The Ill-Fated Children

“No child can go through life’s journey smoothly without proper direction from those who are responsible for them”. 

By David Oletu

Many people often say the problem of insecurity is largely caused by the government.

But have you checked the smallest unit that makes up a whole nation? The family?

Perhaps we should first keep a close eye on that before we throw stones at our leaders when we begin to hear of the alarming rate of kidnapping, ritual killings, prostitution, human trafficking, baby factories, etc.

We should also ask ourselves the question, “Who are those responsible for those involved in those crimes?”

We are in a society where some men can’t keep their ‘third legs’ committed to reproducing from one woman.

For them to satisfy their selfish sexual desire, they carelessly resort to becoming the father of Abraham of our nation,

with so many sons and daughters around the globe whom they are not ready to cater for but abandon in the hands of their poor single mothers. 

We are in a society where some young girls now see their bodies as the ‘Market Price’ that potential buyers—the men—patronize for either a short time or a full-time rest.

They become marketable products.

Their prices increase based on their level of education or beauty.

They glamorize prostitution in a bid to survive.

Some of them considerably remove their wombs to avoid giving birth to children they are not ready to cater for,

while others—those who are newbies in the game—leave their wombs and carelessly let the sperm deposited in their vagina grow into a fetus,

and from a fetus to babies whose fate lies with a mother whose path is not clear. 

The Ill-Fated Children

Have we also thought of that place somewhere in a society where women are lured or cajoled into becoming baby factories?

Every nine months, in that factory full of tender cries of innocents, babies are sold to potential buyers who Mould them to their preference—good or bad.

The rich kids are not also shielded from these vices, as we are in a society where some rich parents only think that the well-being of their children revolves around money,

and are not aware of how the psychology of human nature has a way of influencing the thought pattern and action of every human.

Whether we are rich or poor, our minds are vulnerable to absorbing and carrying out both good and bad thoughts if proper care is not taken. 

My name is Kawal, and I am a 40-year-old prisoner.

I have been in prison for over 20 years now, and I find it fulfilling.

At least, I now have a roof over my head, I have friends I can play with and relate freely to, and I also have free food.

Even though it may not be enough, I am content. Better than being a lonely street wanderer and beggar.

I am Better than being a poor boy who sleeps under the bridge every night in the harsh cold weather.

Also, Better than being a naked boy who sneaks into people’s compounds at night to steal their hanging clothes.

The Ill-Fated Children

“I… am… So… sorry (coughs)

For. Bringing. You. Into. This. World. To Suffer. 

My. Wrong. Ideology. About. Making. Ends meet. Led us here.

Please, Ka…wal. Find a place in your heart. To forgive me.”

Those were the last soft, broken words my mother said to me when she was breathing hard on her sick bed, struggling for her life.

I was 15 years old when I watched her die. She was the only family I had.

She died at the age of 35, having suffered from a terrible sexually transmitted infection. 

My mother’s past was rough. Her rough past led her to her early grave.

She started sharing her stories with me when I was nine.

My mind had already started to become exposed to the harsh realities of life from that young age.

My childhood days were messy with toxic thoughts, struggles, and sights.

Perhaps it’s okay to say that I was a child carrying an adult’s burden. 

My mother gave birth to me when she was 20 years old.

She grew up in a polygamous home.

Her father was a small-scale farmer who married three wives.

According to my mother, her father didn’t marry three wives based on choice but on compulsion. 

Having had three healthy children with his first wife, he went to deposit his white fluid substance into the ‘private entry doors’ of his two ‘side chicks’ and got them pregnant.

As a result of his adulterous act, he was forced by his community chiefs to marry his ‘side chicks’ so he could take full responsibility for their pregnancy.

Despite marrying his ‘side chicks’ into his small poverty-stricken, rat-infested house that could barely accommodate 2 people, he was unrelenting in getting his wives pregnant.

He just couldn’t control his sexual urge.

And He consistently had sex with his wives and made them reproduce like chickens. 

My mother described her father as one of those egoistic African men who only boast of the superpower that lies in between their legs yet can’t provide for their home. 

I often wonder how women fall into the trap of men like that without foresight into the future.

Or are they just desperately in need of men who will ‘put them in the family way?’

Do they think of the future of their innocent unborn kids?

The Ill-Fated Children

My mother’s father became the father Abraham of his time, producing a total of 10 children—3 boys and 7 girls—out of the belly of his fertile wives. 

Due to his inability to cater for the needs of all his children with his small farming work, his children became wayward.

The three boys became terrors to the community, stealing other people’s food items and money, not just at night but also in broad daylight. 

Three of the female children were given out to some rich old men in exchange for the debt my mother’s father owed them.

Two other girls were given out to serve as housemaids for some rich families in the city. 

The remaining 2 girls, my mother and her stepsister, Alima (the first daughter of my father’s second wife), became sex workers.

Men in the community couldn’t resist the beauty of my mother and Alima, so they promised them Heaven on Earth, just to have sex with them.

They were both 16 when they were lured into the act by men who played on the innocence of poor and gullible female teenagers. 

“Fine girl. Let me spoil you with all my money. Let me take care of you. You are too beautiful to lack anything.”

Those were a few of the deceitful lines those men told my mother and her stepsister then, and they fell for it.

Who would blame them?

The Ill-Fated Children

The children couldn’t bear the hunger strikes, so they just needed to survive by any means, even if it meant that they were going wayward.

If they had a responsible parent, would they be found clueless about what to do to meet their basic needs in life? 

No child can go through life’s journey smoothly without proper direction from those who are responsible for them. 

My mother was only a victim of poor parenting, so begging me for forgiveness for bringing me into this world to suffer was pointless. 

When she was 20 years old, she got pregnant by one of those men who deceived her with their sweet lies, and she gave birth to me at that age.

According to my mother, her early pregnancy caused a fierce battle between her and her parents.

They wanted to bury her alive. Her father suddenly became a saint, forgetting his past.

“You whore!” My grandfather said, referring to my mother, “You better pack your loads and go to the man who is responsible for your pregnancy,” he said, chasing her away. 

My mother’s mother, who ought to defend her, couldn’t defend her because she also got herself into a similar situation.

She was the third wife of my grandfather.

What saved her was the fact that my grandfather was available and was compelled to marry her. 

However, my mother’s case was different—she couldn’t find the man who promised her heaven on earth before ‘putting her in the family way.’

She found out that the man had travelled to the city to sort his life out.

He was a young man in his late 20s. No one would ever believe that he wasn’t ready for marriage because he looked older than his age.

Little did my mother know that he was just a Casanova and a young man who hadn’t fixed his life,

yet was busy looking around for that ‘sweet thing’ to fix his ‘joystick’ in to satisfy his sexual desire.

The Ill-Fated Children

My mother tried tracking him, but she couldn’t.

She had no idea of his family background, and that was the terrible mistake she had made before agreeing to his proposals. 

She became stranded and had nowhere to go after her parents sent her packing with her already swollen pregnant belly. 

Fortunately, a few days later, my mother was able to find her way to the city with the help of Alima.

Alima connected her to a young lady named Lina in the city.

Lina accommodated my mother in a guest house full of young, promising girls. That was where my mother gave birth to me. 

After giving birth to me, my mother finds it hard to cater for me.

Lina couldn’t bear the burden of taking care of my mother and me, so Lina suggested to my mother that she should sell me out to people who need babies.

My mother insisted that she wouldn’t sell me, so she kept and nurtured me.

But her insistence came with a heavy price.

Lina revealed how she survives in the city.

According to Lina, she and the other girls in the guest house either sell their bodies to men or get themselves pregnant and sell their babies.

That was the only way they survived in the city. 

Out of frustration, my mother joined them in also selling her bodies to men, for she had nowhere else to go and my well-being was her major priority then.

She continued in the act for years and used the money she earned from it to sponsor my education from primary to secondary level. 

I grew up in ‘the’ guest house full of prostitutes—a den of fornication. Men troop in and out to have sex with the girls in broad daylight.

“He is just a child; leave him. Let’s get into business.”

Those were their regular words whenever they saw me watch them go in and out.

None of them cared if a child was watching. All they needed was money (for the girls) and satisfaction (for the men). 

As a child, I watched the sexual scenes with all pleasure, to the point that I couldn’t concentrate any more on my academics.

Each time I was in class, the raw sexual scenes played in my head, and I always felt like practising them with any of my female classmates in primary school. 

The Ill-Fated Children

I became a sex addict as a child. It grew worse when I became a teenager at age 13 in JSS2. 

Many times, I would sneak out of the school to go straight to the guest house in order not to miss the broad daylight sex scenes. 

My mother was barely around, so each time her colleagues who bring men home asked me what I was doing at home when I was supposed to be in school,

I would simply respond to them that I was sent back home because I couldn’t pay school fees; meanwhile, my mother had paid.

They didn’t care anyway, so they were quick to believe me without making their findings.

And They left me hanging around the guest house while they continued with their acts of fornication, which I watched pleasurably through the windows. 

When I was 15, my mother suddenly became very ill.

From a glowing, bubbling fleshy lady, she became as ‘bony’ as a skeleton.

No one could tell what was wrong with her until Aunty Lina took her to a nearby hospital. I followed them. 

“Your friend caused her illness,” the doctor said.

“How, Doctor?” Aunty Lina asked with a surprised look.

“We discovered that she has a sexually transmitted infection—syphilis.

If she had noticed and treated the symptoms early, she wouldn’t be like this,” the doctor revealed.

“She is now at a late stage, and her heart, muscles, and other vital parts of her body are affected,” the doctor further clarified. 

“Oh God!” Aunt Lina exclaimed painfully.

“So, what is the way out now?” Aunty Lina asked. 

“Well, the infection can be treated, but it has caused a lot of damage to her body, and that is where the issue lies.

Even if we can treat the infection, it will cost you a lot to treat others,” the doctor said.

“Ahhhh… And I warned her to be careful,” Aunty Lina said regretfully. 

“Warned her about what?” the doctor asked curiously. 

“Ohh! Never mind, doctor,” Aunty Lina said swiftly with a fake smile on her face.

She seemed scared of revealing the kind of job they were into.

My mother had multiple sexual partners, and she did anything to satisfy them with her body.

She may have had unprotected sex many times and, for my sake, had overlooked the primary and secondary symptoms of the infection as explained by the doctor. 

I doubted if Aunty Lina would be able to stand by my mother till the end this time because the damage was severe.

“Kawal, stay here with your mother; I will be back,” Aunty Lina said to me and left.

I stayed in the ward with my mother for long hours, and I didn’t see Aunty Lina’s shadow. 

“Where is your aunt?” the doctor asked.

“I don’t know, sir,” responded innocently. 

“And I think you should go back home to rest and come with your aunty tomorrow,” the doctor advised.

I stood up reluctantly.

My eyes were almost flooded with tears, seeing my mother lie helplessly on the sick bed. Then, the doctor led me out of the hospital. 

The moment I reached home, I saw my bags already packed outside. I knocked on the door and shouted Aunty Lina’s name multiple times, but there was no response. 

“Oh boy, you better carry your load and leave here now before I open my eyes!” one of the ladies who was working for Aunty Lina said to me.

“But I want to see Aunty Lina!” I challenged her with a shaky voice, watery eyes, and weak bones.

“Will you leave this place now?! Before I use this stick to scatter your head!” The lady threatened me with a stick and pushed me out of the compound with my loads. 

And that was the beginning of my struggle in life as a 15-year-old boy.

The Ill-Fated Children 

My mother died a few months later, and I became a lonely street wanderer.

I started to beg for alms from passersby.

The little money I got from them was what I used to feed myself daily.

I couldn’t complete my secondary school education because there was no one else who was ready to sponsor me, aside from my mother.

Aunty Lina wasn’t ready to bear such a burden because I wasn’t useful to her.

I was only a boychild, so I had nothing to offer her. If I were a girl child, she may have also lured me into prostitution. 

I spent my mornings and nights on the busy road and under the bridge, hoping a helper would locate me. 

“My bro! What’s up?” A young, average-built man approached me one night when I was sitting alone under a bridge.

He was dressed like a tout, in a white singlet and sagged three-quarter blue jeans.

His face and lips were black, as though they were burned. And His hair was tinted brown, and unkempt.

He had some gold chains and a gold wristwatch on him.

His gold jewelry doesn’t make him seem like one of those street wanderers. But, from his looks, I could tell he was a tout.

“My name is Lukman,” he introduced himself, with his right hand stretched to receive mine.

I reciprocated his gesture, shaking him, but in fear.

“No fear, brother, I dey for you,” he said.

“My name is Kawal,” I introduced myself.

“Kawal, my guy!”

He hailed me with a smile on his face. “So, why are you under this bridge at this time of the night? Are you not cold?” he inquired.

“Nothing,” I responded.

“Common, bro, talk to me,” he said insistently.

I looked into his eyes to observe how genuine he was. Although his face was strong, his eyes looked like he cared.

“I’m homeless; I have nowhere to go,” I revealed.

“Oh, I am so sorry. You can come and stay with me if you don’t mind,” he offered.

I looked at him in shock, wondering how and why he was so fast in thinking of accommodating me—a stranger whom he had never met before.

“Yeah, you can come and stay with me,” he said again, to confirm his words, having observed how shocked I was.

“Come! Come!!” He held my hands and led me straight to his house.

Lukman lived in a one-room apartment.

It was like a trash house.

His room was filled with all sorts of hard drugs—cigarettes, cocaine, and empty bottles of alcohol—all piled up on the cold, naked ground.

He also had an AK-47 gun laid on his small mattress. My fear increased!

“Oh, don’t need to panic. Relax!” he said, leading me to sit on his bed while he tried to tidy up his room for my sake.

“So, how did you end up on the street?” Lukman asked curiously.

The Ill-Fated Children

“Hmmmmm…” I sighed “It all started when…” I began to tell him the full story.

“How old are you?” Lukman asked, having heard my story.

“15 years old,” I responded.

“Wow! Just 15, and you’ve gone through all those?” He asked, surprisingly.

“Yes. Life just decided to be unfair to me,” I said, expressing deep frustration. 

“Don’t say that,” Lukman rebuked. “We all have our stories, but what can we do? We just have to survive,” Lukman said.

“So, what about you?” I asked Lukman curiously, eager to know who he was and why he was so untidy and full of drugs. 

“Me? Hahaha,” Lukman laughed. “My life would have been good if I had a more sensitive parent,” Lukman said. 

“Okayyyyyy?” I responded, curious to know what he meant.

“I am 20 years old and the only child of my parents,” he began his story.

 “My parents were stinkingly rich, but they hardly had time for me.

They provided every single thing I needed—the gadgets, the money, the clothes, etc.—but they don’t know how I lived my life—lonely in the dark.

While growing up as a child, I only saw my parents in the morning when they kissed me goodbye and headed straight to work until night.

My loneliness made me depressed and unable to express myself. I had no friends at home or in school.

The internet became my only friend. And I became obsessed with pornographic content, which further drained my mental health.

In addition to being a porn addict, Also I became an alcohol addict.

My father stalked lots of alcohol in his lounge in the living room.

So, since I was alone, I had the urge to have a taste of it.

As I drank it little by little, I got addicted to it.

I tested all manner of things in the course of being idle and depressed, and there was no one to correct me.

So, I grew up with addiction from the age of 14 as a free, lonely bird.”

“Hmmmmm… Wow!” I exclaimed

“One day, when I was 18,” he continued, “out of my addiction to pornographic and alcoholic content, I ran out of my mind and raped a poor girl violently.

I met her on the street and was able to sweet-talk her into my house by chance.

It took time, though.

She thought I was coming into her life as a genuine friend; she never knew I had a secret agenda.

And so, She fell for my trap and cried bitterly on her way back to her house, with blood stains all over the backside of her skirt.

I felt no pity for her and no remorse for my actions.

Because I wasn’t just thinking right.

Or maybe I was thinking right, but right in my world since there was no one to correct me.

I viewed the world as a lonely and sad place, so I acted accordingly.” Lukman said, pausing a bit to sip his alcohol from a bottle.

“A few days later,” he continued, “the poor girl’s parents brought police to my parent’s house to arrest me.

The police handcuffed me, took me away, and locked me up in their cell, where I met some other prisoners.

I was there for a few weeks until my parents eventually came to bail me out with money.

They thought they were doing me a favour by bailing me out; they never thought their house was my real prison, and I ironically found freedom in the police cell.

I made friends there and interacted like a human for the first time.

Also, I wasn’t idle there—they made us work and tried rehabilitating us, and I enjoyed every single moment spent there.

Don’t get me wrong. Committing a crime is wrong.

But many of the young prisoners we see today are not just in their right senses.

Many of them reason based on how they were raised or their circumstances.

And, until those who are responsible for their children get it right in the way they raise them, crime will not reduce.

I don’t want to believe that children fell from the sky to begin to live their lives without guidance.

They are in existence through two people, and those people are responsible for shaping them in the right way.

For instance, you, Kawal.” Lukman faced me:

“If I hadn’t brought you into my house when you were stranded under the bridge and a policeman arrested you, wouldn’t you gladly go with him?”

Lukman asked rhetorically, while I pondered. 

“You will!” he firmly answered. “At least you will have a roof over your head, people to interact with, and you will be given free food from the government,” he revealed. 

“Hmmm. That’s true,” I agreed with him. He sounded so right in my ears.

The Ill-Fated Children

“So, Kawal, ever since that time my parents bailed me out of prison, I couldn’t bear being lonely in their house anymore.

Thereafter, I resorted to crimes.

And I sneaked out of their house to this one-room apartment to continue with my addiction and crime.

If the police arrest me one day, it will be my pleasure to follow them. And even if they kill me? I would gladly die! Because I don’t find life worth living.

I am just sad, depressed, and lost! No direction, Kawal!” Lukman ended his story, dozing off immediately right in my presence.

I could see the anger and frustration on his face. And I wished I could help him, but I was not in any way different from him.

We were both sad and helpless.

That night, when Lukman shared his story with me, he exposed me partially to crime. I reasoned with him.

Even though I knew it was wrong, but, truly, many young people find it right to do certain bad things due to either their exposure, circumstances or how they were raised.

We were just some ill-fated children who had derived pleasure from evil due to our poor upbringing and reasoning. 

The thought pattern of the growing child should not be joked with. When hunger strikes, they may as well ‘strike’ without reasoning.

And when their parents go on strike, neglecting their parental duties, their children will rise and ‘do what makes them happy,’ be it good or bad!

The Ill-Fated Children

A few days later, Lukman, as usual, fell back into crime, getting himself into trouble, or should I say into ‘bliss’ and ‘freedom’, as described in his world. 

Lukman kidnapped a young girl, or rather sweet-talked her into our one-room apartment, as he had always done.

He raped her right in my presence and got me involved in the act.

I saw it as an opportunity to finally practice the long-held sexual cravings that were birthed in me due to the kind of environment I grew up in—the den of fornication.

The two of us raped the girl to our satisfaction and sent her away with tears flowing all over her face and injuries in her private parts.

We knew the repercussions of our actions, but we didn’t care.

And We would have killed her if we wanted to avoid prison, but we released her to do her worst.

And alas! She did it!

She came the next day to our apartment with her parents and some men in black military uniforms.

The men handcuffed us and took us into their custody. There was no one in to bail us out this time, so we were charged to court and sentenced to 40 years imprisonment.

To the surprise of the judge, we rejoiced upon hearing her verdict because our view of life was ‘totally’ deviant.

Our ‘psychology’ was upside down. 

If the root cause of crime is not well-tackled, more of Lukman and I will arise.

The prison yard will become a nation of its own, with myriads of citizens who will now become the responsibility of the government.

Sadly, we are now in a world where there is a scarcity of those who are worth emulating and an increase in the number of those who are lost!

We need more of those who will take good responsibility for every one of their actions and are worthy of emulation!

God wasn’t asleep when he instructed that we should train up our child the way he should go, and when he is old, he will never depart from it.

We only twist God’s word based on our ‘formed’ perception of the world today that “any child who wants to be bad will be bad, no matter the background they came from”. That’s a lie!

We shape our children the way we want them to be!

Also Read: No Young Person Would Love to Fail in Life. – Diademng (thediademng.org)

The Ill-Fated Children

DCM NOTES

The United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child is an important agreement by countries who have promised to protect children’s rights.

You may Download here: convention-rights-child-text-child-friendly-version.pdf (unicef.org)