On October 26, 2021, Fulani herdsmen killed the husband of 20-year-old Ember Amee. She was pregnant at the time and came home to find her husband in a pool of his own blood. And despite her pregnancy, the Fulani herdsmen attacked her, too. As a result of this violence, Ember suffers from mental health issues and is stigmatized by her community. She spoke about her experience with Patience Ibile of Aid to the Church in Need.
October 26, 2021, is a day I am trying to forget. That fateful day, my husband and I were farming close to our village. I was heavily pregnant then. My husband noticed I was sad and asked what the problem was. I answered that I didn’t know but that I was feeling sad and uneasy, and confused in my thoughts. I felt as if I was about to lose something dear to me. I could not understand the feeling. A few minutes later, I was thirsty and told my husband that I was going to get water. He kissed me goodbye and told me not to be away long. I replied with a smile, not knowing that that would be the last time I would hear his voice or see him.
Upon my return, I could not find my husband, but I was not worried at first. I looked around, but there was no sign of him anywhere on the farm. Then I became tense and worried; I started calling out his name repeatedly! I ran from one side of the farm to the other. Suddenly, I heard a response from the other end of the farm. To confirm it was truly a voice that I heard, I called out again and I got a response again. It did not sound like my husband’s voice, and I began to wonder what had happened to him.
I started walking toward where the voice came from. Though I was not fully convinced it was my husband’s voice, I was determined to go and see what was happening. When I got there, I saw my husband lying on the ground, lifeless, murdered in cold blood. His corpse was surrounded by eight Fulani herdsmen.
One of the Fulani herdsmen had pretended to be my husband. He was the one who lured me into coming to where they were. It was like my heart stopped beating, and I suddenly developed cold feet, and there were goosebumps all over my body. I thought of my pregnancy and cried my heart out. I was in a lot of pain. When I saw them coming toward me, I began to run, but luck was not on my side. I slipped and fell.
One of them aimed his machete at my stomach, but I quickly used my hands and head to shield my child. I felt a cut on my shoulder, and it was so painful that I couldn’t even scream. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I used my left hand to try to stop the blood. When they saw that, one of them cut off three of my left-hand fingers.
I had never felt so miserable. The pain I felt at that moment cannot be compared to anything on Earth. I felt another cut at the back of my head. Due to the injury, I suddenly felt dizzy. I saw one of them with a knife in his hand; he raised his arm to stab me, but I pretended to be dead. That, for sure, was my rescue. I heard one of them saying, “Se yem! Ve kype cii!” That means, “Let’s leave, they are dead already!” After the Fulanis left, a villager, who had been watching from a hiding place, rushed me to the hospital. I can’t thank God enough for keeping my baby safe in the womb—and for sparing my life.
But today I easily forget things, and sometimes I act mad. However, I am still grateful to God for keeping me alive. I have learned to adjust and deal with this likely lifelong trauma.
This was not the first time, nor was it the last time I met Fulani militants. There have been a series of attacks on my village, and truly, I lost count of how many times we were attacked. They are still at it, with no one to stop them.
The relationship between Christian farmers and Fulani herders has been unstable since time immemorial; we have always had a cat-and-dog relationship. We Christian farmers have extended our hands in friendship to the Fulani herdsmen several times, but they kept on breaking our trust. They kept rejecting our gesture of friendship by betraying us and killing us at any given moment. We are very tired of this.
I am living in the Ortese IDP Camp in Benue State for internationally displaced people. I just moved to the camp. After the attack, I was staying in one of the neighboring villages, but recently, that community was also attacked. I was then able to go to the diocese, and they took care of me for days and later moved me to the camp. I cannot go back to my village because it is now dominated by Fulani herdsmen.
The Church has been doing what it can. They bring us food, clothes, and toiletries, and strengthen our faith through prayers, and they celebrate the Mass for us.
I am currently learning tailoring skills and how to make beautiful dresses. I am hopeful that, when I am done, I will be able to set up shop and provide for my son Myton and myself. I love farming, but now that I am handicapped, I am not certain I will be able to farm again. My left hand cannot function properly because of the cut I incurred in the attack.
My faith has kept me going; it is the reason I am alive and still breathing. I am pushing on, regardless of my situation. I still trust God, regardless of what I have been through, and I am hoping for the best soon.
I will forgive them; as Christians, we are taught to forgive those who trespass against us so that we may also be forgiven. So, I have forgiven them for all the pain they have inflicted on me.
(This feature is adapted from Aleteia)