. Her smiling face while she was shaking the hands of the governor was on the cover of the newspapers the next day.