WUNRN
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Nigeria Pastor Esther Ibanga
March 19, 2015 - JOS, Nigeria
— I live in Jos, a city in the
middle belt of Nigeria surrounded by a beautiful mountainous landscape. It was
once considered a center of peace and tourism, but incessant religious violence
has bedeviled it since 1994.
Until the moment my life
changed in 2010, I avoided getting involved in the hostility; I just tried to
keep safe.
My life as a Christian
preacher was rarely easy, but I enjoyed a good deal of comfort. Our family had
a nice house, and we moved through our days in a familiar routine. We were
doing good work, all of us, in a rhythm that seemed unbroken.
That all changed when more
than 500 Christians were massacred in a village near my house, in an explosion
of violence involving our Muslim neighbors.
Armed with machetes, Islamic
militants showed no mercy as they slaughtered women and children, including an
infant only four days old.
I
gathered with friends and we wept for days. We were used to periodic violence
between Christians and Muslims, sometimes perpetrated by angry mobs, other
times by Boko Haram. But this time, violence had
invaded women’s bedrooms, where they were roused from sleep and killed.
The atrocities shook us to
the core. Witnessing our grief, my husband challenged us, “Is that all you
women are going to do? Cry?” His challenge inspired me to lead a march to
protest the violence —100,000 women in the streets, a real show of strength. We
let our leaders know that we would no longer remain silent.
Then we learned that this
massacre was a response to an attack by Christians against Muslims in another
village. And after that brutal assault, Muslim women had also organized and
poured into the streets to demonstrate. The men in power ignored both marches.
And the killings continued.
I decided that the only hope
was to forge an alliance between Christian and Muslim women. Even though I was
a minister charged with loving my enemy, this was no easy task.
My family house, where my
mother lived for 35 years, had been burned to the ground by Muslim men. This
was the house where I grew up. Memories were made there. And decades’ worth of
photographs and other mementoes of our family were destroyed. I was devastated
and filled with anger.
After lengthy prayers and
hard work within my soul, I eventually was able to look Muslims in the eye, and
truly forgive and love them. To do that, I had to remember that they were human
beings as well, many with their own pain because of attacks and insults
inflicted on them over the years. I knew that peace had to begin with me, from
within.
I reached out to my counterpart,
Khadija Hawaja, who had led the Muslim women’s march. Our first meetings were
secret, and could not be held in either my community or hers because we would
have risked attack. But we persevered and co-founded our nation’s first
organization of Muslim and Christian women, called Women Without Walls
Initiative.
Together we engaged in a wide
range of activities from caring for orphans to encouraging the voices of
mothers as a force for moderation in families. We advocate for good governance
and for more women in the ranks of political leaders at every level.
More recently, we campaigned
for rescuing the schoolgirls kidnapped by Boko Haram in Chibok, leading an
interfaith march to the governor’s office in Jos to demand action.
Above all, we work in poor,
volatile neighborhoods that are breeding grounds for foot soldiers and other
young people prone to violence. We say to them: “Think of us as your mothers.”
No one else takes the time to engage with them, so they are receptive and open
to changing their ways. That is how the cycle of violence is disrupted — one
soul at a time.
Strength is necessary for any
Nigerian woman waging peace. In my country, violence is perpetrated between
ethnic or religious groups in a seemingly endless cycle.
Fortunately, I am strong. I
grew up in a family with two sons and eight daughters. In my culture, as in so
many others, giving birth to a girl was considered unfortunate. But having
eight? That was like a disease.
Luckily, my father was
different; he thought and acted against the cultural grain. So, on the meager
salary of a policeman, he made sure that his daughters were educated right
alongside their brothers.
Although he died when I was
only 11, my mother wisely continued to raise her daughters and sons as equals.
Thanks to them, I have never shied from my calling — whether as the first woman
to pastor a church in my state or as a peacemaker bringing together divided
communities.
Violence between Muslims and
Christians still rocks our nation. Warriors at home and around the world are
using religion as a tool in what is actually a political problem. But let there
be no doubt. Both faiths embrace the principle of peace, as do all of the
world’s religions.
The challenge is great, but
the women of Nigeria are even greater. Together, across the continuing divide,
we will build a bridge of understanding and peace. It may take a lifetime, but
a lifetime is just what we have.
Pastor
Esther Ibanga is founder of the Women Without Walls Initiative and a member of
the Institute for Inclusive Security’s Women Waging Peace Network. She is
recipient of the 2015 Niwano Peace Prize in recognition of her work promoting
peaceful coexistence.