The Crime from Birth.

Let me tell you a story. Not a story. Instead, it is more of a memoir- A truth, written in my blood and flowing through my veins.

Growing up, I never had my own identity. I have been told what to do, who to talk to, and how to do certain things to the extent that these things became me- my identity. It all started from my birth. As my father and his friends gathered to drink the milky liquid, they called the "wine of life", my mother spent almost a whole day giving birth to me. At dusk, before the sky swallowed the bleeding sun, my mother let out a long wail, and I finally dropped into the world. 

That was what I was told. All I could remember was the faint blister of hope that faded when I stared into my mother`s face. The beads of sweat that hung on her brows and lashes dropped onto my face and blended with my salty streams of tears. Instead of my mother smiling at me, she had a faded smile. Her smile told the story of disappointment, fear, and pity. Not for herself though, but for me. Because you see, from that moment on, this is where my story begins.

…..

Growing up as a girl child in a family of five boys was the very worst nightmare but being the first child as a female in that family makes the nightmare the most bitter one. That was my life. Immediately I learned how to write the alphabet, my dad decided that he would not waste his money on educating a girl.

A girl. Whenever he made that statement, he made me regret my existence. Was being a girl child a crime?

As for not going to school, I did not care much then because I was not interested. It was not until I turned 13 that my cousins came to live with us. It was then I met Adanma. Adanma was exactly like me so much so my friends would mistake us for each other. Adanma`s coming not only brought a glimmer of hope into my life, but it was the period of my awakening. We shared everything- Laughter, secrets, and dreams. We became each other's confidants- a medium of which the silent rebel in me became provoked.

As I mentioned before, we shared everything. At that time, Adanma would go to the government school in our neighborhood. She always came back with different kinds of stories about her classmates. Stories I believed had to be experienced. Not only did she come back with tales, but she also came home with pieces of knowledge that I never knew existed. Her English became almost professional, her dress more refined, and her behavior more cultured.

People began to tell us apart.

As years passed, I watched my best friend grow up into a beautiful and well-cultured woman. Soon enough, she was ready to graduate from secondary school, and she invited me to the graduation party. Of course, my father refused. He was so sure that my attendance would cause me to question all his decisions. Unknown to him, I already had a collection of books under my bags of clothes in my room.

On my birthday, my father announced that he had good news. News that would change our lives forever- he claimed. This news became the worst conformation of my fears. My father gathered the whole family in the compound that night and announced that I would be getting married. I looked at his face in disgust.

Then he asked me why I was not happy. Happy? I asked myself. What is there to be happy about? My younger brothers were in school. Their dreams were out of this world.

"They are allowed to dream" My father answered one night when I talked to him about my education.

"And I am not?"

"If a female child dreams, she is being greedy." My father answered plainly. And of course, that reply followed a slap.

Years passed by, and I saw my life fall in little crumbles- one after the other. I became confined to the roles society had predetermined for "my kind"- wives, mothers, and bearers of burdens. I bumped into my cousin Adanma a few years after my marriage. Her situation was not any better. Adanma moved out of the village, and unknown to us, she was giving into marriage.

Unlike me, Adamma had accepted her fate with resignation. She became a wife, bound to a man chosen by her family, surrendering her dreams to the demands of tradition. I, on the other hand, harbored a fire within me—a relentless determination to break free from the chains that held me captive.

In the fourth year of my marriage, I ran away from my society bondage painted to look beautiful by calling it a matrimonial home. I began to seek education with the little money I had gathered from my marriage. As I pursued knowledge, I witnessed the harsh reality that plagued countless Nigerian girl children. Poverty, discrimination, and limited opportunities intertwine to create a stifling environment. Girls were denied education, forced into early marriages, and subjected to societal expectations that suffocated their dreams. Their voices were silenced, their potential wasted.

The more I learned, the more determined I became to change this narrative. I yearned to be a voice for the voiceless, to shine a light on the plight of Nigerian girl children. With each passing day, my resolve strengthened, and I knew that my path in life was clear.

More Years went by, and I embarked on a journey that took me far from my village. I studied at universities, both within my country and abroad, absorbing knowledge like a sponge. I became a fierce advocate for girls' education, working with organizations and dedicating my life to empowering young girls in Nigeria.

Upon my return to Nigeria, I founded an organization called "Nurturing Dreams" with the sole purpose of providing education and support to underprivileged girl children. We established schools in rural areas, recruited passionate teachers, and created safe spaces where girls could learn, grow, and believe in their potential.

Through "Nurturing Dreams," we launched campaigns to raise awareness about the importance of girls' education, challenging the deep-rooted gender biases that hindered progress. We partnered with local communities, engaging parents, and community leaders in conversations about gender equality and the transformative power of education. Slowly but steadily, we began to witness a shift in attitudes and perceptions.

As the years went by, the impact of our work spread like wildfire. Our schools multiplied, our reach expanded, and the number of girls receiving an education increased exponentially. We celebrated the achievements of our students, watching them blossom into confident, empowered young women who were determined to defy the odds and make a difference in their communities.

But the struggle was far from over. The barriers we faced were deeply entrenched, and there were still countless Nigerian girl children who remained trapped in a cycle of poverty and inequality. We knew that our work had only just begun.

Through our persistence and collective efforts, we started to witness a gradual shift in societal attitudes. Families began to see the value of educating their daughters, understanding that when girls are educated, entire communities thrive. The ripple effect of empowering girls became undeniable.

As our organization grew, so did our impact. We established scholarship programs to support exceptional girls who showed great promise but lacked the means to continue their education. We provided vocational training to equip girls with practical skills, enabling them to excel in various fields and break free from the chains of poverty.

As the years passed, the transformative power of education became increasingly apparent. The girls we supported went on to become influential leaders, entrepreneurs, and change-makers in their communities. They shattered glass ceilings, challenged societal norms, and proved that girls could achieve anything when given the opportunity.

As I reflect on my journey, I am filled with a deep sense of gratitude and hope. The resilience and courage of Nigerian girl children continue to inspire me every day. They remind me that change is possible and that even in the face of adversity, dreams can be nurtured and transformed into reality.

Today, our organization stands as a beacon of hope, a testament to what can be achieved when we come together with a shared purpose. We continue to fight for the rights of Nigerian girl children, advocating for equal access to education, healthcare, and opportunities. We believe that every girl deserves to be seen, heard, and given the chance to fulfill her potential.

…..

I ran into my cousin, Adanma, a year ago when I went to visit my family back in my hometown. She looked a sore sight. The heavy wheels of marriage had worn her out, and she is struggling to maintain her family after her husband married two extra wives. Men!

She expressed genuine happiness for me, and I tried to talk her out of the life she chose to live. But to no avail. She seemed so intoxicated with the identity society gave to her, that she refused to break out of it. To me, it was like seeing an open door of a cage and choosing to stay in the cage. The little I could do was to ensure that her children get quality education- Both boys and girls. As it should be.

As for my immediate family, things were not any better. My brothers got sick of the pressure of education my father forced on them. They roamed the streets of the village and became a constant nuisance. As for my father, he took to his habit of drinking to forget the reality he carved for himself. My mother on the other hand looked to me with so much compassion.

The smile I saw on her face was not the smile of pity that she always wore when she saw me. Instead, it was that of pride, reassurance, and confidence. She was sure that I had overcome the fears and obstacles the society placed in my way because of my gender.

Before I left the village many years ago, she told me something I would never forget. I remembered the conversation we had that night- the conversation that gave me the push I needed to chase my dreams. She told me how she had always wanted to be a doctor.

"What made you change your mind?'

"Do you think I wanted to be a mother all my life?" she asked. Her eyes glimmered faintly under the moonlight. I could see her chuckle slightly.

I was confused.

"Of course, it is always a woman`s dream to become a mother." she corrected herself quickly.

"So why did you not become a doctor anymore?"

"It was not allowed," She replied after a long moment of thinking. "I was not given much option."

"I do not understand you," I replied plainly. She was not making much sense to me.

Then she made me understand. In just a few words, she made me understand the limited options every girl child goes through. Just three words explain the pain, injustice, and inequality that girls face in our society. Nigerians always complain that there is no unity among all tribes. I fully disagree. Because if there is anything that all the tribes in Nigeria agree on, it is the ideology that a girl`s place belongs in the kitchen.

When we finished our conversation, she told me plain and simple. She told me to fly.

"My Ada do not be a chicken," She advised. "Chickens are known to be the strangest cowards in the world. They are restricted to a particular function and fate, and they don't feel the urge to escape."

She told me to become an eagle. And I did.

As I stand here, my heart brimming with gratitude, I am reminded of the countless untold stories, the voices that have yet to be heard. My name is Adaolisa, but my story is not mine alone—it is the story of every Nigerian girl child who yearns for a better future. Together, let us continue to nurture dreams, empower young minds, and create a future where every Nigerian girl child can realize her full potential.