PEDOPHILIA: THE CHILDREN WE FAILED

Mercy Philip will never forget January 12, 2017.One mother.One daughter.One neighbour.One day that split childhood in two. And after that day—rocks, laughter, whispers,shame thrown at the childas if telling the truthwas the crime. Na pikin be that o! A girl sent away to familyso she could go to school—in Benue,she never came home. Tell me,what kind of worldlooks at a childand sees a target? Wetin you dey do with pikin? I counted them. Not numbers. Children.A thirteen-year-old in Lagos.A six-month-old babywho could not even say help. A six-year-oldwaiting after school. A five-year-old.A nine-year-old.A ten-year-old.An eleven-year-old.A twelve-year-old.A fourteen-year-old.A seventeen-year-old. Different birthdays. Different houses. Different states. Same stolen childhood.From Lagos to Bauchi.From Anambra to Abuja.From Rivers to Ogun.From Benue to Delta. Different streets. Different uniforms. Different family names. But the same question: Who taught you that a child is yours to hurt?Some children were beatenuntil their bodies could barely carry them. Some were burned. Some were tied up. Some were locked away. Some were beaten for schoolwork. Some were beaten for food. Some were beaten over money. Some were beatenbecause an adult woke up angryand decided that a child's bodywas the safest placeto pour that anger. You no get shame? An eleven-year-old boywas reportedly tied with ropeand beaten with a stick and cable. A ten-year-old boywas reportedly beaten so badlyhe could barely sit,his hands swollen from the violence. A ten-year-old boy in Oyowas reportedly beatenuntil his arms were brokenand then burned. A two-year-old girl in Anambrawas reportedly flogged at schooluntil she suffered serious injuries. An eight-year-old boywas beaten at schooland fell into a coma,He did not wake up. A thirteen-year-old boywas reportedly struck repeatedlyon the head with a bucket handle.He did not survive. And still—some people say, “Na discipline.” No. Call it what it is. Violence. Call it what it is. Abuse. Call it what it is. A child being failed by the adultswho were supposed to protect them. And then there are the childrenwhose names never reached a newspaper. The child behind the locked door. The child who learnedto stop crying loudly. The child who flincheswhen an adult raises a hand. The child who goes to schoolpretending everything is fine. The child who thinkspain is normalbecause pain is all they know. Those children count too. I counted them— not because numbers are enough, but because silence is not. One report. Another report. Another child. Another state. Another family saying, “Please help my child.” And how many never got the chance to say it? How many were told: Don't tell anybody. Don't disgrace the family. Don't make trouble. Respect your elders. Respect? Respect is not obedience to abuse. Family is not permission. Teacher is not permission. Pastor is not permission. Parent is not permission. Relative is not permission. Poverty is not permission. Culture is not permission. Nothing gives an adult the right to destroy a child's body. And to the people who see a bruised childand look away— why? To the people who hear cryingthrough the next doorand say, “It is not my business”— why? To the people who knowand choose silencebecause the perpetrator is family— why? To every institutionthat protects reputationbefore it protects a child— SHAME. Because children are not family secrets. Children are not sacrificesfor somebody else's reputation. Children are not punching bags. Children are not servants. Children are not property. Children are not proofthat an adult has power. Children are children. Before the money. Before the surname. Before the religion. Before the tribe. Before the school uniform. Before the whole damn argumentabout who is right— there is a child. And the child should have been safe. So hear me clearly: A child is under eighteen. A child is learning. A child is growing. A child is trusting you. A child should be allowedto be afraid of exams,not afraid of home. A child should crybecause they fell down,not because someone put them there. A child should remembertheir childhood—not survive it. Na pikin be that o! So when you see them— protect them. When they speak—believe them. When they are hurt—help them. When they say no—listen. When you know—do something. Because another childshould not have to diebefore we decidethat their life mattered. Another childshould not have to bleedbefore we call it abuse. Another childshould not have to disappearbefore we ask where they went. Another childshould not have to become an adultjust to tell usthat childhood was taken from them. Your mate no dey your age? Then act like it. Leave children alone. Leave their bodies alone. Leave their innocence alone. Leave their childhood alone. And if you cannot protect a child—at least do not become the reasonthey need protection. LEAVE CHILDREN ALONE.

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