Waves of conflict between Boko Haram and the army have forced 2.1 million people in north-east Nigeria to flee their homes. Many have found shelter elsewhere in the country, with people sharing their homes, land and compassion
Photographer Chris de Bode travelled to meet hosts and their guests in Yola, for the Dutch Relief Alliance
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Hospitality amid conflict
Karimutu and Umaru fled from Gwoza with their five
children. One night, the family climbed out of the window and never
looked back. They arrived in Yola exhausted, but there they found
shelter with Jona and his family, in a small house Jona had just
finished building next to his own. Jona had been intending to let the
house as his family was struggling to survive on the harvest from the
fields. Instead, he rented it to Umara for a fraction of the usual rate.
He is hardly covering his costs, but wants to support a family in need.
The two families eat together, and the adults spend time with each
other in the courtyard after they have put the children to bed.
'The hospitality I've seen in Yola
should be an example worldwide. It shows that people in any society are
capable of supporting each other without limitations or conditions, just
the driving force of being human'
Chris de Bode, photographer
'Mothers help each other'
When insurgents attacked her village a year and a half
ago, Hannatu (pictured right), 41, fled Borno with her daughters –
Naomi, 20, Sunday, 16, Maria, 12, Marjamu, nine – and her sons, Zuker,
18, and Emanuel, six. The rebel groups went from door to door,
kidnapping young boys and girls. Many others were killed. Hannatu had
been a widow since 2009, and owned a small restaurant in Maiduguri to
provide for her family. She arrived in Yola with nothing, but was given a
portion of land and the means to start a shop by a one of the local
community, Miriam (pictured left).
'Hannatu is a fighter. She wanted to
take care of her family on her own. I only helped her to open this shop.
Mothers help each other. I go to her shop as often as I can and I
encourage other people in the community to do the same. I also provided
land for the borehole. I wasn't doing anything with the land and now it
benefits everybody'
Miriam, landlord
'I had only one goal when my village
was under attack – to keep the children safe. I literally threw them out
of the window and we ran. We kept running until we were out of reach of
the insurgents. I carried the youngest the entire time. It is a miracle
we all survived. My landlord … supported me until I could take care of
myself. I can be independent again and that is the greatest gift anyone
could give me'
Hannatu
The landscape outside Yola. Local communities share the
little food, land and drinking water they have, as well as their
friendship, fears, compassion and love. This hospitality is not
extraordinary, they say – it is their duty to take care of people in
need.
Playing host to a village
Abuba (left) is the village head of a community of 2,500
people on the outskirts of Yola. The inhabitants live off their
livestock and agriculture. Idrisa (right) was the chief of a community
of about 5,000 residents in Gwoza. With Boko Haram approaching, in April
2014 Idrisa was instructed to find a safe place for the villagers. He
travelled 350km to Abuba's village where he had heard that his people
might be welcome. After consulting with his community, Abuba made a
piece of land available to Idrisa for his people. Yet the news came too
late for some. Idrisa's village was occupied by Boko Haram on 3 June
2014, and held for two weeks before it was freed by the Nigerian army.
More than 3,500 people were killed or captured. Only 1,500 members of
the community were able to flee. The village was plundered and burned to
the ground.
'I am very grateful that we can come
here. We dare not go back and besides, there's nothing to go back to.
Our beautiful village has nothing left. For now we stay here. The people
in the village allow us to work on their land and we may share in the
harvest. Abuba has become a good friend of mine. I do what I can to
support him. I cannot imagine a life without him'
Idrisa
'When I was on my way to get my
people, I was warned that it was already occupied. Men and women were
killed in front of their children, girls as young as 10 years old were
married off – taken prisoner by the occupiers, and boys [were seized]
for the armed struggle … My wife and several children walked away, in
the middle of the dark night. They were hiding in streams, trees and
caves. If you are caught, then you're dead. My wife held her hand over
the mouth of the youngest, so she would not cry. She was pregnant and
gave birth during the flight. She finally walked eight days and nights
before they were here in safety. My eldest daughter is still missing'
Idrisa
'It was an easy decision to provide
land to the [displaced people]. If my people have to run some day, I
hope there will be a chief out there who would do the same. Some people
were afraid at the beginning – how would two communities live so close
to each other without problems? … Idrisa and I made some agreements. I
said I wanted to meet everybody who comes to stay in the informal camp …
But he still is the chief of his community and I am the chief of mine.
We go to funerals and weddings together and discuss mutual issues'
Abuba
Hamajodo, the oldest inhabitant of Abuba's village,
holds a baby born three days ago to Asta, in Idrisa's community. The
little girl will grow up not knowing what has happened to her family or
where they came from. This place will be her only home.
'[Idrisa's] community use our drinking
water and we provided some fields to his people. My people helped to
build huts with our ropes, wood and other building materials. We shared
our food, because many of them were weakened by the journey. Now, the
two communities get more integrated every day. We even had some weddings
between displaced people and hosts'
Abuba
'I would be lost without him'
Adam, 59, in the foreground, hosts his nephew Coleman
and his children – Barnabas, Deborah and Ladi – who fled the violence in
Borno. The picture also shows Adam's three children and their families.
Church had just started when Coleman heard the sound of
machine guns outside. He fled to his nephew Adam with his three
children. The escape to safety was difficult as Coleman had a stroke 10
years ago and has Parkinson's. He was a teacher until 2006. His wife
died shortly after she gave birth to Ladi. The two men, who hadn't know
each other before Coleman fled his home, are now best friends.
'I feel blessed that Coleman came to
me. We are good friends and I am happy to take care of him. I served in
the army, so my retirement is enough for all of us. My wife died in 2015
and all my children, except my youngest daughter Susan, have their own
lives. I share everything I have with Coleman, Barnabas and Ladi. They
didn't choose to flee their homes and leave everything behind. It is my
moral responsibility to take care of my family'
Adam
'I can hardly take care of myself,
because my hands are shaking all the time. I can't hold anything and I
am too weak to walk or stand on my own. Adam helps me with everything. I
would be lost without him. We talk about life a lot. Sometimes I am
scared of what my disease will do to me in the future. It is a great
comfort that I have Adam'
Coleman
'We were in church when the insurgents came, so the Holy Bible is all I have with me. It comforts me to read it'
Coleman
Sanctuary
The lives of displaced people and local villagers come
together in this mosque in Yola. They pray together, mourn together and
celebrate their marriages and births.
For decades, the St Theresa's cathedral in Yola has been
a safe haven for those who need it. Since the start of the conflict the
priest has hosted displaced people in the church. When fighting was at
its peak, a thousand women and children were taking shelter here. Now
there are about 500. The great hall is divided into a section for
widows, one for families and one for adolescent girls. For boys, the
priest built a separate residence. In the evening, mattresses are rolled
out and people sleep side by side.
John is 16 years old. He was playing with his friend
Gideon in the fields when insurgents came to the village. They saw from a
distance how soldiers went from door to door looking for boys. They
knew they couldn't go back, so they ran together. After hiding in the
bush for a while, they took an abandoned bike and rode as fast as they
could, eventually ending up at St Theresa's. Gideon's mother arrived
here after a few months, but none of John's family have come. It is
difficult for the boy to talk about them. He is alone and has no idea
how his parents, brothers and sisters are doing. Gideon's mother looks
after him now. He studies a lot, to escape from his darker thoughts. The
pastor gave him some books and notebooks, which are his only
possessions. He wants to serve in the army, so he can protect his
village.
A poster displays photos of some of the most wanted Boko
Haram fighters. Since the start of the conflict, thousands of people
have lost their lives or have gone missing, and 2.1 million have been
displaced. Millions of people don't have access to clean water, food,
medical care and shelter. Children are out of school and often
traumatised by the violence they have witnessed. Families have been torn
apart.
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