How did that even happen?
My name is Halima and I am 18 years old. I did a bit of schooling before I was abducted and married off about four years ago. I know who abducted me and my parents know him as well but they haven’t been able to do anything about it.
Let me start from the beginning, my real name is Hannah but I was given the name Halima much later.
I was born into a Christian home and my parents are from southern Kaduna and my father was the pastor of our village church.
My father wanted me to learn a trade because he couldn’t afford to continue to pay my school fees. At this time, I had already finished primary school and was in my first year at the girls’ secondary school. But in my village, everyone is poor. I mean, we work hard but our parents just never seem to have enough to feed their children. So, when my father proposed I go to learn a trade, so that I too could start helping the family when I eventually finished, it was something I wanted to do because to be honest, I didn’t like school much.
I was enrolled in a tailoring shop in the city. It was also not too far from where I went to school so I wasn’t exactly in an unfamiliar place. The owner of the shop was a Muslim, we called him Alhaji and I was not the only one who came there to apprentice. At that time, I was 14years old.
Alhaji’s shop was big, and he used to attract a lot of customers, too. So if you truly wanted to learn anything, it was the best place to do it.
I must have spent almost 6 months or more at the shop when I began to notice that Alhaji liked me. He would ask me to thread the machine, measure the cut outs that we use to create designs before we sew or sometimes measure the clothes before he cut them to patterns. And me, being eager to learn, I would quickly do it to please him.
I was 14years, so in the eyes of those of you in the South, I was a child but in the eyes of our people here, I was becoming a woman but I did not know it
Alhaji would call me, ‘Hannah, measure this cloth. ‘Hannah, cut out this material’, ‘Hannah, bring me the black thread’…after a while, my apprentice friends began to tease me that Alhaji would soon make me his wife.
To be honest with you, I was just flattered, I didn’t know I should be afraid or tell my parents or do anything, I would just smile because in my mind, I was special.
This continued until one day, Alhaji told me he didn’t like calling me Hannah, that he thinks I would make a good Muslim wife. So, he said he would name me Halima. Foolish me, I was happy, I told my other friends at the shop that my new name was Halima and that I didn’t want to be called Hannah any more.
But it was all a ploy to get me to settle in the idea of my new identity. I became Halima in the shop and Hannah at home. See?
Alhaji began to teach me the Quran, sometimes as he sewed, he would be chanting passages of the Quran and ask me to do repeat after him. I did and it didn’t even enter my head that I should tell my parents about it because I didn’t think it was such a serious matter.
Then one day, Alhaji called me into his small office, he asked me if I would like to become a Muslim and marry him. This man was almost as old as my father, and he already had three wives that we all knew about but the prospect of being his wife was to me an escape route from poverty.
I would have good food to eat. I would wear nice clothes, I would even change the hole infested slippers I had been wearing for years. So, yes, it was a good idea to me.
That afternoon, he took me to meet an Imam, who asked me if I wanted to convert to Islam. I said yes. I mean I had repeatedly been told for months that converting to Islam was a good idea, I had repeatedly being told that Islam would liberate me, the only thing missing was that my parents had not been informed. I will forever regret this.
Anyway, I agreed. He chanted some Quranic verses, asked me to repeat the same and I became, Halima. I was then taken to a court where they did a small arrangement with scholars seating around and I was told it was a Nikkai. I was being married to Alhaji.
Again, let me say this, I was not afraid, I did it willingly. I didn’t think much about it except that I would get good food and fine clothes. I was then kept in a room, with bed and food and told I would be taught how to be a prosper Muslim woman.
Did I think of my parents? Yes, but I didn’t think they would be angry or worried. They knew Alhaji, they knew his house, they would just need to contact him and find me if I was needed.
I had no idea my father had been told I had been married off without his consent. I had no idea he had gone to the police station to report and that he was told I was a Muslim woman and he had no rights over me since I was already married. I had no idea my parents were worried and crying to have me set free. All of these took months and months. When eventually I was allowed to see my parents at the police station and I was asked if I wanted to go back to them, I said no.
Going back meant hunger and a life of poverty. Now I wish I had been wise enough to say I wanted to go with them.
Why? Because I had no idea that as soon as I turned 15, sex would enter into the matter with Alhaji.
I wanted my mother then, I wanted her to tell me what to do, how to go about things.
Alhaji’s other wives were hostile. They often joined hands to beat me, calling me a fake Muslim. I got pregnant twice and lost the baby. So many times I still wish to see my mother and father, my little sisters and my big brother but I haven’t seen them, I was told my husband will never permit it.
This is my story.
(Series written and edited by Peju Akande and based on true stories)