Ripple Effects of Poverty: Child Marriage
Photo by Dick Scholten on Pexels by Grace Anaja Child marriage is a plague that affects millions of girls all around the world. The United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF) describes child marriage as ‘any formal marriage or informal union between a child under the age of 18 and an adult or another child.’ In developing countries like Niger, Nigeria, and Central African Republic, 36% of girls are married before age 18, and 10% are married before age 15. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights also states that marriage must be entered by individuals who are fully consenting and at full age. Child marriage is an outright violation of their rights, especially with girls: it prevents them from being educated and empowered, growing up with their peers, maturing in their own time, and ultimately choosing their own life partners when they want to. It hinders them from achieving their goals and potential. In most parts of the world, child marriage is mainly driven by poverty. Girls are said to be ‘expensive’ to raise. Parents from low-income and rural communities who do not understand the value of education and empowerment and still hold on to patriarchal beliefs do not regard girl child education. For some, an educated boy child is more valuable and worth their investment. Since they cannot afford school fees or materials in cases where free education is available, they marry the girls off as adolescents. To them, this reduces the number of ‘mouths to feed’. Out–of–school girls have a higher chance of becoming child brides. Marrying these girls to wealthy or comfortable men who, most of the time, are much, much older would mean less financial pressure on the family and an avenue for provision… a way out of lack. These girls have been turned to ‘Poverty Alleviation Projects’ for their families. Sometimes, the girls are indirectly forced to get married when their parents neglect them. They believe having a husband means they would be catered for and their needs would be met. Certain people believe that child marriage ensures a girl’s virginity and prevents promiscuity, unwanted pregnancies, and diseases. However, child marriage has many health risks for the girl child. These include sexually transmitted diseases like Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV) and Human Papilloma Virus (HPV), cervical cancer, miscarriages, death during childbirth, premature birth of offspring, obstetric fistula – which, according to the World Health Organisation, is an abnormal opening between a woman’s genital tract and her urinary tract or rectum, and could lead to maternal mortality. It can be prevented by delaying the age of the first pregnancy. Child marriage is a form of gender-based violence that exposes young girls to various forms: physical, sexual, psychological, verbal, and socioeconomic violence. These child brides move from home after marriage and usually live in isolation, especially for those who move to a new location. The opportunity to grow, play, have friends, and build social skills is lost. Because the men that marry them are older, they have little to nothing in common and are only concerned about household responsibilities. They are thrust into wifely duties and motherhood so early that they barely know what they are doing. When they give birth, it is practically a child having a child. Due to their low level of education, they are concentrated in the service industries doing menial, nonessential and domestic work, with little possibility for a chance at more. It is said that if you educate a man, you educate an individual. But if you educate a woman, you educate a nation. When young girls cannot pursue education, it limits women’s potential to contribute to national development. It denies them access to opportunities, resources, and mainstream governance: benefits and responsibilities. It sustains the already established patriarchal system that so desperately needs to end. Child marriage does not end the vicious cycle of poverty. It only strengthens it. If poverty was eradicated or reduced, would families and societies place more value on girls and women?
Here Comes the Bride 4
Picture from: THE FEMINIST WIRE Bimbo Omotosho woke up wanting to pee. She went into her bathroom and when she returned, sat on her bed and stared at the night light. She wasn’t sure she could fall right back to sleep. ‘Maybe a glass of milk would help’, she said too herself. She looked at her bedside clock and saw that it was 2am. Her mother always snapped about having late night snacks and Bimbo really didn’t listen. When she was hungry, she ate. She had a stash under her bed which helped her cravings. Bimbo bent down to pull her goodie bag and was shocked to see it empty. There was a note from her mother saying, ‘I was born way before you and I know all the tricks you can possibly pull young lady. No more unplanned snacks!’ Bimbo was mad! Why did she always do that?! Well then, she had to find another way. Bimbo knew her mother slept like she was in a coma but like most people in a coma, you never knew what would make her start. So Bimbo opened her door as gently as she could and, thanking God for the plush carpets that lined most of the house, tip-toed past her parents’ room and downstairs. She prayed her father didn’t wake up but knew that even if he did, he would most likely help her get her milk and share a cookie. When she got to the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of milk – the real stuff and not the 2% milk her mother always insisted she drank – and took out one cookie from the jar. Her best bet was to eat it in her room. As she closed the fridge door, she could have sworn she heard a moan. She shrugged it off as a figment of her imagination and set out to her room. As she passed her maid’s room, she heard the moan again. This time, coming in slightly louder. She was scared but curious and in the end, curiosity won. She kept her milk on the floor and oh so gently turned the doorknob. With his back to her, her father was naked and kissing their maid; who was also naked. They were running their hands all over each other but what was more disturbing was the fact that a similar scene was playing on the television. Bimbo stood there, cookie in hand, transfixed as she watched her father, their maid and the actors they were copying. She may be eight years old but she knew what she was seeing was wrong. However, she couldn’t avert her eyes. She was so transfixed that she didn’t hear her mother walk up to her, gently pull the door close and point upstairs. Bimbo didn’t need to be told to go to her room. She ran to her room, locked her door and laid on the bed. The screams began, followed by the crash of glassware. Bimbo buried her head under her pillow and soon enough, fell asleep; cookie in hand. The glass of milk remained where Bimbo dropped it, unbothered by the destruction that went on for hours. *** The divorce was quick. Turns out Bimbo’s mum took a couple of pictures that could ruin her husband, the very respectable Pastor Biodun Omotosho, senior pastor, Live Church, with a congregation of over ten thousand people. After her crazy tantrum, she piped down and made her demands. She would keep Bimbo, the house, two cars and a steady allowance to continue living as she was used to. In return, she would not publish the pictures to his loving flock. She would also pretend she was the one who got tired of the rigors of marriage to a ‘man of God’ so his impeccable reputation remained untainted. He jumped at the offer, promising to do all she asked. In less than a week, a joint statement was released and as expected, Bimbo’s mum was labelled the bitch! She wasn’t worried because in truth, she married Biodun for his money and wasn’t into all that religious stuff anyway. To ride out the drama, she took her daughter and went off to Canada. In all these, no one spoke to Bimbo about what she had seen that night. Even when she tried to bring it up, her mother shut her down by saying, ‘You did not see anything! And next time, when I say don’t do something, you better obey me! In fact, this is all your fault! If you had obeyed me, I wouldn’t have known…just forget it. You did not see anything.’ But how could bimbo forget it when every night she went to bed, she kept seeing the actors doing things to each other? *** As Bimbo grew, she realized what she had seen her father do that day was have sex and what was playing on the television in her maid’s room was porn. As she became more internet savvy, she spent time finding and watching porn, and erasing her internet activities. It wasn’t as if anyone cared. Her mother was too busy dating rich men to be bothered about what her daughter was doing online. Bimbo started craving sex like she wanted food. As soon as she became a teenager, she wanted to practice what she had been watching for four years so she could find out if all the feelings she got from watching porn could be felt in reality. She began to make moves with the boys in school but they were all so scared. They kept acting like she would eat them. Bimbo knew that if she was to satisfy her urges, she had to aim higher; older. It was no wonder that the moment she saw Ricardo Esteban, her mum’s newest boyfriend, she knew he was the one she wanted. Ricardo was a tall, ripped bodied, dark-olive skinned hunk of a Columbian millionaire and it wasn’t surprising that her mother was dating him. She told
Here Comes the Bride 3
Nollywood actor, Foluke Daramola, campaigns against domestic violence.Image: Kokolife Iniabasi look her husband wit corner eye as he dey sleep. Ukeme just dey roll up and dan like say spirit dey purshoo am. She don bone tire! Why dis her mumu husband dey snore like olden days Volkswagen? Ha ahn! One day, she go fit carry pillow press press im head make he for quiet! Ah ahn! As if Ukeme know wetin she dey tink, he turn im nyash face her come release one kine mess wey smell pass egg wey done rotten. De mess go straight go her face like say na wetin in bin dey target. She slap am wit one mind! ‘Your papa! Why you go mess for my face?! You dey mad ne?’ Ukeme wake up with vex. Dis time, she no even prepare herself before he start dey blow blow her. As he dey beat her, he follow dey bite her for her neck, for her breast, for her belle, and for her lap. After he done swell up her body well well, he tear the remaining cloth wey for dey her body come dey drag her for ground. Deir neighbors bin don tire for their fights so tey nobody even comot from their flat. Na so he drag her body for their compound till them reach outside. As people gather dey laugh, he pour spit for her face come waka dey go. Like say something push am, he turn back, waka come her place, open in trouser, comot in prick, come start dey piss for her body. All de agberos wen dey her area come dey laugh dey hail Ukeme. Na den she faint. *** Iniabasi Unwana was the first of 8 children in a family that was piss poor! Her father was a mean mechanic who spent whatever money he made on Ogogoro. He drank so much that his natural odor was the stench of stale alcohol. They lived in a one-room apartment where they literally had to sleep like sardines. Her mother seemed to give birth every 10 months, such that at Iniabasi’s 8th birthday, she had 7 siblings. Her father didn’t hit them but her mother more than made up for that. What her father did though was…nothing! He didn’t pay bills, he didn’t provide money for food, he never sent any of his kids to school and he definitely didn’t work…much. Her mother on the other hand worked enough for 10 people. She was a street cleaner between the hours of 6 and 7am and a maid for an Alhaja from 8am to 5pm. When she got home, it was to begin her business as an Akara seller at the motor park. She would do this until about 10pm before returning home. Even with what she did, she was only able to raise enough to ensure that her kids ate and wore the cheapest clothes. She paid the rent also but the bulk of her money went into treatment for her ailing mother in the village and clearing her husband’s debts at different Ogogoro joints. Anyone looking at Iniabasi’s mother would never believe that she is a young woman; she looked old, tired, angry and very bitter. Iniabasi started helping out when she was 4. Her mother would prepare Akamu and it was Iniabasi’s job to hawk them on the streets. As she grew older, it fell to her to wash the beans, take them to grind in a bucket heavier than her and then peel the yams and potatoes as she waited for her mother. She would then put all of them in a truck and push them to the spot where her mother cooked. She had to do all this while taking care of her younger ones. It was on one of such days that her father returned home early. She was washing the beans when she heard a grunt behind her. She jumped, startled, as she faced the person who had made the sound. She saw her father rubbing his penis while looking at her. She was 9 but she knew that what he was doing was wrong. ‘Papa, wetin you dey do?’ she asked as she took a step back. He approached her, swaying, still rubbing his penis, and still wearing the weird look. ‘Come here. Come and take.’ Iniabasi looked behind her. She was boxed in. Her only escape route was through her father. As she contemplated what to do, Iya Kemi came out of her room with her broom held high. Iya Kemi hit her father repeatedly, with each well placed blow punctuated with a scream. ‘Neighbors! Neighbors! Make una come see abomination! Come see wetin Unwana dey do for front of im pikin oh! Aiye ma baje! Ko ni da fun e! Olori buruku! Oloshi!’ Iniabasi ran to Iya Kemi and used all her strength to try to pull her off her father. Iya Kemi wouldn’t budge. She kept hitting her father as he tried to protect himself. Neighbors from other compounds came in and men started beating Unwana. They stripped him and continued to beat him. Someone shouted, ‘Bring tire’ and out of nowhere, a tire materialized. They had just put the tire around him when sirens of an approaching police vehicle and shots fired into the air sent the crowd running. Unwana was rushed to the hospital and someone sent for her mother. When her mother came home and asked what happened, Iniabasi trembled in response. She told her mother everything and watched her expression change from worry to extreme anger. Her mother went to the door, locked it and faced her. ‘Come here. And make devil punish you today say you shout.’ Iniabasi went to her mother for what she knew was a certainty; she was about to get the beating of her life! *** That was the beginning of her daily beatings. For the slightest misdemeanor, her mother would look at her and beat her black and blue! Sometimes the neighbors helped and other times, they didn’t. Iniabasi’s body was
Here Comes the Bride 2
Sad Muslim Girl.Image: Deposit Photos This series starts here. Catch up on it and enjoy the sequel. The number of people in front of her compound was daunting. Salamatu Yakubu smiled as she thought of that word; daunting. She had seen it in the newspaper at the principal’s office when she had gone to get chalk. She memorized the spelling and got her teacher to explain the meaning. As usual, her teacher had told her to find it out herself; urging her to search the dictionary starting at ‘D’ and then, the next letter. She couldn’t help but smile at how much she was learning, which was far better than her classmates and especially, than ALL the boys in her class. Her smile dropped when she got closer to her compound. There seemed to be an air of sadness hanging heavily around the entire compound. Her feet dragged, wanting to be spared the impending destruction to her little cocoon. Abubakar ran to her. He was her immediate younger brother and a real pest in her life. She was about to warn him to stay away from her when she saw his tear-streaked face. She squinted to see if he was trying to play a fast one but saw that for the first time in his entire 12 years of existence, he was genuinely sad. ‘What happened?’ she asked in English before remembering to switch off school mode for home. She asked again, but this time, in Hausa. ‘What happened? Why are you crying?’ Abubakar did something that shocked the shoes off her feet; he crumbled into a heap at her feet, put his arms around her and wailed. She dropped her school bag and bent to him. She was surprised by the flood of emotions that came over her. She held him until the teary fits wracking his body subsided. At that point, it didn’t matter that they had been taught not to hold members of the opposite sex or that their mothers were different. What mattered was that they had finally bonded over something she was still to find out about. ‘Ba…ba… Baba has died.’ he said. Salamatu flinched. She was not close to her father; had never been. That fact didn’t stop the temporary moment her heart clenched and the overwhelming that sadness came upon her. She gently pushed her brother away, picked her bag and started walking…walking away from her house…from the reality of her shattered life…from the end of what she knew. She didn’t know when she started running; running till her heart almost exploded in her chest. Her brain led her feet to the school library; her safe place. She paused long enough to check if there was anyone about before diving in. She went straight to the third row of books, the place farthest from the door. Unlike a true library, there were no sections with major headlines and easy access. The community was too poor to afford that. A corps member who had come in to serve was the one who built the library and got her church to donate books. Since she passed out, no new book had been added to the library and many were dog-eared from overuse. Salamatu sunk between the shelves and took the fetal position. She began to cry in earnest now. Her life was over. She was in deep trouble. And yes, she wasn’t crying that her father was dead. In fact, he had been her biggest problem since she started to understand what her life was about. She hated him and quite frankly, was glad he was dead! *** Mallam Suleiman Yakubu was an average farmer. He did what everyone else did; planted crops in season, worked his farm, harvested and waited for the next season to begin planting again. That was his life; simple and straightforward. He had four wives and so many kids popping out every 10 months, that at the last census, the number of his kids present at the count was 40. Thankfully, he had more boys than girls who could help in the farms and ensure that food was never a problem in his house. He was very religious; studying the Holy Qur’an at least twice a day. He said his five daily prayers on time and lived according to the tenets of Islam. He was also against everything Western. He hated Americans and Israelis – even though he had never met any of them – and he was against everything they stood for, one of which was formal education. He had sworn never to send any of his kids to the so called ‘school’. The school had sent many entreaties to him and even the local community leaders had asked him to send at least one child. They had all received the same answer; NO! His boys had to be on the farm most of the time and his daughters had to be prepared for marriage. He was not going to let anyone corrupt any child of his with Western ideas. His kids had a healthy fear of him. They cowered in his presence…well, almost all of them did. His daughter, Salamatu, was defiant. She was the only child of her mother and was very stubborn. She refused to be afraid of him. In one incident, she shocked him by questioning why they needed to pray five times daily. When he told her she must do so because he said so, she told him that if he had said because Allah said so, she would have accepted it. She went further to say that his word was not absolute, as he was but a man. He remembered how he beat her to unconsciousness. That was not the last time either. She found ways to rile him up with her constant questions and opinions. If Salamatu had not been a spitting image of him, he could have sworn that she was not his child. She questioned his audacity to marry off his
A Glimpse Into Child Abuse And Marriage
Young girl holding a child.Image: UNICEF Australia Zireme Azimba remembered the first time she came to Yola. She was brought to the city from Galabje, her small village in Toungo, Adamawa State. Before then, she had never imagined leaving the routine of her home; waking up at dawn, sweeping the compound, cooking, farming, cooking again, and on weekends, laundry at the small stream. Her Uncle Golfa, whose wife – Daufe – had just put to bed, came to take her from her parents to help with house chores. When she got into Yola, she was surprised at how ‘developed’ it was. She had never seen tarred roads before and definitely had not seen such tall buildings. Quite frankly, that was the first time she had been in a car. Yes, she had been 9 years old but no one in her village had a car. She hid her excitement though. She didn’t want to disgrace her mother. As she entered her Uncle’s house, she held her nylon bag close to her breasts; mounds that were just starting to show signs of womanhood. She was doe-eyed as she stared at her new house. The house was a two room apartment in a very crowded neighborhood. She was shown where to keep her belongings and immediately put to work. Her uncle worked in a bakery and had to be out of the house as early as 5am. She had to be up at 4am every day. While his meal was cooking, she would take his bath water to the bathroom and iron his clothes; with an electric iron if there was ‘light’ and charcoal iron if there wasn’t. Then she would serve him his meal at about 4:45am. As soon as he was done, she would gather his plates and the ones from the night before to wash. When she had placed them outside, she would go in to carry baby Desmond and see if he needed a change of diaper or something else. After that, she would do the dishes, sweep the house and then wake her Aunt Daufe from her snore-fest called sleep. She would then wash Desmond’s and some of her Aunt’s pee-and-poo-stained clothes. She would then be sent to the market to get food stuff for dinner or to grind grains. Since her uncle worked in a bakery, he usually brought dough home in the afternoon for his wife to fry. This allowed him to make some extra money on the side. As soon as Aunt Daufe taught Zireme how to fry the dough, she stopped doing even that. Zireme would fry until about 6pm, allow it to cool for about 30 minutes, package them, and then start cooking dinner. The only free time she had was between 8pm and 10pm when she was allowed to watch television. The routine would begin again the next day. This continued until her Aunt took in again. As soon as Aunt Daufe realized she was pregnant, she stopped even holding Desmond. Zireme just clocked 10 when her aunt took in again. She became mini-mummy to Desmond. Her aunt only held Desmond when she needed to feed him. As soon as she was done, she would quickly hand him over to Zireme. While Zireme was doing all the work, her aunt would be watching Telenovelas, Indian and Korean series, Africa Magic and the likes. She only went out when there was no power supply. As soon as the power was gone, Aunt Daufe would take her bath and head to a friend’s house to gossip about Catalina and Consuelo. She would only rush home when she felt her husband was close to returning; and only to make sure that Zireme had prepared dinner. By the time Zireme clocked 15, Aunt Daufe had given birth to three more children. The small house where they stayed was cramped with people, clothes, furniture, and other household materials. The older kids had to sleep in the living room with Zireme while the younger ones slept in the bedroom with their parents. Soon, Zireme noticed a pattern. There were days when her uncle and aunt would ensure all the kids slept in the living room. Those days were usually accompanied by sounds of a creaking bed and grunts that were unmistakably her uncle’s. This awakened something warm in Zireme which she could not explain. It always made her feel weird but she learned to pretend she didn’t hear it, even though the wetness in her pants betrayed her. In the six years since she was with her uncle, she went home to Galabje thrice. The first time was filled with ecstasy and excitement because she had not seen her friends and family for months. The first day was her happiest but that was it. She soon began to resent the ‘local’ behavior of her friends and the pittance called food which her parents ate. Worst of all, there was no TV! She had no inclination of what was happening with Ishika on her favorite Indian series. By her third day, she was all but fed up! She needed to go back to the city. The second time she went home, she kept sulking and frowning, hating her farm work and the poverty of her home so much that she nearly exploded. The last time she went home, which was three years ago, she told her mother that it was expensive bringing her home and as such, she would not come home again for a long time. Her mother understood; she always understood. She had learned that poor people had no choices so she nodded her head and patted Zireme. As she turned away, Zireme saw the look of absolute pain in her mother’s eyes and though she would have felt a twinge of guilt three years before, she didn’t feel anything. Her village is just too ‘local’ for her. When Zireme clocked 15, her aunt started looking at her funny. She seemed to really notice her. And every time she
Here Comes The Bride!
Marriage Ameera was shaking. The lavish wedding ceremony was over. She was finally married to Alhaji Aminu Dahiru, a longtime friend and business partner of her father. She was brought to her husband’s house by her mother and her friends. They met a number of the groom’s relatives who told everyone but her mum to leave. These relatives were there to collect the sheets after the first sexual communion. They wanted to be sure Alhaji married a ‘good girl’. Though Ameera’s parents had furnished the house to her specifications, the purple and gold royal interior decor didn’t calm her raging nerves. Her mother took her to the bedroom, watched as her small figure changed from the wedding attire, showered and donned her very sexy night slip. She pretended the air conditioner was what was giving her the chills, but her mum was not fooled. Her anxiety was clear to anyone looking. Her mum rubbed her back, reassuring her in her own little way. The door creaked open as her husband entered. Her mother eased out of the room, quietly keeping her eyes on the floor so she didn’t have to see the look of absolute smug satisfaction on Alhaji Aminu’s face. As the door closed, and Alhaji Aminu drew close to Ameera, the bulge in his trousers was very obvious. He slowly took off his clothes, a feral smile on his face as he watched his wife. When he was finally naked, Ameera’s gaze widened at the sheer size of her husband. He was huge! Her fear seemed to be turning him on more and his smile got even more feral. She didn’t know if it was her fear that seemed to make him bigger or if he really was getting bigger. All she knew was that, she felt like she could faint just by looking at it. He walked to her and pushed her on the bed. Alhaji Aminu was no seasoned lover, and he sure wasn’t going to learn how to be with his fourth wife. With no further ado, he pushed her legs open and thrust in…or at least, tried to. Her vaginal opening was so tiny that he almost couldn’t penetrate. Like all men who felt that their pleasure was paramount, Alhaji Aminu forced his way in. Ameera screamed. She had not felt this much pain in her entire life. Her vagina seemed to have been torn all the way through and it felt like a thousand razors were tearing her still. Her vagina was on fire and she just couldn’t handle it anymore. She screamed again. Alhaji Aminu slapped her, shocked that she responded to his fervent lovemaking by screaming. ‘Had her mother not prepared her?‘ he wondered. Well, if she was not prepped, he was not going to be her teacher. He slapped her again and this time she got quiet…really quiet. Alhaji Aminu was not bothered that she was unusually still. His pleasure heightened as he increased the pace of his thrusts. He was soon in cloud nine and ejaculating his masculine essence into his new bride. After his grunts had subsided and his breathing normalized, he eased out of her and readied himself for sleep. He only took one minute to pull out the sheets from under Ameera and toss it out the door to his waiting audience before he came back and fell into a very satisfied sleep. It didn’t bother him that Ameera’s head was lying at an awkward angle and her little face was already bruising. He got a new wife and that was all that mattered. He went to sleep with the satisfaction that his new wife would ensure his business investments with Alhaji Musa Kaltungo – her father – was solidified and expanded further. Ameera woke up when her mother shook her vigorously. The sun was streaming into the bedroom. It was morning already. ‘Wake up foolish girl! Do you want your husband to think we did not train you well? Get up now, get cleaned up and prepare his bath water. When you are done, get his breakfast ready’. Ameera couldn’t think past the shrill tone of her mother. She was still disoriented. She didn’t recall what had happened. She tried to get up and saw that her legs were spread. ‘Why was her legs open for all to see?‘ she thought. Mortified that her mum had seen her ‘private part’, she quickly tried to close them. As she tried, she regained all consciousness when a very sharp pain traveled up the walls of her vagina, prompting fresh drip of blood to flow. Then she remembered! She couldn’t close her legs. She just couldn’t! Her mother finally realized that her daughter was in pain when she saw the blood dripping and the tears on her face. ‘Don’t worry my daughter, it will get better’ was all she kept saying. Alhaji Aminu entered the room and bellowed at his wife. ‘Are you still in bed? Are you crazy? Who will prepare my bath water and breakfast? Who will take care of the house? Get up you lazy girl! Nonsense!’ He turned to her mother. ‘Hajiya, what kind of a bride did you give me? Still asleep at 7 am?! Is this the type of nonsense I should expect in my house? Better do something about it because I can assure you that even though Alhaji is my friend, I will not hesitate to take my koboko to her naked skin! So, get her in order!’ He said as he marched out of the room. Ameera’s mother helped Ameera up, struggling to get her to stand up straight. Ameera wobbled into the bathroom, wincing at each step taken and taking care to keep her legs apart as she walked. Her mother left her to herself when she got into the bathroom. She knew peeing would increase her pain, but she had to obey her bodily functions. As the pee slowly descended, she wanted to cry out again, but she stilled herself by biting her lips. The taste
