"They married my best friend at 12, now I won't stop": How I became ME

I zipped my school bag with a wide smile on my face, thinking to myself "I can't wait to show him my Homework". I checked to see if my uniform and shoes were in place as I could not wait to show my class teacher how I did the English Language homework he gave us and of course revel in the feeling of being the only one who got it right.  

I was 10 years old in class 6, one of the youngest and most intelligent pupils in that class.  I had a record of being amongst the top 3 students in a class of over 40 pupils. And I kept this record all through my primary school life. Then in class 6, I knew it was a big deal because my grades in the general exam would determine if I got to attend secondary school that year or not.

The next morning, I got off the school bus and ran to my classroom, dropped my bag and hurried to the assembly line. I silently prayed that assembly would get over soon, so I could show my teacher and rest of class the homework I did right. Finally, assembly ended and we marched to class.  Our class teacher, Mr. Christopher, walked in and said "Take out your homework and bring it to my table for review". The sign I had to wait for was, If you got the homework right then he wouldn't return your book. He had to announce to the rest of the class, and read the names of the students who got it right. He started calling names. Name after name, I waited then I didn't hear mine. I was already leaping for joy because I knew I was the only one who got the answer right, as USUAL. Then our teacher said "Liz, can you stand up please". I stood up. "Clap for her". The class went wild with applauses. Then he went on praising me and told the rest of the class to meet me during lunch time and ask my secret. He urged everyone to got the extra mile and always read about new topics even when he hadn't taught them. I was smiling all through his speech. Needless to say, everyone admired me. right then and there, my brain registered for the umpteenth time that I am a GENIUS!

Now that I think about it, my class teacher, Mr. Christopher, did a great job. He NEVER tried to tame my ambitions. I was always part of our class debates, representing our school at spelling bee competitions. He never failed to point me out to take on any task he knew I could handle. When he looked at me, when he looked at the girls in class, all he saw were girls, humans who would take over the world!

It was lunch time and everyone was busy digging in to delicacies that their parents had kept them. I was also enjoying the bread and chocolate in my hands, while chatting about kid stuff, the newest clothes our parents got us, the places we visited during the weekend etc. I noticed everyone's attention shifted to the door and they started murmuring. I lifted my head and that's when I saw her. A tall, very light skinned, very slim and beautiful girl. Her long, soft and curly hair was gathered in thin cornrows on her head. I also noticed she had tribal marks on both sides of her mouth. Two horizontal lines on each side that looked like they were made by carefully cutting with a razor blade at birth. She didn't have on our school uniform, she rather had on the government school uniform. I knew then that she has been transferred. She walked back out and stood by the door. Everyone kept peeking at her and making a lot of comments. I stared at her a lot and I knew she was Muslim. 

The bell rang for lunch time over and we all packed our lunch boxes away and prepped for the math class we were about to have. PS I loved math then, a lot! However, it took me more time to understand the logics and rounds of mistakes to get a right answer. The teacher walked in and the light-skinned Muslim girl walked in after him. "Class, this is Fatu Lam Sah. She will be joining us for the rest of the term. Please let us all make sure she's comfortable and has a great time". He then looked around for where she could sit. She settled in, about 4 desks behind me. I silently wished we sat together so I could stare at her the whole time. "Ok. Eyes on the board". I looked at the board and saw "Subject: Mathematics, Topic: GEOMETRY". 

The teacher went ahead to explain, use examples, define terms, but as usual I took a lot of time to grasp the concepts and understanding. He wrote a question on the board and asked anyone to come and attempt to solve it. Of course I tried solving but got it wrong, others tried too but got it wrong. "Yes Fatu, do you want to try?". It was then I noticed she had raised up her hand. "Yes sir." she replied. She came forward, took the chalk and began writing (solving) on the board, we all stared at her...waiting. In no time she was done. "Excellent!" Mr. Christopher said. "Can we clap for her please?" We all clapped for her I however was stunned. I asked myself "How did she get this done so fast?" I can't say I felt defeated but I must admit, I felt a little threatened by her brilliance. A signal to up my game. That was only for a second though. The rest of the time I was impressed. However, I couldn't wait to tell my parents about the new girl at school and how I felt threatened.

Class ended for the day and Mr. Christopher announced that we would begin extra classes (early in the morning before regular class time and a few hours after regular class ends) the following week. Extra classes meant I wasn't going to take the school bus to and from school anymore. I would have to trek. It was exciting for me. 

The rest of the week went by in a flash. I still was marveled by Fatu and her determination. She always answered questions in class, especially, math questions. During playtime she would stay in class solving math questions while the rest of us played. I had always wondered how she could do that. She was isolated but I saw she always walked home with one other pupil from our class, Charlxes. I learned later that they lived in the same compound.

It was Monday again which meant the start of our extra classes. I was walking to school early that morning when I saw Fatu. She was dressed in our complete school uniform. A sky short sleeve shirt, a knee length dark brown skirt and a matching wool pullover.  She was walking out the gate of our proprietor's house. I walked over to her and we continued our way to school. I asked surprised why she lived with our school proprietor. She said her younger brother was taking care of our proprietor's cows and in exchange they would sponsor her education. I remember thinking her younger brother has to be in school too right. But I didn't push it. We continued our walk to school, talking about different things. I couldn't help but notice the swell of her chest. She had started to grow breasts which I didn't have. It made me wonder how old she was. I asked and she said she was 12. I envied her. I couldn't wait to turn 12 so I could grow breasts as well. My mom always told me about puberty and changes my body would experience. I anticipated with great delight the part of having to grow breasts. I loved the thought of owning tiny bras. Needless to say the fantasy is dead even as I own bigger sized bras today (hahaha). 

The term went by with I and Fatu drawing closer. We became very good friends. I visited her a lot and she couldn't come around to my place so easily as they wouldn't let her out the house. I learnt a lot about her and she about me. She was always so kind to answer my ton of questions about her kind and her culture. That she had to tie a head scarf everywhere she went except school, she had to pray 5 times a day etc. We walked together, to and from school. She helped me out with math and I helped her with English. She was not a shy person. I had never seen such a brilliant girl. We spoke a lot about our dreams and goals. She always wanted to be a doctor. We sometimes made role play. Her a doctor and me a patient. It was fun. We had a lot in common. She was curious, active, detail oriented. I loved her handwriting. My handwriting was good, but I loved how she wrote with care, as if the words were some fragile piece of something. I always imagined the future and her in a white lab coat. "She'd make a great doctor".

Fatu's mother however, was a typical Muslim woman. No formal education, married with kids, she couldn't speak English and she hawked fresh cow milk around. Her mom would always hawk and made sure she passed by our school to see Fatu during lunch break. She would bring Fatu some food, most of the time buttered rice which I enjoyed as Fatu shared with me. They would have extensive conversations in their vernacular and I would just stand there. Sometimes I would ask her what her mother said after she left. I saw that meeting her daughter during lunch was the only time she could see Fatu as Fatu lived with our proprietor. With time Fatu's mother recognized me as her daughter's friend. I even invited them over to our house so my mom could meet them. In our Christian culture when we have a guest over, we make very delicious food and have meat, chicken. However, Fatu, her mom and her younger brother couldn't eat the meat and chicken because according to their culture, they can't eat any form of flesh that wasn't killed by their Muslim brother. Also, I saw Fatu's younger brother and I remember thinking he was so young to be looking after cows. He was 8 and deserved to be in school.

Then the day came. Fatu's mother came to see her during lunch time and after her mom left I noticed she was a bit sad. I asked her what her mom said that made her sad and she revealed that she had told her mother the previous week that she had seen her period. And now her mom said after she was done with class 6 she would get married. I was so shocked. Apparently, her mom and family were waiting till she finally got her period so they could marry her off. I didn't know what to tell her. But I wanted to confront her mother. I think his was one of the moments in my life I discovered that I was born to be the voice of the voiceless.

I went back home that day and told my mom all about it. My mom and I planned to invite Fatu and her mom over for a talk after we finished our exams. I was still so determined to talk to her mother before then, but every time her mother came during lunch I chickened out. In this part of Africa, Sub-Saharan Africa respect is like slavery. It is no different in my country Cameroon. Talking to an elderly person about something they did wrong, whether politely or not, is considered disrespectful. I wasn't ready for that. 

The clock to our final exam was ticking and we were all preparing for it. Needless to say Fatu was excellent all round. When prizes were awarded, I always got the 'Best in English Language' prize while she got the 'Best in Mathematics' prize. We were literally overall best in school. When it was left just weeks to our final exams, I always studied with Fatu. We would read extensively, drill each other with questions until we got it right. 

Exams finally came and we were nervous but excited. We had prepared enough to know this was going to be a piece of cake. The exam we were going to write is called FSLC (First School Leaving Certificate) and it was a national exam, therefore we were going to write it in halls with every other pupil, in every other school in the area. My name begins with L and Fatu's name with F. We  were placed in different halls. So I only saw her when we walked home together. 

The exams ended and I reminded my mom about the talk with Fatu and her mother. I fell ill and needed to stay home, others from our class came to visit me but Fatu was not with them. I felt sad she didn't come. I also wondered why my best friend would hear I was sick and didn't show up. Our class teacher organized a farewell party to usher us into secondary school but Fatu didn't come. I decided to go to the proprietor's house and check on her. But when I got there it was too late. Fatu's mother had already taken her away to be married. It turns out she just went there unannounced immediately after our exams and took Fatu with a fight. I also learned it was because the proprietor's wife insisted that if Fatu wanted to further her education, then she would gladly sponsor it. But Fatu's mother had made up her mind.

I felt terrible. I urged my mom to talk to the anyone but we didn't know where they went. I didn't have a phone, neither did Fatu so we couldn't get in contact. As time goes on and I grow older to understand what marriage is and what it entails, I can't help but feel terrible all over again, imagining little Fatu going through that.

At that time, my mom saw my discomfort and she also saw I didn't like what happened. She also knew I had pent up frustration and I didn't have a solution so she made attend workshops on girl's rights and capacity strengthening programs. I think that helped me make sense of what I was feeling. Of the hunger for justice. The need for people to hear me. I grew from then sharpening my skills and learning about these cultures and why. 

Fast-forward to today. 8 years after. I have worked with over 8 feminist organizations, in significant positions. I have mentored girls like me, speaking up about injustices and harmful practices done to women and girls. I'm working on my self everyday, working hard to keep me competent enough to rescue girls from this dilemma. There is another major story that significantly shaped this journey (I will drop the story shortly after this one) but this was the trigger. 

I haven't seen or heard from Fatu till today. I know no one who can help me get to her. I can't reach her; partly because of my limited resources. But I will search till I do. 

I don't know if she would recognize me, I don't know if she died from premature childbirth, I don't know if she's suffering abuse from her husband, I don't know if she ran away from the marriage. There are a lot of scary possibilities running through my mind. When I think about her and the turn of events, I can't really blame her mother. She only did what was done to her and what she was programmed to believe is the right thing to do.

I won't stop. I won't stop until girls are seen as more that just their reproductive organs. I won't stop until girls are not the substitute for a family financial plan. I won't stop until girls are acknowledged on major decision making tables. I won't stop until our voices are heard. I won't keep silent because my voice is heavy with other voices.

NB: the cover image is NOT Fatu.