By Agbeze Ireke Kalu Onuma,AI-KO
To every Nigerian child, wherever you are: Today, I write with hands trembling from regret but steady with hope. My heart is heavy with sorrow for the laughter silenced by hunger, the curiosity crushed by neglect, and the innocence traded for survival. Childhood should be a sanctuary, but too many of you have known only storms. I am sorry – for the broken promises, the stolen play, and the world that demanded you grow up too soon. You deserved better.
2. Jean-Jacques Rousseau called childhood “the sleep of reason,” a time to wander freely in imagination’s meadow. But we woke you too early – to hawking goods in traffic, to burying friends lost to violence, to parenting siblings when you needed parenting yourselves. Forgive us. We forgot that a society that starves its children’s souls starves its own future.
A Journey Through Time
3. Let’s journey back. Before colonizers came with clocks and quotas, our ancestors measured time by the growth of children. In our villages, childhood was a tapestry of moonlight tales and play. Elders shielded young ones, knowing their minds were sacred gardens. The ogbanje child was celebrated for resilience; in Yoruba tales, the tortoise outwitted leopards not by force, but by wit. Childhood was a time to become.
4. Then, colonialism planted thorns in that garden. It taught us to measure worth by productivity, not wonder. Children became numbers – future laborers, taxpayers, soldiers. Schools became factories stamping out obedience, not creativity. We forgot that children are not mini-adults – they are seeds, not timber. A Nigerian proverb says, “It takes a whole village to raise a child.” But we sold the village for scraps, leaving you to raise yourselves.
5. Post-independence, we inherited a broken compass. We built skyscrapers but let schools crumble. We drilled oil but let dreams dry up. Schools became crumbling buildings; playgrounds turned to battlefields. Psychologist Urie Bronfenbrenner warned: “A child needs at least one adult who is irrationally crazy about them.” Yet, we rationed our love, our time, our care.
The Myth: “There Are No Children Here”
6. In Lagos’ Ajegunle slums, in IDP camps, and trafficked routes, childhood is a myth. You carry water, not dolls; you fear bullets, not monsters under beds. Eight-year-olds navigate open sewers, memorizing survival, not multiplication tables. In Borno, girls who should be writing essays write goodbye letters, fearing Boko Haram’s knock. Sociologist Alice Apley called this “stolen childhood” – when war, poverty, or greed force kids to bear adult burdens.
7. Psychologists warn: trauma rewires brains. Neuroscience reveals: chronic stress shrinks the hippocampus, the brain’s memory center. When a 10-year-old hawks pure water till midnight, their neurons fire in survival mode, not curiosity. We mortgaged your potential for petty profit. Sociologist Loïs Mailou Jones wrote, “A society that fails its children digs its own grave.” We’ve been digging with both hands.
8. But here’s the truth: you are not “no children.” You are inventors, artists, survivors. In Kano, 12-year-old Aisha builds robots from trash. In Makoko, kids float schools on bamboo. In Port Harcourt, 14-year-old Chidi stages plays about climate change. In Enugu, teens code apps amid curfews. You are the flame no storm can extinguish. You plant flowers in war zones.
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CHILDREN’S DAY MESSAGE
Agbeze Ireke Kalu Onuma, AI-KO
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7 min read·
Just now
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What I Should Have Said to My Daughter Were She Still a Child
By Agbeze Ireke Kalu Onuma,AI-KO
To every Nigerian child, wherever you are: Today, I write with hands trembling from regret but steady with hope. My heart is heavy with sorrow for the laughter silenced by hunger, the curiosity crushed by neglect, and the innocence traded for survival. Childhood should be a sanctuary, but too many of you have known only storms. I am sorry – for the broken promises, the stolen play, and the world that demanded you grow up too soon. You deserved better.
2. Jean-Jacques Rousseau called childhood “the sleep of reason,” a time to wander freely in imagination’s meadow. But we woke you too early – to hawking goods in traffic, to burying friends lost to violence, to parenting siblings when you needed parenting yourselves. Forgive us. We forgot that a society that starves its children’s souls starves its own future.
A Journey Through Time
3. Let’s journey back. Before colonizers came with clocks and quotas, our ancestors measured time by the growth of children. In our villages, childhood was a tapestry of moonlight tales and play. Elders shielded young ones, knowing their minds were sacred gardens. The ogbanje child was celebrated for resilience; in Yoruba tales, the tortoise outwitted leopards not by force, but by wit. Childhood was a time to become.
4. Then, colonialism planted thorns in that garden. It taught us to measure worth by productivity, not wonder. Children became numbers – future laborers, taxpayers, soldiers. Schools became factories stamping out obedience, not creativity. We forgot that children are not mini-adults – they are seeds, not timber. A Nigerian proverb says, “It takes a whole village to raise a child.” But we sold the village for scraps, leaving you to raise yourselves.
5. Post-independence, we inherited a broken compass. We built skyscrapers but let schools crumble. We drilled oil but let dreams dry up. Schools became crumbling buildings; playgrounds turned to battlefields. Psychologist Urie Bronfenbrenner warned: “A child needs at least one adult who is irrationally crazy about them.” Yet, we rationed our love, our time, our care.
The Myth: “There Are No Children Here”
6. In Lagos’ Ajegunle slums, in IDP camps, and trafficked routes, childhood is a myth. You carry water, not dolls; you fear bullets, not monsters under beds. Eight-year-olds navigate open sewers, memorizing survival, not multiplication tables. In Borno, girls who should be writing essays write goodbye letters, fearing Boko Haram’s knock. Sociologist Alice Apley called this “stolen childhood” – when war, poverty, or greed force kids to bear adult burdens.
7. Psychologists warn: trauma rewires brains. Neuroscience reveals: chronic stress shrinks the hippocampus, the brain’s memory center. When a 10-year-old hawks pure water till midnight, their neurons fire in survival mode, not curiosity. We mortgaged your potential for petty profit. Sociologist Loïs Mailou Jones wrote, “A society that fails its children digs its own grave.” We’ve been digging with both hands.
8. But here’s the truth: you are not “no children.” You are inventors, artists, survivors. In Kano, 12-year-old Aisha builds robots from trash. In Makoko, kids float schools on bamboo. In Port Harcourt, 14-year-old Chidi stages plays about climate change. In Enugu, teens code apps amid curfews. You are the flame no storm can extinguish. You plant flowers in war zones.
Voices of Wisdom
9. My daughter, had I spoken sooner, I’d have said: “Your imagination is a revolution. Draw your future in colors we’ve never seen.” Malala Yousafzai reminds us: “One child, one teacher, one book can change the world.” Yet, we gave you underpaid teachers and outdated books. Still, you turned WhatsApp groups into classrooms, TikTok into a megaphone. Teach us your resilience.
10. Nelson Mandela called education “the great engine of personal development.” Let’s reimagine schools: gardens where curiosity is watered, where girls aren’t pulled out to marry, where boys learn to cook and cry. Let’s replace “sit still” with “dream loud.”
11. Chinua Achebe whispered: “A man who can’t tell where the rain began to beat him won’t know where he dried his body.” Our rain began with greed. Politicians stole textbooks; fathers traded daughters for dowries; mothers silenced sons’ tears with “Be a man!” But healing starts when we name the wound. Let’s trace the rain…
Moments We Failed You
12. When girls became brides before finishing primary school.
13. When boys became “area boys” because poverty left no textbooks, only streets.
14. When we normalized children begging at mosques and churches instead of dancing in them.
15. When bandits kidnapped 200 girls in Chibok and the world moved on, you didn’t. You marched, hashtagged #BringBackOurGirls, and turned agony into action.
16. When floods swallowed your homes in Bayelsa, you swam. When COVID closed schools, you learned under mango trees.
17. Your resilience is a masterclass. But resilience shouldn’t be demanded of children – it should be required of adults.
CHILDREN’S DAY MESSAGE
Agbeze Ireke Kalu Onuma, AI-KO
Follow
7 min read·
1 hour ago
Listen
Share
What I Should Have Said to My Daughter Were She Still a Child
By Agbeze Ireke Kalu Onuma,AI-KO
To every Nigerian child, wherever you are: Today, I write with hands trembling from regret but steady with hope. My heart is heavy with sorrow for the laughter silenced by hunger, the curiosity crushed by neglect, and the innocence traded for survival. Childhood should be a sanctuary, but too many of you have known only storms. I am sorry – for the broken promises, the stolen play, and the world that demanded you grow up too soon. You deserved better.
2. Jean-Jacques Rousseau called childhood “the sleep of reason,” a time to wander freely in imagination’s meadow. But we woke you too early – to hawking goods in traffic, to burying friends lost to violence, to parenting siblings when you needed parenting yourselves. Forgive us. We forgot that a society that starves its children’s souls starves its own future.
A Journey Through Time
3. Let’s journey back. Before colonizers came with clocks and quotas, our ancestors measured time by the growth of children. In our villages, childhood was a tapestry of moonlight tales and play. Elders shielded young ones, knowing their minds were sacred gardens. The ogbanje child was celebrated for resilience; in Yoruba tales, the tortoise outwitted leopards not by force, but by wit. Childhood was a time to become.
4. Then, colonialism planted thorns in that garden. It taught us to measure worth by productivity, not wonder. Children became numbers – future laborers, taxpayers, soldiers. Schools became factories stamping out obedience, not creativity. We forgot that children are not mini-adults – they are seeds, not timber. A Nigerian proverb says, “It takes a whole village to raise a child.” But we sold the village for scraps, leaving you to raise yourselves.
5. Post-independence, we inherited a broken compass. We built skyscrapers but let schools crumble. We drilled oil but let dreams dry up. Schools became crumbling buildings; playgrounds turned to battlefields. Psychologist Urie Bronfenbrenner warned: “A child needs at least one adult who is irrationally crazy about them.” Yet, we rationed our love, our time, our care.
The Myth: “There Are No Children Here”
6. In Lagos’ Ajegunle slums, in IDP camps, and trafficked routes, childhood is a myth. You carry water, not dolls; you fear bullets, not monsters under beds. Eight-year-olds navigate open sewers, memorizing survival, not multiplication tables. In Borno, girls who should be writing essays write goodbye letters, fearing Boko Haram’s knock. Sociologist Alice Apley called this “stolen childhood” – when war, poverty, or greed force kids to bear adult burdens.
7. Psychologists warn: trauma rewires brains. Neuroscience reveals: chronic stress shrinks the hippocampus, the brain’s memory center. When a 10-year-old hawks pure water till midnight, their neurons fire in survival mode, not curiosity. We mortgaged your potential for petty profit. Sociologist Loïs Mailou Jones wrote, “A society that fails its children digs its own grave.” We’ve been digging with both hands.
8. But here’s the truth: you are not “no children.” You are inventors, artists, survivors. In Kano, 12-year-old Aisha builds robots from trash. In Makoko, kids float schools on bamboo. In Port Harcourt, 14-year-old Chidi stages plays about climate change. In Enugu, teens code apps amid curfews. You are the flame no storm can extinguish. You plant flowers in war zones.
Voices of Wisdom
9. My daughter, had I spoken sooner, I’d have said: “Your imagination is a revolution. Draw your future in colors we’ve never seen.” Malala Yousafzai reminds us: “One child, one teacher, one book can change the world.” Yet, we gave you underpaid teachers and outdated books. Still, you turned WhatsApp groups into classrooms, TikTok into a megaphone. Teach us your resilience.
10. Nelson Mandela called education “the great engine of personal development.” Let’s reimagine schools: gardens where curiosity is watered, where girls aren’t pulled out to marry, where boys learn to cook and cry. Let’s replace “sit still” with “dream loud.”
11. Chinua Achebe whispered: “A man who can’t tell where the rain began to beat him won’t know where he dried his body.” Our rain began with greed. Politicians stole textbooks; fathers traded daughters for dowries; mothers silenced sons’ tears with “Be a man!” But healing starts when we name the wound. Let’s trace the rain…
Moments We Failed You
12. When girls became brides before finishing primary school.
13. When boys became “area boys” because poverty left no textbooks, only streets.
14. When we normalized children begging at mosques and churches instead of dancing in them.
15. When bandits kidnapped 200 girls in Chibok and the world moved on, you didn’t. You marched, hashtagged #BringBackOurGirls, and turned agony into action.
16. When floods swallowed your homes in Bayelsa, you swam. When COVID closed schools, you learned under mango trees.
17. Your resilience is a masterclass. But resilience shouldn’t be demanded of children – it should be required of adults.
Gems of Hope
18. But listen: your resilience is ancestral. You’re the children of Nok terracottas, Benin bronzes, Igbo ụkwụ Artifacts – crafters of beauty from dust. In Makoko’s floating slum, children paddle to school on canoes, their classrooms built on recycled plastic. They’re learning engineering from fishermen – proof that innovation blooms in mud.
19. In Abuja, teens code apps to track police brutality. In Ekiti, girls reforest eroded land. You’re not waiting for permission – you’re rewriting the rules.
20. Kofi Annan said, “Knowledge is power. Information is liberating.” Let’s build libraries in every village, Wi-Fi in every palm. The late South African singer Miriam Makeba sang, “There’s a new world somewhere… I’ll take you there.” Let’s build that world – with free meals in schools, with mental health clinics, with playgrounds, not checkpoints.
What We Owe You
21. Safe spaces to ask, “Why?” without fear.
22. Leaders who listen to your TikTok poems as seriously as oil contracts.
23. A Nigeria where “childhood” isn’t a luxury but a birthright.
Advice from the World
24. From Norway: Let play be your curriculum. Climb trees; it teaches physics.
25. From Bhutan: Measure progress by your giggles, not GDP.
26. From Kenya’s Wangari Maathai: “Until you dig a hole, plant a tree, and nurture it, you haven’t done a thing.” Start planting.
To the Elders
27. We must repent. Not with empty speeches, but with deeds. Fix the cracks in the system we built. Tax the rich to fund schools. Jail predators, not journalists.
28. Fund education like it’s oxygen – because it is. Listen to children’s parliaments – their ideas are not “cute”; they’re blueprints.
29. Protect every girl’s right to her body, every boy’s right to cry.
To the Child in Every Adult
30. Remember when you believed you could fly? When a cardboard box was a spaceship? That child still lives in you. Protect their wonder – and protect today’s children’s right to dream.
31. A Yoruba elder prays: “May we not see the corpse of a child.” Let this be our oath: No more tiny coffins. No more daughters sold. No more silenced potential.
To You, the Child
32. Forgive us. But don’t wait for us.
33. Write your own laws. Sing your own anthem.
34. Nobel laureate Wole Soyinka said, “The child is father to the man.” So father us anew.
Creating Tomorrow
35. Demand classrooms, not pity.
36. Use your voice: tweet, paint, scream. The world hears you now.
37. Remember the Igbo proverb: “A frog does not jump in the daytime for nothing.” Your anger is justified – leap.
There Are STILL Children Here
38. We see you. The girl coding in Owerri, the boy reciting Shakespeare in Sokoto. You exist.
39. Psychology teaches: healing begins when trauma is named. Let’s name ours.
40. Philosophy asks: “What does it mean to flourish?” You’ll redefine it.
A Letter to My Younger Self
41. Dear little boy, girl selling oranges on Third Mainland Bridge:
42. Your mind is a galaxy. One day, you’ll orbit universities, not highways.
43. Keep that fire. Burn down every ceiling.
Final Wishes
44. May your dreams be stubborn weeds – growing through concrete.
45. May you dance shaku shaku at midnight, unafraid of tomorrow.
46. May you never kneel before greed. Stand tall; you’re the oldest souls.
Final Invitation
47. To every reader: Plant a seed – literal or symbolic. Fund a scholarship. Mentor a child. Fight for policies that put kids first. Childhood is humanity’s shared language – speak it boldly.
Happy Children’s Day
48. Today, we vow: no more stolen childhoods. We’ll fight for your lazy Sundays, untamed laughter, and right to be naive. You’re not just Nigeria’s future – you’re her present.
49. To every child forced to parent themselves: You’re loved. Deeply. To every elder reading this: Let’s gift them a world where “Children’s Day” isn’t an apology but a celebration.
50. As the Yoruba say, “Àṣẹ lára ẹni.” The power is in you. Go on – rewrite the story. We’ll follow.
51. Happy Children’s Day. Now, let’s play.
52. “The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
53. “The child’s hand holds the universe’s map.” – Adapted from Ben Okri
54. Now, let’s redraw the map – together.
©️AI-KO
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