My Piece of Peace!

Peace, to me, Is the Ability to Return Alive

I used to think peace was a ceasefire. A signed agreement. A headline announcing the end of war.

Then I was kidnapped in Bamenda, a part of the war-torn North West Region of Cameroon.

That moment changed everything I thought I knew about peace.

This incident happened in a place where fear has become almost ordinary. A place where the sound of gunfire blends into daily life, and where women calculate risk with every step they make out of their doors. I was taken, held, and subjected to terror that does not need to be described in detail to be understood. In those agonizing hours, peace was no longer an abstract idea. It became intensely personal.

Peace became my every breath.

Peace became the hope of seeing daylight again.

Peace became the silent prayer to return home alive.

Peace became me meeting my children one more time.

When I was eventually released from the hands of my abductors, I was shaken but alive. It was then that I realized something that has stayed with me ever since. Peace is not only the absence of war. Peace is the presence of safety, dignity, and the freedom to move without fear.

On a daily basis, peace now looks small and very practical. It is being able to sleep through the night without waking up with a start. It is making a journey and hoping to arrive safely. It is also the ability to hear my children laugh without worrying that laughter might just be interrupted by violence the next minute. I started rethinking peace in my own mind and believed that peace is emotional regulation in a body that has known terror, and it is the slow work of convincing your nervous system that you are safe again.

In my community, peace is very fragile. I see it in struggling women who continue to trade in markets despite high levels of insecurity. I also see it in mothers who send children to school not knowing if they will return by evening. I look around and see it in displaced families rebuilding life with almost nothing. The challenge of peace here is not theoretical. It is lived daily, in decisions made under pressure and in silent resilience that is always never applauded.

It is no longer news that for women and girls, conflict multiplies vulnerability. When there is insecurity the risk of sexual violence, abduction, early marriage, and exploitation increases. Yet women are also the ones holding families together, negotiating personal, family and public safety, caring for the wounded, the sick and creating informal avenues of protection. They lead quietly but most often invisibly.

What surprised me most after my kidnapping was not only the trauma, but the clarity it brought to my already fragile soul. It was a turning point. I understood that peace work cannot ignore everyday violence. It cannot focus only on political settlements [ that mostly never comes] while women remain unsafe on roads, in homes, and in communities. Peace must reach the body before it reaches policy.

If I could speak directly to world leaders, I would ask them to listen differently. Listen not only to statistics, but to deep, raw and honest stories. Understand that peace is not sustainable when women live in fear. Invest in community-based protection, survivor centered support, trauma healing, and women led initiatives that address violence where it happens. Peace is attainable when women are safe enough to speak, move, and lead change.

Today, my work is shaped by that experience. I believe strongly that storytelling is part of peacebuilding. When women tell the truth about what conflict does to their bodies, their minds, and their families, the conversation experiences a shift. Silence protects violence. Voice challenges it.

Peace, for me, is no longer a distant goal. It is the ability to return alive. It is the right to exist without terror. It is the daily work of healing, resisting, and imagining a future where no woman has to define peace through survival.

This is my piece for peace!