The secret bond that helped two captive women survive Mozambique’s Islamists

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Ancha*, who was 20, had been kidnapped and held captive in a house in northern Mozambique for two months when 17-year-old Fatima* was brought there. What their captors did not know – even after the young women’s daring escape together – was that they were cousins.

Both had grown up around Mucojo, a small coastal town 130 miles (210km) south of the Tanzanian border, from where they had been abducted in separate raids in 2020 by Ahlu Sunnah Wa-Jamaa militants, an Islamic State-affiliated group known locally as al-Shabaab (though it has no links with the Islamist militants of the same name in Somalia).

The group has been kidnapping and killing girls and women as it fights government and African Union forces in the country’s northernmost province of Cabo Delgado since the conflict began in 2017. More than 1 million people are reported to have been displaced by fighting in the region.

Before their abduction, Ancha and Fatima had not known each other well and lived in separate villages, but all that changed when Fatima arrived at their captor’s house. From that moment, the two women formed a close friendship that has endured.

“At first [when she arrived], I felt very sad. But then I thought, finally, I had someone to lean on. I went from being isolated and alone to having someone to share my time with,” says Ancha.

For three years, the two cousins were forced to live with insurgents in separate homes, enduring constant sexual violence. Ancha has two children as a result, both aged under three.

Fatima, who has a three-year-old, says she was mostly kept locked inside as the man she had to live with feared she would try to escape. “Sometimes, I was allowed to go to a garden nearby, but never far.”

Despite the abuse they suffered, the two women spent most of their time together talking about the past. “All we did was remember what our lives had been like before and dream about the future,” says Ancha.

“We helped each other with everything. If one of us was forced to fetch food, the other would watch over the children,” says Ancha.

Fatima adds: “We ate together, checked in on each other. It was a great source of support for me.”

Having each other nearby also comforted them in another way, says Ancha: if one of them had died, the other could one day inform their family.

Graffiti includes an image of a man with a crown, and the words ‘Estado Islamico’
Graffiti proclaiming Islamic State on a house in Quissanga, in Mozambique’s mineral-rich northern province of Cabo Delgado. Photograph: Juan Luis Rod

Their family links were kept a secret. “We decided not to tell anyone we were cousins because they might separate us” says Ancha.

“In that place, more than two women gathering was not allowed, so we kept it a secret to keep seeing each other.”

Eventually, last September, says Fatima, they hatched a plan to escape together. “We couldn’t live like that any more,” she recalls.

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“There was no food, no medicine – just constant abuse. We decided we had to take the risk and leave.”

The plan involved fleeing through the forest to the coast, where a small boat would be awaiting them, ready to sail to freedom. The boat was arranged by some men from the camp who decided to escape with them. Ancha says the men had previously been prisoners too before being forced to join the militants during their years in captivity.

“During those days in the forest, we [Ancha and Fatima] helped each other, encouraging one another to keep going. When Ancha lagged behind, exhausted, I pushed her forward, and she did the same for me. We also helped carry each other’s babies,” says Fatima.

After reaching the beach, they were taken by a small wooden boat northwards towards Mocímboa da Praia, Cabo Delgado’s second-largest city.

There they were intercepted by soldiers of the Rwanda Defence Forces, which maintains two military bases in the city and has deployed about 5,000 troops to support the Mozambican government since 2021.

The two women were then transferred back to where they grew up after relatives recognised their names on a list of people awaiting reunification with their families, and are now both living in a camp for displaced people with them in the town of Macomia.

“The bond we formed can never be broken. If I go two days without seeing Fatima, I visit her and she does the same with me,” says Ancha.

* Names have been changed to protect identities

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International | Politik|