Rifkatu endured kidnapping and horrific abuse. But with help and counsel, she found hope and healing too.
Rifkatu* was kidnapped a month after her wedding.
During those four weeks, she and her husband, Pastor Zamai*, had allowed themselves to dream about a better life. They knew it wouldn’t be simple; after all, along with their families, they’d been driven from their homes and farms by Fulani militants. But a new life together, a chance to build a new home and a new family? That was a dream that seemed within reach for the couple as they said their vows before God and their community.
Those dreams were reduced to ashes.
That morning, Rifkatu, Zamai and their family had decided to risk returning to their farmland to gather crops, as food was scarce. Toward the evening, after they’d gathered some food, Zamai took his elderly father and younger sister to their new home on his motorbike, telling Rifkatu and his sister to remain in the old farmhouse until he returned.
When the two women heard the sound of a motorbike, they stepped outside, thinking Zamai had returned. But it was not Zamai.
“My sister in-law said to me, ‘It’s Fulani militants,’” Rifkatu remembers. “I turned and saw some of them coming after us on motorbikes. My sister-in-law dropped the yam she was carrying on her head.”
They ran, and were pursued.
The church that Rifkatu’s husband pastored in was burnt when their village was attacked.
“They [told us to either] stop, or they [would] shoot us. When we stopped, they asked why we were running—was it that the widowers we have in this community are not enough for us? One of them said we should climb on the motorbike.” The two women knew that if they ran, they’d be shot.
“I told my sister-in-law to climb on his motorbike, then I climbed on the other motorbike.”
The militants took Rifkatu and her sister-in-law to an abandoned house and separated them into different rooms, where multiple men abused them both. The following day, the women were taken to the militant camp, where other Christians were also being held.
Rifkatu noticed something specific about the women captives. “They did this to us because we are Christians,” she says. “Since I went to that camp, all those who were kidnapped, I didn’t see any Muslims held there.”
At the camp, the horrific abuse continued. “They asked me and my sister-in-law to lie down,” Rifkatu remembers. “We couldn’t move or turn.”
Rifkatu recounted much more detail about what she and her sister-in-law endured. Suffice it to say that they both suffered extensive abuse at the hands of militants over several days.
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‘God will not allow my end to be in this place’
Despite all that was happening to Rifkatu, in her heart, she was praying. It was all she could do.
“I didn’t lose hope in that place,” she says. Rifkatu quickly learned that even something as simple as prayer could result in additional abuse. “An old woman in the camp told me to stop praying because if they discover me, it will cause an issue,” Rifkatu says. “But I told her, ‘I know that my husband is praying for me, that God will not allow my end to be in this place.’ In my heart, I prayed, ‘You are the God that saved Shadrach and Meshach. If you are the same God who has not changed, I know I will go home.’”
God heard her prayer. The next day, due to the abuse, Riftaku began to bleed. At the point the camp leader decided to let the women return home.
At first, Rifkatu was welcomed back by her family and community.
“The day my wife returned home, my heart was filled with joy,” remembers Pastor Zamai. “God had answered my prayer for her release.”
But the trauma she had endured was not forgotten. Terror and fear filled her heart, and it took a long time, with the help of her husband, to begin to feel safe again. Slowly, slowly she began the process of healing.
Zamai and Rifkatu eventually found a new sense of joy when they discovered they were expecting a child.
Rifkatu endured unspeakable abuse, but she found hope and healing at a trauma care centre supported by Open Doors.
‘She looks like Fulani’
But a few months after their daughter was born, they noticed that the community had begun distancing themselves from Rifkatu and her baby.
Due to complications at the birth, the baby girl had a developmental delay. That was when the rumors began to circulate. Without any basis, people began to suggest that Rifkatu’s daughter had been fathered by a militant.
“People started spreading rumors: that it belongs to the Fulani militants; that our daughter is not a real baby, she is the baby of the Fulani militants who kidnapped her,” Zamai says.
Rifkatu says “Some of our community said [our baby daughter] does not look like us. Another would say, ‘She looks like Fulani.’”
“Nobody wanted to come close to me, even my family and friends…Even if I am going for women’s fellowship, I don’t go with her,” she continues. “I leave her with my mother-in-law. People will ask, ‘Is this your daughter? What is wrong with her? She doesn’t look like you.’ I got tired of it.”
This experience is all too common for women in Nigeria, and across sub-Saharan Africa. Victims of sexual violence find that when they return home, they are treated suspiciously, as if the brutal treatment they endured tainted them. It’s why sexual violence is used against Christians—the result of the abuse extends beyond the individual, tearing apart Christian families and communities, leaving the church weakened.
When the ostracism and isolation began to affect Rifkatu’s relationship with her daughter, she and Zamai knew she needed to get help. Rifkatu’s wounds were deep and scarring.
‘She had lost hope’
Thankfully, Open Doors partners were able to put Rifkatu in touch with Asebe*, a trauma care provider who volunteers at the trauma centre supported by Open Doors.
"Rape victims come with challenges of stigmatization. They're stigmatized by people—even by people they love, by the community that they live in. So, it can be very traumatizing.”
Every year, the trauma centre cares for thousands of women who have experienced violent persecution because of their faith.
“Most of them come with challenges of lack of sleep, fear, worry about what to eat, where to stay,” shares Asebe. “Some come with the challenge of loneliness. Some fear not knowing when the attackers will come again. And rape victims come with challenges of stigmatization. They’re stigmatized by people—even by people they love, by the community that they live in. So, it can be very traumatizing.”
That trauma carries with it changes in behavior and attitude, reflecting the pain of the wound rather than normal personalities. This was the case for Rifkatu. “When Rifkatu first came to the center, she came as an angry person,” says Asebe. “She came very sad; she wasn’t smiling at anyone. She was even doubting the existence of God. She had lost hope in life.”
The most important thing that a trauma care provider can do, says Asebe, is to listen. “I was just there, present,” she says. “I asked Rifkatu helpful questions to allow her to see the way she feels. I encouraged her to do activities, like drawing anything that signifies the pain she’s feeling, and writing laments to God.”
And slowly, God began to work in Rifkatu’s spirit.
‘I have forgiven them’
One of the most powerful elements of the trauma care are the sessions on forgiveness and taking your pain to the cross of Christ. Rifkatu remembers the day she felt like she could finally give her burden and her pain to Jesus.
“Something I will never forget is taking our pains to the cross,” she says. “Everyone wrote their pains on a piece of paper. We sang songs and burned our pieces of paper at the cross. They told us as the ashes go up, our pains are going up to God.”
Rifkatu worked with Asebe to confront and deal with her trauma. She found healing at the cross.
As the ashes of her pain went up to the sky, Rifkatu found that Jesus had given her the hope she had lost—along with the radical forgiveness of the Kingdom of Heaven. “I used to say, ‘These Fulani militants, I will never forgive them till eternity,’” she says. “But since I came and received these teachings, I have forgiven them in my heart. And may Almighty God help them to repent.”
Stop the violence. Start the healing.
Rifkatu’s journey to healing is far from over. She and Zamai still need the prayers and support of their global Church family as they rebuild their lives, their family and their future. And sadly, there are many more Christian women like Rifkatu, not just in Nigeria, but across sub-Saharan Africa, who need the help of a trauma care provider like Asebe to start the healing they desperately need. But they don’t just need our prayers and gifts. They also need us to speak for them.
“We want our voices, these women’s voices, to be heard,” says Asebe. “Let the world know what is happening to Christian women in Nigeria. Their rights are not being protected. They are being traumatized; they are being abused because of their faith. And we want this to stop.”
This means that all of us who claim the name of Christ have the responsibility to speak out and to act. “I want the world to help us and speak out,” Asebe says. “Let there be advocacy. Let them come with assistance in any way they can. Let them also pray, because what humans cannot do, I believe God can do.”
Speak up
For vulnerable and displaced Christians like Rifkatu, life can feel hopeless. Devastation and trauma have a grip on many lives. Will you stand with them?
The Open Doors Arise Africa campaign is a multi-year effort to see the global community recognize and respond to the persecution of Christians in parts of sub-Saharan Africa.
Today, you can sign the Arise Africa petition calling for protection, restoration, and justice. Help us reach one million signatures so we can present the petition to the United Nations.
