Young girl hawking sachet water. Image: The Guardian |
The little girl ran up to me, somehow
balancing the crate of boiled eggs on her head and trying to keep her falling
wrapper in place. Her feet were clad with slippers that were well worn and
designed with holes. She couldn't have been more than eight years old and as
she reached me, the smell of her unwashed body repulsed me more than she could
have imagined. As she raised her head to ask if I wanted the eggs, I had a full
view of her face.
She was made up, with a haphazard line taking center stage on her brows. Her eye pencil was dripping, making her lower
lid look heavy. Her powder was in patches, with more shades of grey on her dark
skin than there was on a wiped chalkboard. Her pouty lips were made more so
with the red lipstick she wore and the very black liner she used to line her
lips. She was wearing a torn Hijab made of a print material. The Hijab was
bunched at her shoulders as she held the tray that held the crate. Her skirt
was a different print from her top though they were similar in one way; they
were both threadbare, dirty and reflected just how poor she was. I took all
these in as she advertised her eggs. The makeup, dirty clothes, torn slippers
and the over coat of unwashed funk all reflected one thing: poverty. In one
glance, I could tell that this young girl was forced into child labor.
It didn't take Einstein to figure out that
this little girl was doing this to make money for her family. She was probably
going to walk up and down the town in her quest to sell the eggs. The more eggs
she sold, the more likely her chances of eating something that night. If she
returned the eggs home, she was most likely going to sleep hungry. As I
continued to look at her, imaginations of how hungry she might be kept flicking
through my mind. Though her smell repulsed me, I was drawn to her in a way that
was against my personal principle. I was torn.
A common sight in many African communities if the presence of child hawkers who are working to sustain their families. Image: Signal |
You see, when I was in primary school, I
had a teacher called Mrs. Williams. She died. But before she did, she had
imparted so much in me that I owe some of my life's principles to her. She
urged us always to be the best and always had little quips that stayed with us;
with me. On one of such occasions, after a field trip to the airport, she said
something that stayed with me till this very moment. As the school bus slowed
at a traffic jam, some children ran up to it to display their wares. From candy
popularly called ‘alewa’ to groundnuts and what not, these kids had enough to
attract our attention. Many kids started pulling out their lunch money to get things
and only refrained when Mrs. Williams bellowed. Thankfully, the traffic jam
lessened and we got going. That was not before we saw the disappointed looks on
the faces of the children as they saw us go. We had been their hope for some
money but Mrs. Williams crushed that hope. I was, for the first time in my
young life, furious at her. When we got to school, I was still furious. As we
settled into our seats in class, Mrs. Williams demanded our attention. When she
got it, she started teaching us about child labor and abuse. She told us it was
wrong to send kids to the streets to hawk. She asked how we felt knowing our
mates were hawking on the streets and highways when we were in class, learning
and getting an education. In truth, we didn't understand what she was saying – we
were just in primary three – but the passion with which she spoke hit me. The
message I got that day was that children shouldn’t work when they should be in
school. As little as I was, I felt bad that I could afford to be in school
while others were out there fending for themselves and their families. I really
cannot remember if that was when I made the choice to never buy something from
a kid but I know that as I grew up, my resolve strengthened. My ideology was
that, as long as we buy things from kids, we were also promoting child labor. I
felt that if children went home every night without selling anything, then
their parents would be wise about sending them to the streets. At that time,
all of these made great sense to me.
As I grew older, I realized that the
ideology I had was hard to keep, especially as child labor came closer to home.
A close friend of mine, whom I will call Williams, had to work to make ends
meet. Williams came from a comfortable family. He had two brothers and one
sister. They had most of what they wanted. They ate right, dressed well and
even went to good private schools. The fairy bubble burst when his father lost
his job after the Kaduna textiles closed down. They were tiding over until they
just couldn't keep up the pretext anymore. They had to move to a much smaller
house and even sell most of their stuff. After a while, his father travelled to
find work and was not heard from for months. They had absolutely no idea where
he was or even if he was alive. His mum had to pick up the mantle of leadership
to keep the family going. She got a job working as a cleaner in a school where
the pay was barely enough to cover utility bills. Gradually, they had to be
pulled out of school. The mum was a beehive of activity: closing from her 8-4
job to come home to prepare pap for sale. Soon, the bills were overwhelming her
and she had to engage her kids in the labor market. She sent Williams and his
brother to go be bus conductors and made their sister hawk the pap. I remember
being furious with her and voicing my sentiments to Williams. After I had
nagged him for a bit, he told me that I was one to talk because I had my
parents provide all I wanted. He told me to see if I would hold on to my
ideologies if my mum had to scrape and beg and age due to stress just so I
could eat once a day. At that, I clamped my mouth shut, never knowing that
things were so bad in his house. I could talk ideologies from now till the
Lord's coming and it would not mean anything if a person couldn't eat or didn't
have a roof over their heads.
More recently, my friend Kallie
and I were at the market when this
little boy selling sachet water walked past us. We really didn't notice him at
first until he walked past us say, maybe three more times. The fourth time he
passed us, we realized he was crying. He was a picture of dejection and I felt
a tug in my heart. Kallie called him. She asked what was wrong and he told her
he lost his money. She asked how much it was and he said two hundred naira.
My friend looked at me and I returned the look. This little boy was
crying because he lost two hundred naira; two hundred naira that was airtime
money for some, or little change for another. But to that boy, that money was
the world. I knew he was crying because someone was probably going to whup him
for losing that money and most likely starve him of his only meal of the day.
My friend looked at me and we both pulled out one hundred naira each from our
purses and handed to the boy. He didn't say 'Thank You'. He just collected the
money and walked off...or he might have if my friend hadn't pulled him back.
She chastised him for not being appreciative until I pulled him away and told
him to go. I told her to let it go. My view was simple: if the boy had to work
the streets just to get a meal, what made her sure his parents (if he had any)
were bothered about teaching him social etiquette.
As a result of this, I prepared to talk on
child labor on our breakfast show. I got guests in the legal profession and
people who worked to ensure the implementation of the child rights act. We had
a great discussion and when we engaged our listeners, most people condemned
child labor but excused it on the economy. They were of the opinion that if the
economy was better, parents wouldn't have to send their children out into the
streets. In essence, it was noble and good to care about children but the
government just didn't care. I left that interview session unfulfilled because
I felt that as long as people could blame the government, child labor will
never be stopped. And that makes me worried.
As I looked at the egg seller in front of
me, my mind still screamed that children shouldn't be working. Children
shouldn't have to brace the streets to earn a living for their parent; they
shouldn't have to be exposed to human and other forces that are sure to destroy
their childhood essence. Child rights laws need not only be seen on paper and
rehashed every Children's Day but should be implemented and supervised
thoroughly. Child rights laws should not be paper statements that hold no
water. Kudos to the United Nations but more can still be done.
How do we protect these children from the effects of working the streets? Image: The Conversation |
The little girl got bored with me and left,
taking her next meal ticket with her. She sought out other customers and got
called by one, who, ironically, was a police officer. I stood there and watched
him buy two eggs and, having peeled off the shell, tell the girl to sprinkle
salt. What was more striking was that he kept 'pricing' the eggs, refusing to
pay her the N40 she was asking for each. After haggling for a while, he gave
her N60 and told her to buzz off. She shook her head, raised her tray to her
head, and continued the hustle. The same person who should have been protecting
her from child exploitation was the very person who was exploiting her! I
turned away from the scene and went home.
Children cannot stand on their own in the
face of child labor, but clearly neither can the parents who are forced to put
their children on the streets. We can talk about the economy all we want, but
child labor is a societal problem that only the society can fix. The government
isn't some all-seeing, out-on-the-streets lens watching these young people
slave away. But we can see them. And their silent screams cannot go unheard.
Truth is, I cannot stop child labor. I may
not even be able to reduce it drastically but I can (and will continue) to
speak against it. I want to plead with people to stop buying things from
children. I still hold the view that if children don't make any money when they
are forced to work, their parents will stop sending them out to the streets. If
we boycott all forms of child labor, maybe this problem will be pulled from the
root; because this bud has become a full blown tree.
I'm one person standing for the protection
of the children. Children shouldn't have to hustle! This is hoping someone
listens...and acts!
Lovely piece! Its sad that a police officer who should be protecting chose to abuse just as legislators who should hurriedly pass the child rights act in state assemblies are towing with it. I hope that the 5th Assembly will live up to the responsibility of passage & implementation with citizens & civil society mounting pressure. This here points us in that direction.
ReplyDelete''My view was simple: if the boy had to work the streets just to get a meal, what made her sure his parents (if he had any) were bothered about teaching him social etiquette'' - this statement struck me and it's just the the obvious truth.
ReplyDeleteMore so, this children grow up uncultured and tends to be threats to the society due to the hatred that lives with them.
Children should not hustle - let us act....
*thumbsupdear*
Thanks @Kada and @Shade. We need to spread the news and do what we can to stop this!
ReplyDelete