Ibrahim Kanuma winces as he recalls the moment
a 63-year-old man
asked him for his teenage
daughter's hand in marriage. The proposal was
not
unusual in north-western
Nigeria's remote, dust-blown
state of Zamfara, but he considered the suitor too old
for his only daughter, Zainab, 13.
"Even
if he had been aged up to 50 – OK. But that old,
he'll soon die and
leave her lonely," says the civil
servant in his peeling office in
Gusau, the state
capital. To protect his school-aged child from the
crushing
stigma of widowhood,
Kanuma instead
gave his blessing to a union with a "reasonably aged"
colleague – in his 40s – even though such a betrothal
is illegal.
For Kanuma and many others in northern Nigeria,
the recent outcry over
child marriage is puzzling.
Zainab's marriage is prohibited under Nigeria's
Child Rights
Act, which bans marriage or betrothal
before the age of 18. But federal
laws compete with
age-old customs, as well as a decade of state-level
sharia law in Muslim states.
Warning posters about female circumcision and
fistulas.
"I wouldn't force my daughter to marry somebody she
doesn't like, but
as soon as a girl is of age
[starts menstruating], she should be
married,"
Kanuma says.
Four of the 10 countries with the highest rates of child
marriage are in west
Africa's
Sahel and Sahara belt. In
the years when rains or crops fail, so-called
"drought brides"
– who bring in a dowry while being one fewer mouth to
feed
– push numbers up dramatically.
But the practice came
under scrutiny in July, when
legislators tried to scrap a constitutional
clause that states
citizenship can be renounced by anyone over 18 or a
married
woman, apparently implying womencan be married under 18.
The
obscure ruling will have little direct impact on the one
in four rural
northern Nigerian girls married off before they
turn 15, but it reveals
prevailing attitudes in a nation with acute gender disparity.
A successful vote was later derailed by senator Ahmed Yerima,
who in 2010
married a 13-year-old from Egypt. A former
Zamfara governor who
introduced a rigidly enforced version of sharia law in the north
in 2000, Yerima argued that a married girl was considered an
adult under certain interpretations of Islamic law. That
prompted
outrage. "Does it then follow that the married girl who is
below 18, at election time, would be permitted to vote?" says
Maryam Uwais, a lawyer and child rights advocate in the
northern capital of Kano.
Other
grassroot Muslim activists, however, fear the oxygen
of negative publicity trailing the high-profile Yerima, coming
most vocally from non-Muslims, could trigger a backlash among
conservative, rural Muslims. This would threaten painstaking
progress towards modernisation over the
past decade.
In the week headlines erupted over Yerima,
Aisha, nine, was
quietly rushed through the corridors of Zamfara's
Faridat Yakubu
general hospital. Its cheerful cornflower blue walls
belie stories of
the hidden horrors of early marriage. Aisha does not
have the
words for what happened to her on her wedding night. Her
husband,
she says, did something "painful from behind".
Nearby,
Halima was on her third visit in three years. "I like it here.
It is
the only time I ever see a television," she says. Just shy of 13,
the
newlywed came under pressure to demonstrate her fertility.
"I thought
[being in labour] would never end," she adds softly.
In the
tradition of the rural Hausa people of the north, women are
expected to
give birth at home. Crying out while in labour is seen as
a sign of
weakness. But after three days close to death in her village,
Halima
begged to be taken to a hospital. By the time her relatives
had scraped
together enough to ferry her to the state capital, it was
too late.
The
baby had died.
The prolonged labour left Halima with a
fistula, which causes
uncontrolled urination or defecation. "Fistulas
can happen to anyone,
but are most common among young women whose
pelvises aren't at
full capacity to accommodate the passage of a child,"
says Dr Mutia,
one of two practising fistula surgeons in Zamfara.
Despite
the obvious link, he is reluctant to blame child marriage for
Nigeria
having the highest global rate of fistula. "The problem is not
early
marriage. It is giving birth at home," he says.
Small victories
There have been small victories in reversing the ripple effects of
early and
forced marriage, defined as forms of modern-day
slavery
by the International Labour Organisation.
Fifteen
years ago, Zamfara's statistics director, Lubabatu Ammani,
carried out a
census to record the number of girls attending
secondary school in the
state. The results were shocking: fewer than
4,000 girls were enrolled
out of a population of 3.2 million.
"It was a combination
of dropouts, early marriage and religious
misinterpretations," explained
Ammani, who proposed creating a
female education board to help remedy
the problem. "We asked all
the local emirs and found the main problem
was that parents didn't
want girls who had hit puberty to be in co-ed
schools."
Female enrolment in Zamfara is at its highest
since independence
five decades ago, with 22,000 secondary school
students. On most
days, Ammani visits wavering parents to encourage them
to keep
their daughters in school.
Ammani welcomes the
reawakened debate on child marriage but
warns of its limits: "The fact
is, a lot of people [here], when they
hear the campaigning is by people
from a different tradition or
religion, they won't agree with it."
Others
are more blunt. Haliru Andi, who served as Yerima's top
aide while he
led the call for sharia, bristles at the idea of interference
with his
faith. "How I even use the toilet, how I share my time with my
family – everything is contained in my religion," he says in his
Persian-carpeted living room. "How, then, can I take instructions from
anybody who does not have a deep understanding of Islam?"
Cultural norms
further muddy the issue. Posters outside Mutia's office
exhort against
another disturbing practice related to child marriage.
In one,a woman
is being forcibly restrained on a woven palm-frond mat.
An assistant grabs her legs; another sits on her chest, and yet another
reaches
between her legs with a razor blade.
The scene shows a
common recourse when a child bride refuses to sleep
with her husband,
prompting her parents or in-laws to drag her to the
wanzan, or traditional barber. "This traditional barber, he doesn't
understand
anatomy. He thinks there's something obstructing the girl
down there,
and that's whyshe fears her husband. So anything he sees,
he will just
use his knife to cut it,"
Mutia explains. "They think they are helping."
None
of the northern-based grassroots Muslim activists the Guardian
interviewedwanted to go on the record about child marriage –
reflecting,
says one activist, the difficulties women face "going
against the grain".
The storm of Twitter and online
commentary has translated into a
handful of protests in the more liberal
south, which is predominantly
Christian but also home to millions of
Muslims.
In the tiny village of Rigasa, flanked by baobab
trees and fields of millet,
Nafisa, 14, draws letters in the powdered
maize she grinds every morning
for herself and her in-laws. A-B-C-D, she
writes. It is all she remembers.
"My husband gets angry any time I
asked him if I can take up my schooling
again, so I stopped asking. But
my heart is in school," she says.