It can be daunting trying to follow every bit of news in the wake of a tragedy. It can be downright Herculean trying to separate legitimate information from baseless sentiment, or worse, rumours and propaganda. Sometimes, for the average person, reality is that complex, and, as creatures of habit, we default to the behaviours of our forebears.
This is where stories can help. This is where films, for the most part, can attempt to ascribe some structure to reality.
Much has been made of how cinema can function as a tool for collective remembering. In many ways, a film can be a light —piercing through the fog and obscurity of the past, and exposing, in detail, the hidden corners of our history. Documentary films have an advantage over narrative cinema in this regard because they are often rooted in firsthand testimonies, and factual accounts. This makes them especially powerful in constructing shared cultural memory.
In a society such as ours (where the focus of the average citizen is food, shelter and clothing), when tragic events occur, most of us find that we are unable to mentally and emotionally process them the way we ought to. Not everyone starts out this way, but after preventable atrocities occur repeatedly, almost like clockwork, we lose our faith in the system. Sometimes, all we can do is cope. We numb ourselves with jokes, keep away from the news, and hope that the commotion on the airwaves blows over shortly after.
In 2014, 276 girls were abducted by Boko Haram from their school in Chibok, Borno State. The country was thrown into an upheaval. Tears were shed, laughs were had at the First Lady’s expense, and by the following year, the event had largely receded in the public consciousness. It still hung over the citizens like a cloud, but people were finding ways to cope, and with coping came a sense of returning to normalcy, whatever that means in Nigeria. However, for the girls who were taken, and their families left behind, nothing would ever be the same.
Several documentaries have been made about the occurrence and its aftermath. Among them is Captive, a 2021 film by Canadian journalist Melissa Fung. The documentary shines a light on the lives of three young women who were abducted back in 2014, focusing on their stories and the experiences they share with Fung, who herself was taken by armed bandits in 2008 while reporting on the war in Afghanistan.
Mothers of Chibok by Joel Kachi Benson has a different angle on the story; this documentary is a follow up to Daughters of Chibok, an award-winning virtual reality short film on the Chibok schoolgirls kidnapping. His new film focuses on the mothers who, after their daughters were abducted, spent weeks and months and years waiting for any shred of good news— the mothers who had to watch videos of Boko Haram members bragging about their divine prerogative to sell women.
What, one wonders, happens to people who have been struck by tragedy as if by lightning? How do they pick up the pieces and carry on with their lives?
The film begins at sunrise; the community stirs to life with the sounds of roosters crowing and children getting ready for school.
That is the first thing that grabs your attention: the fact that even in a place like this, so close to danger and an ideology that opposes Western-style education, these people, these Nigerians, carry on with getting their children educated. For anyone living in the Southern part of the country, Chibok might as well be in the Sahara with how far it seems and how far removed from the center it is. But in this one shot, we are reminded that these are people just like us; they eat, sleep, dream, and plan for the future, even when they are beset by the unimaginable.
We are soon introduced to our main characters. Lydia’s children are in danger of being sent home because of their unpaid fees. She brings them to school and pleads with an administrator to allow them to stay in class. At a different school, Ladi, a teacher and farmer, does the same thing. They both promise to pay the outstanding fees as soon as possible.
Yana, a farmer and community leader, bargains with a landowner because she needs a portion of his land to plant crops she can then sell in the market. Like the other women, the revenue from her harvest will have one major aim: paying for the education of her seven children.
When planting season begins, the women sharpen their tools. Before heading off, they gather their children and warn them to be security conscious on the farm. “Run if you see anyone suspicious,” they say. On the farm, they prepare the ground by uprooting all the weeds and doing some tilling, before planting seeds of peanut, maize, and cowpea.
At night, Lydia’s thoughts go to her sister, Ruth, one of the abducted girls. She recalls how she made breakfast that morning and headed off to school, never to be seen again. It’s been eight years since but she continues to hold out hope. And so do Yana and Ladi, who lost their daughters, Rifkatu and Aisha respectively.
The women are not only filled with hope, their faith in God has not wavered either. Yana continues to go to church where the pastor prays for a great harvest for all the farmers (who appear to be predominantly women); again, the reason for this bountiful harvest is stated: it will bring enough money to pay for their children’s education, and that appears to be the utmost priority of the community. Their lives are lived in joy and in defiance of those who desire every trace of foreign education stamped out.
Another mother is introduced in this story: Mariam. One of the 276 abductees, she is among the few who have found their way home. But she returned with a son, Ali, and although many people expect her to see him as a burden, Mariam considers the boy a blessing from God. The film introduces her as a student at the American University of Nigeria, Yola. Then she travels home to beg her brother to take Ali in so he can start going to school. At this point, the thesis of Benson’s film is crystal clear: one would expect that anyone left in the wake of that tragedy would shun so-called Western education forever, but the community and the returnees only seem to double their resolve. It speaks to the strength and conviction of a people largely forgotten by time, by the rest of the world.
The cinematography captures the environment in sprawling overhead shots that showcase the beauty of the region. There are many silhouette shots as well of the community starting their day at sunrise. The film pays attention to the quiet moments without attempting to sensationalize. After planting, the women pray for rain so they can have a good harvest, and when the rains come, we see children playing in it and the farmers beaming with smiles. Such a natural occurrence that we take for granted is a big deal to them; remember, a big harvest equals more money for education.
At one point, Yana gets a call that some of the girls have been released and she hopes that her daughter, Rifkatu, is among them. The family has refused to throw her things away. “We show her love by keeping the pieces that she left behind,” Yana says. Yana’s daughter and Rifkatu’s sister, Laraba, wants to join the army, and even gets the recruitment form. This isn’t explicitly stated, but one must imagine that she is tired of feeling helpless and wants to help in any way she can. Her mother tells her that the issue is beyond the reach of the government, but it appears Laraba harbors hopes that there is something that can still be done from within the establishment.
Mothers of Chibok captures what it feels like to be in limbo; a great chunk of the film involves waiting and hoping, whether it is with the harvest, or the possibility of seeing a loved one again.
Lydia goes to Maiduguri after getting news that her sister, Aisha, has been found. She is overcome with emotion and imagines that their reunion will be immediate. But it doesn’t play out like this. She spends eight days in Maiduguri and is considering going back home to tend to her responsibilities— she needs to join the harvest and take care of her children. The wait is painful. The film does a good job of showing Lydia hold onto what little hope she lhas left; it seems like even when there is good news, it takes days for it to materialize. When it finally happens and she is reunited with Aisha in one of the film’s most touching scenes, Lydia is beside herself with joy.
When Aisha goes home to Chibok, the mothers give thanks to God for her life and celebrate with her sister. Soon, they begin to ask about their daughters and the girls offer what information they can; everyone tries to find some solace and joy in this moment but one person breaking into tears is enough for the entire community to join. They are trying to stay strong, but what happened to them is a disaster, a nightmare that has stretched on for more than a decade.
Marvel’s Black Panther (2018) opens with a scene in the Sambisa forest where T’Challa shows up and rains hell on Boko Haram, freeing the abducted girls. I always regarded that scene as a kind wish-fulfillment for people around the world who were in throes about the tragedy, and most of all, for the girls and their families.
In the absence of superheroes, we have storytellers– those who ensure that society does not forget such stories, such atrocities, even though they might be too great to process. Among the diverse talents lending their voices to this story, Joel Kachi Benson’s Mothers of Chibok stands out as a unique chronicle of hope and longing, of resilience even when the odds seem bereft of favour.
Every Nigerian should see it.
Mothers of Chibok screened at the 2025 Encounters South African International Documentary Festival, which took place from June 19-29, winning The Encounters Al Jazeera Award for Best African Feature Documentary.
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