The Hidden Struggle Against Child Marriage

In the heart of Northern Nigeria, a silent battle rages beneath the surface of tradition and expectation. It’s a struggle that often goes unnoticed, fought in the hearts and minds of young girls facing the prospect of childhood marriages. While many succumb to societal pressure, some rare individuals dare to resist, their stories are seldom told.

I’ve lived here all my life, and though I’m certain there are more, I’ve personally witnessed only one such instance of defiance. It’s the story of a young girl who dared to say no, challenging the authority of her father, a prominent Mallam, and refusing to marry an older man chosen for her.

She was my classmate, Talatu, who was just 12 years old at the time. The suitor in question was over 60, and she felt nothing for him. As punishment for her defiance, her father refused to allow her to marry any of the young men she eventually chose for herself.

“You will live here with me till you die!” he once told her—a decree he stubbornly upheld.

Talatu grew to be 35 and was still unmarried. Her only “crime” was refusing to marry at such a young age to an older man, and above all, she didn’t want to endure the physical consequences of such a union.

She once confided in me about her fears of having an “open and watery vagina,” a euphemism for the physical trauma that can result from intercourse at a young age with an older partner.

Her fundamental human rights were denied – the right to love, be loved, and choose whom to marry.

“I just wanted to marry someone I love. Why should I marry someone I don’t love? I would kill him within a week,” Talatu told me.

I looked into her eyes and knew she was telling the truth, but I also knew Talatu wouldn’t kill anyone. She would more likely file for a divorce if forced into such a marriage.

“You were not raised to kill!” I said to her.

She laughed and threw her head back. I wondered what I’d said that was so funny, but I realized later that she laughed to hide the tears gathering in her eyes. Her laughter was a mask for her pain and frustration.

“I just might kill someone else. I’ll be 36 very soon, and he still won’t let me marry,” she said, her voice tinged with desperation.

“You will marry soon,” I heard myself say, trying to revive her hope, though I wasn’t sure if I believed it.

She blinked back tears and escorted me out when I stood up to leave. I had gone only a few meters when she called after me.

“Maryam, I was talking to you and I missed my prayers.”

I smiled and suggested she pray later and ask for forgiveness for missing it. She said nothing and only smiled. I smiled too and left the compound. She never came around to pronouncing my name well; she always called me Maryam instead of Maryann.

I had grown just like her, I had married, birthed 3 kids and ran a small business in town. Talatu remained my friend and I still make time to come and see her even though our religion were worlds apart but I didn’t mind and she did not too.

_________

I lived in a time when young girls were given away early in marriage to men old enough to be their grandfathers.

Some are physically traumatised from their wedding night and left to suffer the consequences without proper care. The ignorance surrounding these practices is astounding.

“She is cursed,” they would say, “Why would she fall sick and get a disease from having sex?”

How can they expect a 10-year-old to be physically or emotionally prepared to engage in such acts? It is sheer madness to demand conjugal rights from a minor. The physical and psychological damage inflicted by these practices are severe and long-lasting.

Talatu stood up against this tradition but at a great cost. She didn’t complete her education, stopped at Primary Three, and was held captive by her feelings in her own house. She was destined to die unmarried because she refused to marry a 60-year-old man. Her story is a poignant reminder of the countless women whose lives are controlled and limited by outdated customs and patriarchal authority.

This is the world I live in – a world where tradition often clashes with human rights, where the voices of young women are silenced, and where the cycle of oppression continues. Talatu’s story is not unique, but it points to the resilience of those who dare to challenge the status quo, even when the price is their happiness.

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About Author

Maryann Ijeoma Nwokoye

Maryann Ijeoma Nwokoye is a creative writer, storyteller and development communicator. She is particular about using her skill in communication to see that this world becomes a better place and for men to turn their spears into ploughshares.

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Beyond writing and storytelling, she is enthusiastic about human development. She has also managed programs for Non-governmental organizations that are focused on human development through technology and entrepreneurship.

She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Mass Communication and a Master’s degree in Applied Communication (In View) with a core interest in technology and development communication.

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