closed mouth; closed destiny

DECEMBER 2024:

“Congratulations babe, you will do well on this job.”
“Thank you, my sister, thank you for talking sense into me and helping me up when I was drowning.”
“What are friends for? Let’s thank God that rubbish boy, Tobe, left your life when he did. The fool no let you see road for this your career.”
“Abi o, I love you, Ada. Thank you”
“You’re welcome, my darling Ire.”

****

JUNE 2024:

Ire worked at a place where she experienced a decline in career growth. The office was mostly less busy, and for a young lawyer who joined a Senior Advocate of Nigeria’s office in the hopes that she would reignite her litigation spark after leaving litigation for a year, this was not the kind of eased schedule she anticipated. She made plans to move to another office but this time she felt a restriction within, as she entertained thoughts of whether she was good enough.

Her thoughts were influenced by her ex-boyfriend, Tobe, who often talked down to her about her career choice. He usually compared her with his friends who are rich lawyers, emphasizing that the reason she hadn’t made it in law practice was because she was not good enough at it, and had advised her to take a nursing course so she would join him in the UK; according to him, there are opportunities to make good money overseas as a trained Nurse.

****

SEPTEMBER 2024:

Lying on her bed with the lights turned off and thinking about her life, Ire remembered how she battled with self-doubt when she was with Tobe, and thanked God for delivering her from the relationship. She also remembered the role her best friend, Ada, played in the deliverance. Ada was never supportive of Ire’s relationship with Tobe; she saw and condemned the faults that the so-called love had blocked Ire from seeing, especially the constant belittling.

The mindset shift came when the words of Ada, “a closed mouth is a closed destiny”, echoed in Ire’s thoughts. She had had a call with Ada the previous week, where Ada encouraged her with those words to apply for jobs. Ada was that friend who believed in Ire’s potential, and did not miss any opportunity to let Ire know. Ada, who did not have a tertiary education, often shared stories of successful lawyers on Instagram with Ire, accompanied with “you will go places, my friend, you will do well in this your law profession.”

Remembering all these filled Ire’s heart with so much warm hope that she broke free from self-doubt. Ire had also stared poverty face to face, her income was not commensurate with her bills, and she was not learning on the job as she ought to.

After ruminating on Ada’s words of encouragement and assurance, Ire decided to take the big leap. She told herself repeatedly that a closed mouth is a closed destiny, and this spurred her into talking to her schoolmates, colleagues, church members, and almost everyone she knew about her job hunting. She shared her updated CV and asked that they plug her in if there is an opening at their offices.

****

OCTOBER 2024:

Opportunities and referrals started coming in from schoolmates, colleagues, church members, and acquaintances. Ire applied, attended interviews, got some offers she didn’t like and many rejections, but did not give up. She kept at it and finally, one interview metamorphosed into an offer that clicked for her; that was how she landed her next job in December 2024.

Fear is nothing, step out.

The pipe of our bathroom tap at home shifted and became detachable, such that when you wanted to open the tap, it will detach and water will flow like a fountain. I don’t want to say it spoiled but this was what happened and it needed repair by a plumber.

I honestly thought that at least, a thousand or two or more thousands of naira will go into repairing that tap, and because my roommate and I didn’t have that amount at the time, we did not speak about repairing the tap.

I had in mind that we could manage it till the next week when I would have gotten some money, and order for the plumber to come and repair.

The next day, the tap’s condition grew worse and would detach from the main pipe by itself, without anyone touching it, and water would forcefully continue to splash everywhere as if it was a water fight.

Later that day, when we wanted to go out, I became worried that the tap might fall off, the thought of the splash drawing our neighbor’s attention to the fact that we were wasting water, kept disturbing me.

I remembered that someone mentioned the previous day that fixing the tap may not cost more than N200, with this in mind, I convinced my roommate to call the plumber. When the plumber was done with his repairs, I asked him the amount we were going to pay him, “because we didn’t negotiate the price before he started working.”

“Give me plenty money”, he replied with a faltering voice that suggested that I would beat the price with ease.
I knew at this point that there was no fixed price for his work, lol.
“We no get plenty money o”
“Give me five hundred”
“No, na two hundred we go give you”
“Oya, bring am”

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, that was how we paid two hundred naira (N200) for a problem whose solving process we were initially scared of attempting because we thought it would cost more than that.

Fear is nothing, step out.

Job hunting in Lagos – the ghetto

Job hunting in Lagos is the ghetto I am in, though not desperately. I sent applications, especially for non-law roles. Got invited for an interview at this place, I had difficulty in locating the address and friends who live around there could not locate it, so my Dad accompanied me there to ensure my safety.

After what seemed like ‘ultimate search’, we located the place. The supposed staff members I met at the venue looked unhappy. One looked like I was the cause of his problem and the other looked like I’m the one owing him salary.

I was directed to a hall filled with over 40 persons in the interview waiting room, it didn’t sit well with me so I asked how long the interview takes and one guy who looked like a bodyguard in training responded with “you came last and you’re in a hurry” as if it was a crime to want to know how long an interview will last.

“In the next one hour, they will call you”

“Ah, one hour is too much, is there a way I could be called faster, please”

“Are you coming from work?”

“Yes o”

“So you are in a hurry to get somewhere now?”

“Yes, please, to complete some task”

The guy tries to hide a smile, asks my name and says he will fast track it for me within thirty minutes.

After few minutes, I was called in for what I would later learn was the first phase of the interview. It was at this point I deciphered I was in the wrong place. And the word of wisdom came to me to beware of any work where the job description is vague.

The young man who interviewed me at this first stage, one David, acted like he was trying so hard to maintain a bossy look to earn my respect. He asked me the questions as if performing a rehearsed script. I slayed the questions with my confidence and was looking for his, but did not find. When I asked what the organization was into, he said they are a business consulting firm, and were also into HR, outsourcing, agriculture, pharmaceuticals, ICT, customer care, etc.

“Ahh, only one organisation whose office is this upstairs of a 3-bedroom apartment?” I did not say this one out loud.

He also said payment will be by commission, we will be trained and given monthly targets.

I asked what exactly they do in agriculture, ICT, and those other sectors and he told me to reserve the questions for the second stage of the interview with the Manager/Boss. I already knew I would not make it to the second stage, I did not want to identify with such confusion.

I thanked him and found a way to dismiss myself from the office.

It is very bad to look for something from a place of desperation. Unfortunately, that is where many people in Lagos are looking for jobs from, so a scammer of an employer can easily feed on their desperation to sell them snake oils.

The Child Who Cried Freedom.

Tobi’s 24th birthday did not come without depressing feelings; an insight of dreams, losses, and achievements. Thoughts of his losses triggered him more; no job to keep up with, soon-to-wind-up house rent, and all the dreams of an amazing life being just a mere one.

Interestingly, his last birthday was celebrated in the office where he worked; a surprised one arranged by his colleagues. Overwhelmed by the show of love, he felt like the solid two-story building with its fancy interiors should swallow him as he stood before them, smiling in all meekness as they sang him a birthday song. The conventional and never old “happy birthday to you”.

He did not wish for such fanfare this year, the one of standing with nervousness amid his colleagues and contemplating whether to smile or not. Anyways, he was laid off a few weeks ago as the firm was running low on cash and had to downsize, so it is needless to wish now.

*
His problem started when he told his father that he was leaving Ibadan to go and live in Lagos a year after his University education. It is the only place where he believed dreams come through, but his father outrightly refused to let him go. After a few heated arguments and misunderstandings, he left home leaving a written note on the center table in the sitting room for his parents to deal with, taking with him countable clothes and some basic needs. He spent some days at his friend’s house before renting a small apartment with the money he had.

*
His phone buzzed and he grew conscious of how far he had drifted away. He cursed under his breath as he turned to get the phone and found out his mother was the caller; then he inhaled deeply before sliding the green icon to answer the call. They were dining, his mum and dad, he rightly told from the clattering sound of plates in the background. He pictured how they would have been seated; his father sitting on one end, and his mum on the other end, with him on any of the dining chairs.

He strained his ear as his mother spoke over a distance telling his father that he was the one on call, but he didn’t hear him say anything afterward, he is the prodigal son after all.

His mother wished him a happy birthday when she was about to end the call and as usual asked when he would come back, “Someday Mummy”, he replied and abruptly diverted the discussion.

When he ended the call, he stretched himself until his joints cracked, he was still feeling dizzy and too tired to get out of bed. When he finally did, he staggered to the bathroom where he eased himself, washed up, came out, and did pushups; breathing furiously with his heart dropping steadily to the floor as his velocity gradually slowed down at each drop, he continued pushing himself up until his muscle ached. Then, he rose and made for the window side, stood there, and drew the mauve curtain apart to let more light into the room.

Outside the window was a sight to behold, as he listened to the midday sound; the growl of the danfo bus, unheard gossips among women selling down the street, and the ugly male voice of a local soap vendor coming from a retarded sound system in the middle of the road. The scenes brought memories of Lagos stress to his head which bothered him badly. He faced this stress when he newly arrived in Lagos, hunting for jobs and cheaper house for rent, He will face more of this stress as he’d need a paying job to survive and pay rent if he remained in this Lagos.

He sighed and turned his back against the wall from the window side, he was idly meticulous; taking note of unusual things he never knew was in his house; the AC socket on his wall, the rusty end of his fridge, a tint of stain on his soft white satin cushion and then the ticking sound of the clock.

It was noon already, he observed.

“What an uneventful day”, he muttered as he reached for his sparks down in his side pocket and lit the last blunt he rolled the previous night. He got it from a street vendor – a wimpy kid introduced to him by a friend of a friend. The kid fidgeted as he sold him the Parcel the night before, he had thought Tobi so out of place; after all, who comes to buy blunt in Corporate wear? He barely collected his money before disappearing into the thin air.

It is over two weeks now since Tobi took to smoking, he started on the night he visited his friend Saheed after he was laid off from work. He was barely settled when Saheed waved him over to the table. The room smelled like strawberry, thanks to the air freshener; above them was a ballroom light bringing different shades of light and on the table was an ashtray and rolled blunts, while “Pop Smoke” was hitting the speakers. He didn’t hesitate to join Saheed, though not without occasional chokes and coughs as they did their puff pass. They didn’t speak much that night. Perhaps, Saheed was feeling guilty watching him do what he, Tobi detested before. The next morning, he woke up with a bloated face and red-eye, and that was it.

*
He shut the window; he was not supposed to be smoking in the house, considering the “No Smoking” sign that lamely hung downstairs. It was not like he cared though; the rules are easy but how he broke them, he chose.

He lit the blunt and inhaled deeply as he brew a coiled smoke in the air, and watched it fade away. When it was gone, he stared blankly at the room; nothing seemed normal and that was all he wanted then.

He will surely go back to Tequila, he looked over the table to make sure it was still there. The bottle sat pretty on the table as he had left it the previous night. He went forward to the table and held the bottle to weigh its content. It had reduced so much. He then recalled why his head ached badly; he was still recovering from the previous day’s hangover. He gradually removed the bottle cap and poured some drink into the tumbler. At first, he sipped slowly, but later gulped down more and more and when he had the last drop, he faintly said to himself; “cheers to 24”.

He dropped the tumbler close to his bottle and rekindled his waned blunt, he knew that he would be numb in a jiffy; that had been his routine for days now. This was not the life he craved for but what was he to do? He died every day with his dream and now, if he fails to get a good job in a few weeks to at least sustain himself, he would be going back home.

For a second, he thought of speaking to his father over the phone, not in his present state but the urge was overwhelming. The last time he spoke with his father was two years ago. He imagined a mischievous but triumphant smile forming on the old man’s face upon hearing the news of his return. This is the man he adores, an image he had hoped to live up to; wealthy, principled, and hardworking, but chose not to understand him.

He clenched his fist and dialed his father’s number, he would prolly pick at the fourth ring as he has a habit of adjusting his eyeglass, tinting his eyes, and peeping through the phone to know who the caller is before picking. Surprisingly, the phone was picked up immediately and the voice of the receiver was that of his favorite sister Sade, he never knew she was home.

“Daddy has been rushed to the hospital, Tobi”, she said without waiting to hear the caller’s voice.

“You know you caused it”, she added, after a long silence.

He wanted to say something, he stuttered but words failed him. Sade’s word was like a sword so sharp and blunt.

“It is not too late Tobi, please come back home”, she beckoned.

“I will come back tomorrow”, he replied with a pang of conscience that won’t let him think.

“Please do”, She said as she hung up.

He was up all night into the next morning. He left for home as early as possible after he sobered up. When he got home, he saw his father playing table tennis with Sade. He was confused as to whether that was his father; the gait, posture, and laughter, like the whimsical one of a young lad, were all his father’s, so it had to be him. Sade’s eyes caught him standing at the gate, she let out a scream that attracted his mother from inside and they spontaneously went for him, dapping their cheeks on his chest. His father watched from afar trying so hard to suppress a smile. He was confused about what to make of the situation.

When Tobi came up to him, tears escaped their eyes and they hugged each other, as their tears flowed freely. It was until Tobi’s head rested on his father’s chest that he remembered that his birthday yesterday, was 1st April.

Sade and his mum played him April fool, he felt stupid recalling how improvised his discussion with Sade was. If only they knew that he had planned to come back home too, to seek for support, and at least to know if he could reach a compromise with his father, who thinks he wants the best for him, even as he, Tobi, thinks he knows the best for himself.

The “name”, “The Child Who Cried Freedom” is gotten from Jacob Banks E.P, “The Boy Who Cried Freedom”.

The Sane Mad Man.

This really happened before lockdown and whenever I think about it, it leaves me in stitches. In fact, I always feel ashamed to tell this story because I wouldn’t want people to create a picture of me looking frustrated.

It happened that I visited the Lagos State Library at Ikeja very often before the lockdown; mainly to source materials for my project. I formed the habit of easing myself few minutes before I leave the Library, so as not to feel pressed while walking back to PWD – a place from where I’d board a car going to my area.

On this particular day, I had visited the Restroom and just opposite its door, was a man laying on the floor, perhaps one of the workers around, I thought; as many offices were scattered around the arena, with many petty workers and people with other businesses hovering around. I thought he was someone who was tired and needed rest so I didn’t pay him much attention.

As I unlocked and entered through the toilet’s door, I saw him move like flash light towards me and with same speed, the door was locked. I was flaggerbasted and ran to the door but it was late, I was trapped inside as he padlocked the door from outside. I moved to the window as that was the only place from where I could communicate with someone outside. He came over there too with an eerie face that got me more worried; he was a mad man or at least, pretended to be.

“You go pay me before you leave,” he started in a mean baritone voice.
I made him repeat what he said and he aggressively did, There were many other toilets there but this particular one was used for free, I even got the key from the Utility Office myself so why was he asking me for money, I thought.

I took him to be one of those aggressive beggars that are always entitled. The stench oozing from the toilet was already overpowering my cologne and because I had a little cash with me, I decided to ask him the amount he wanted me to give him. “Just 1,000 naira”, he replied.

I ignored the annoying fact that he described 1,000 naira as ‘just’; and when I made to bargain, he insisted on his amount. Grudgingly, I gave him 1,000 naira and he extended his hand through the window to give me the key, leaving me to my own fate.

I waited for a passer by and gave her the key to help me unlock the door from outside. She gave me a surprising look. She must have wondered how I was inside with the key while the door was locked outside, but my face sent a message that I won’t be entertaining any question. She got the message, left with the key to help me and I mumbled an unsatisfying ‘thank you’.

When I got to the canteen after returning the key to the office, I saw the supposed mad man already eating, probably with my money. He smiled sheepishly when he saw me and stood holding his plate of food, ready to run. The act was hilarious and as I left, I could not help but wonder how many people have fallen victim of his shenanigan.

Surviving The Jungle; My Sars Experience.

It has been a long journey, home has never been this far, it’s 3 O’clock in the afternoon and we are yet to get to Benin bypass. We suffered a really bad gridlock on the outskirt of Lagos and another delay clearly awaits us in the front. I know for a fact that these men are waving for our bus to stop; shows that our journey will be delayed for at least 30 minutes more.

They were mostly on black trousers and T-shirts, a washed one that reminded me why I hated black wears. At the back of their jackets was boldly written ‘SARS’.

Who will believe these people work for the government and protection of the citizens? They looked so unkempt, with some of them on dreadlocks that would have looked good on them if well taken care of. Their guns carelessly hung loosely on their shoulders and I just hated the sight of it; a tool of peace in the wrong hands, I thought.

The journey hasn’t been so nice to me, I was having motion sickness and I hated the way every passenger was looking at me with a sense of responsibility. The driver offered bitter kola, the type my mum would call ‘ugolo’, an older man offered a tablet of Avomin with a sachet of crackers, and then the man behind me offered a bottle of water. It has also been drizzling, making me vulnerable to the weather. Now, I have these callous men added to my litany of problems.

Our driver sighed and parked by the roadside, many other cars also packed along there with their drivers looking sombre. I wondered how they cope with meeting these rascals on the road daily.

They ordered him to get off from the bus and he did; after which they requested for his health certificate or whatever they called it. That sounded new to me, and didn’t make sense either, just typical of random officers trying to extort an innocent citizen. The driver did not have it of course, no driver would. There was the drivers license, but whatever they were asking for again was strange.

As they were trying to sought things out with our driver, of course not amicably; they told all the young men in the bus to come down. I knew this was going to happen, and again wished it did not, not because I had anything to implicate me, but because I will be whatever they say I am; and before I could even get to explain what the law is, I must have had a good time at the cell, or been given a thorough beating, or even gotten killed, as one of them threatened that he can kill any of us and nothing will happen. The audacity! I can’t afford loosing my life at this young age, with only a rose in return planted on my grave, untended and left to wither during harmattan. Do they even plant flowers on graves again? Sighs.

We were only 3 young men in the bus, so we came down. They matched us under the rain to their rickety vehicle and before we entered, they collected our phones. They went through my WhatsApp and Telegram; at this time, I was shivering and a bit jumpy. I don’t know if it was the cold I felt or the gun I saw pointing downwards between his legs, which I feared might go off at anytime. I was oblivious of everything happening around me, but I had my eyes fixed on my phone to know when he will be crossing his boundary.

He continued with his search opening my Twitter and my mind skipped a bit, but I remembered that I deleted all my End SARS hash tags a night before the journey. They must have known that an online protest was going on on Twitter.

I earlier had the feeling that I would meet them and my feelings hardly turn out false. When he returned my phone, I tiredly walked back to the bus and as we waited for the two other occupants they took with me to return, I slept off even before the bus took off. When I woke up, I was still shivering, and I puked the second time. The taste of bile arrested my bud, and then the passengers were back with their sympathy.

This is the story of every random youth in the Southern part of Nigeria, more hideous than this. It sadly lingers on a daily basis with no one knowing whose death is just a trigger away.

Just Listen

It was a Monday morning, and just like most Mondays, it was obvious that it would be a stressful one. I found myself in one of the offices at a Lagos State High Court; the Bailiff’s office.

There, I witnessed a peaceful inquiry which I wasn’t even paying attention to, flip into a misunderstanding with this particular man raising his voice and another woman, a petite looking lawyer raising hers in return to ask why he was raising his voice, claiming that she came to the office and talked to him in low tones.

The man, a Sheriff I suppose, explained himself in a loud mix of English and Yoruba, repeatedly saying “I will raise my voice! Why will you even say that first? You don’t want to listen to what I’m saying!”

The drama drew the attention of other workers in the office as they tried to calm the duo down. I made gestures to the supposed Sheriff to calm his nerves, chipping in some “o ti to, é ma binu Sir, é ni súùru, (Yoruba words for ‘ it’s okay, don’t get upset Sir, try and be calm ‘)”

He didn’t act as if he heard me; I blame my voice. Instead, he started explaining to me in Yoruba. Who even told this man that I understand his Yoruba? Maybe it’s the small “o ti to” I had managed to say earlier. Lol

Thankfully, interventions finally sorted things between him and the lawyer; and I reminded him of the office he was to lead me to, before the petite lawyer had come to interrupt our journey.

As we went on our way, I planned to tease him with something like “ah, oga you too dey vex oh, you go try dey calm down small you hear?” but never saw the chance to.

How could I have seen the chance when this man kept pouring his side of the story of what I thought had been settled, on me like libation on our way? English and Yoruba, he gave me with more gesticulations soaked in Yoruba.

As I saw that the plenty explanation gave him relief, I aided by leading him on with some “hmm”, “oh oh”, “ohhh”, “wow”, “that’s bad”, “why now”, “okay okay”, all of which were accompanied with corresponding nods. Lol

This continued till we got to our destination as I finalized the discussion with a little Yoruba and more English at some point. Lol

In the flash of light, this man turned so jovial that I was wondering if it was same man that was raging few minutes ago at the office we just left; and that’s how we became friends. He did everything I was supposed to do at the office for me, as if he had known me before that day.

I figured that just listening to this man rant and pour out his annoyance, gave him the needed relief and restored his happiness. So, never underestimate the impact of a listening ear.

Canadian Based Nigerian Artiste, TOVA, Releases Debut Single, Fleeting.

Ace Lagos born musician, TOVA, released his debut single, Fleeting, to much acclaim on Friday, May 15.

The lighthearted tune draws from a number of musical influences including R&B, jazz, soul and Latin music.

The song, which was produced by PCB, features vocals from Tami and was recorded at Regina-based music studio, Blue Door Recording.

Lyrically, the tune follows an ephemeral lover making his intentions known.

When asked about the inspiration for his musical direction, TOVA had this to say:

“For me it is important to create music that I will be proud of many years from time. This is the main reason why I have taken my time to release music. Now that I am ready, I cannot wait to share my art with the world”.

Nevertheless, “Fleeting” by TOVA is available on all streaming platforms, and below is a link to stream on YouTube.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GU25eTwok3U&feature=youtu.be

BUT WHAT ABOUT THE BOY CHILD?

In commemoration of the International Day of the Boy Child – 16th May:

I want to celebrate every boy that was never a child. From birth you were constantly reminded that you should man up and BE a man.

To every time you were shunned from talking about your fears, weakness, development, changes, feelings etc. Being left alone under the covering of patriarchy, I celebrate you.

To every time you were disgraced and shamed because a girl topped the game, I celebrate you.

To every time that NGOs or motivational Speakers come to your school and separated the girls to speak to them alone. I understand that feeling. You’re important too.

To every boy who has watched the females excused from punishment but got a lion share because they had penis, I celebrate you.

To every boy child whose abuse story was never believed because he is a boy, I believe you, I celebrate you.

Every child in this world deserves the right to live, thrive and succeed in life. Every child also desires emotional support, love and succor. No child is better or lesser than the other. We should not channel all our attention on one and leave the other.

We must acknowledge the fact that boys are suffering too. They have emotional needs to be met, they have psychological needs and they also want to enjoy the innocence, attention and guidance that accompany childhood/teenage development.

The challenges of every child may be different but the challenges exist.

If we continue screaming about girls’ empowerment while neglecting the male folks, we may one day plead for balance.

In a bid to protect the female folks, we should equally equip the boy child and incorporate them in the advocacy.

Let me reiterate this, the future is not female,the future is human. Every child is a child!

To every boy child who has asked “but what about me?” I want to announce to you that your dream is valid, your emotions should be expressed, your fear is normal, your vision is needed.

You are a boy. You are human. You are enough!

International Day of the Boy Child

Godly Seeds Int’l

Every child is a child

CHILD ABUSE:The Lockdown Effect on Children.

It is no more news that the world is ravaged by the corona virus pandemic. Due to this, the world government has taken measures to ensure that there is slow spread of the virus pending when the total cure will be discovered.

The measures include but not limited to personal hygiene, social distancing, travel and ban on religious gathering. Some major cities and countries are on total or partial lockdown.

This notwithstanding, the world is at risk of facing COVID-19 pandemic related effect. One of the resultant effect of the lockdown is that there is heightened risk of exploitation, violence and abuse of all kinds on the children.

What then is child abuse?
Child abuse is the physical, sexual, and psychological maltreatment or neglect of a child or children especially by a parent, guardian or caregiver. Child abuse may include any act or failure to act by a parent or a caregiver that results in actual or potential harm to a child and can occur in a child’s home, schools, organisations or communities the child interacts with (Wikipedia, Child maltreatment Journal).

Simply put, child abuse is an act or omission done by anyone to a child which has a negative resultant effect on the child.

Ninety- nine percent of the world’s children live with some form of pandemic-related movement restrictions; sixty percent live in countries with full or partial lockdown (UNICEF Executive director, Henrietta Fore). This exposes the fact that the children are at the receiving end of abuse of all forms.

These abuse come in different forms and they include but not limited to:

Physical Abuse: Any use of physical force against a child that doesn’t happen by accident and may or may not cause injury. This includes hitting, burning, strangling, beating etc.
Emotional Abuse: This is a pattern of denying a child love, approval and security or speaking to a child harshly and having no regards to his self esteem. Constant name calling or body shaming, criticising, comparing, bullying are all acts towards an emotional breakdown of a child.
Sexual Abuse: This is any act of sexual involvement or contact between a child and an adult which is detrimental to the child’s emotional, pyschological and physical wellbeing. This ranges from raping, fingering, cajoling, asking a child to play with your genitals, exposing a child to pornography, caressing etc, are all ways this abuse can be meted out.
Child Labour: This is simply where a child is subjected to all manner of labour ranging from house chores, hawking, trading and any kind of job that is not within his strength and above his or her capacity as a child.

In this lockdown season, this abuse may play out in various forms. As parents are angry, frustrated, confused and helpless resulting from the lockdown. There is every tendency that the aggression will be transferred on someone and more often than not, the children are the victims of this negative emotions thus, physically abusing the children.

Needless to say that this period, people are emotionally starved and these little humans are always at the receiving end of a deflated mood of a parent or caregiver.

There’s every tendency that children are indoors with pedophiles or abusers and are susceptible to any form of sexual abuse. The associated problem is there may be no one to report to or talk to as everyone is fixed at looking at the world’s problem.

Unfortunately and quite regrettably,some of the perpetrators of this abuse are biological parents,school parents, religious leaders,co-tenants,relatives and trusted friends of the family.

The street and homeless children are the most vulnerable of all forms of abuse. While our major concerns this period is to stay safe and keep ourselves healthy, we must also remember the millions of children who are at the risk of becoming neglected or forgotten victims of this pandemic.

How can this menace be curbed?
Independent UN Human Rights experts have called on states to boost child protection measures to help safe guard the welfare of millions of children who may be more exposed to violence, sale, trafficking, sexual abuse and exploitation during the ongoing COVID-19 Pandemic.(UN,7th April 2020)

Parents and caregivers should be on the lookout for their children. This is a time to bond with them and become friends with them. Get them to open up to you. You can introduce a daily journal method where they get to write down how their day went, both the negative and the positive. Teach them safety techniques and signs to communicate their fears and insecurities.

Don’t trust anyone at the expense of your child’s security, feelings, fears. If a child suddenly withdraws from someone even if it’s a family member, please probe into the child to know what has gone wrong.

Address every anxiety and be mindful of every unusual mood swings. Most importantly, monitor the online activity of your children this period.

If you have any teenager, take out time to build their esteem, confidence and decisions. Teach them to say no and never feel bad about it. Let them know that their opinion is welcomed. This will not only help them open up to you, it will help them to stay firm and bold.

Teach them sex education, let them know that there are parts of their body that are private while some are public. Let them know that their bodies are personal, precious and as such should be treated with dignity in all circumstances.

All hands must be on deck to ensure that the children are maximally protected even as the lockdown continues. Every adult should please bear responsibility for every child regardless of whether the child is related or not.

Social workers and child protection agencies should equally be up and doing to ensure that channels of complaints are laid down and that prompt action is taken against the perpetrators and abuser

This COVID-19 period will pass, but the scar gotten from the wound of abuse may take a long time to clear.

Even the children deserve to stay safe.

The author of this work can be reached via nwenyimfelly@gmail.com and +2348145919197