Showing posts with label Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Show all posts

Saturday, November 12, 2022

Questions For Aisha Buhari

 By Promise Adiele

Titubi’s character in Femi Osofisan’s Morountodun attracts different interpretations from many people across the world. The ebullient daughter of the wealthy Alhaja Kabirat, leader of the market women, commits class suicide by repudiating the ideals of her class and identifying with the poor struggling, impoverished farmers. 

*Aisha Buhari 

Cast in the mode of the mythical Moremi of Ile-Ife, the splendour and opulence of Titubi’s bourgeois background do not impair her appreciation of the enervating realities suffered by the helpless, exploited farmers. In all her Spartan disposition, Titubi failed to save the people from the agony of losing Marshal her husband at the end of the play. The unanswered question for Titubi is – why was she unable to stop Marshal from embarking on that fateful journey at the end of the play thereby plunging the people into despair and grief? 

Thursday, February 9, 2017

The Trauma Of Being Kidnapped

By Hope Eghagha
One of the most traumatic experiences anybody can undergo is to be violently abducted. Snatched from one’s regular, known serene world into a world governed by drug-controlled youths is a life-altering experience. I have been there. I know how it feels to be dispossessed of one’s liberty by criminals. I know how relations feel in the uncertain days of the abduction. I know how the kids feel that their father may never return. I know the emotions that run through a wife.

I also know how it feels to see one’s security aide killed with a single shot to the neck, blood gushing out in angry ferocity, how his widow and two kids look up to you for help. I know how it feels to be in captivity for 16 days without food, without one’s routine medication. I know how it is to be blindfolded for 16 days. It is not fun. It is not a party. It is deathly traumatic. It is deeply humiliating, bewildering and depressing. It is frightening.
A typical kidnapper is a violent person. There is verbal violence. There is of course physical violence. At no provocation, the victim could be slapped, kicked or given a blow to the head. The intention is to instill fear. So, fear is a constant when in the custody of kidnappers. They brandish their weapons – guns, knives, machetes. They use the gun-butt both on the victim and on the floor; at least my captors did. I was harangued, insulted, beaten for no other reason than I said that I didn’t have one hundred million naira to redeem myself. That though I was a government official at the time, I knew the government would pay no ransom. 
In the den, the victim loses a sense of time. Blinded-folded, day and night merge into one long experience. The weakness of the body at a particular time may suggest it is late in the night. Same with the eerie quiet of the environment, or the hooting of the night bird. Morning is heralded by birds chirping. Late noon is dictated by the languor of the late afternoon early evening sun. Time freezes, yet it moves. You try to hope, dare to hope really, that you would ultimately get out alive. The kidnappers say ‘if you leave,” not ‘when you leave. Death is a permanent presence. It hangs in the air. Even when not spoken, it is known as the ‘X’ factor. The uncertainty of it all is killing. Their occasional acts of kindness, like leading you blindfolded to use the urinary do not help. Or by the time you return from the urinary your bed has been re-arranged. They remind the victim that the situation is abnormal. Yet the victim shows gratefulness. A sinking man would clutch at a straw!