"It really depends what you want. Boy? Girl? Young? Old?"
The
man on the phone was offering us young children with the casualness of a
market trader. After a week of back and forth phone calls, his initial
caginess had given way to greed. He'd heard my foreign accent and
clearly decided I would pay more than the domestic rate.
"We can get," he said.
We'd
been put in touch with the man through a contact on the ground. We were
told he was one of the men running this "unofficial" displaced camp --
one of the many that has mushroomed in the town of Yola as the influx of
people fleeing Boko Haram has grown beyond the capacity of the official
camps.
It had all been heartbreakingly simple.
We'd asked who had children available to "foster" -- a catch-all code
word designed to conceal the true intent of those offering up the
orphaned children. The man on the phone was the end result of those
inquiries.
When
our colleague want to see them, he was shown a group of children and
asked which one he wanted to take. One, two maybe? He escaped by saying
he needed to check with his "madam" -- me.
I
called. The man picked up and began referring to me as "sister." I told
him we wanted to know what we'd need to do, if we decided we did want
to "foster" the children.
He told me,
"Sister, Jesus will reward me," so the "fostering" was free, he said. No
need for any pesky paperwork -- just a reassurance from me that the
children, if I chose to take them, would "live in my heart." If I could
also then find it "in my heart" to donate to those still in the camp,
then that would be "God's work."
In spite of the harsh measures the
Nigerian government has put in place to punish human traffickers, by the
government's own admission, 8 million children are currently engaged in
forced labor.
The Global Slavery Index
says Nigeria has the highest number of people in modern slavery of any
sub-Saharan country. Paradoxically, the group also rates Nigeria's anti-trafficking agency, Naptip,
as one of the strongest government responses on the continent -- but
it's clearly overwhelmed by the realities of working in what is now a
zone of military operations, Nigeria's north. As the insecurity in the
region has spiraled, the worry is that more and more children are
falling through the cracks. And as Boko Haram increases its reliance on
child suicide bombers, concerns are growing that orphaned children could
end up in the hands of the terror group.
At
the camp where we finally met the man face to face, there was no
attempt at subterfuge. We spoke in normal tones in full view of the
children playing. I could have had one of them, I was told, but because
I'd specified a younger child, they'd only identified one so far -- a
3-year-old. Did I want to consider an older girl? A 12-year-old maybe?
She could look after the 3-year-old, and cook and clean. Either way, two
girls would be ready tomorrow, he said. I could see them then.
Our
last phone conversation revolved around what an appropriate "donation"
would be in exchange for the children. He couldn't, he said, bargain for
it. He then proceeded to do just that, laughing down the phone at my
first tentative guess of $200. Laughing again at $300.
We
finally found a figure he didn't find funny -- $500. I put the phone
down and we traveled back to the capital that day to show Naptip what
we'd found.
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