By Damilola Bakare
Mrs. Bola first noticed it on a Thursday evening.
Her son, Chidi, had always been the boy who kicked off his uniform before he got through the door. Every afternoon, the sound of his ball against the wall told her he was home, he was fine. But that Thursday, there was silence. He walked past her, head down, straight to his room.
She thought: Maybe he is tired. Maybe small headache. She let it pass.
But the silence didn’t stop. Over weeks, the boy who loved beans and plantain pushed his food around the plate.
The boy who argued with his sister stopped talking. The boy who slept like a log began waking up at night, screaming.
One evening, while she bathed him, he screamed. Not the normal “I don’t want to bathe” scream. A different scream. A scream that made her blood run cold.
She looked at him. He was crying. And then, in a voice so small she almost didn’t hear it, he said: “Mummy, Uncle kept touching me. He said it’s our secret.”
The Man We Called “Uncle”
“Uncle” was not a real uncle. He was a neighbour. A “fine boy” in his twenties, always dressed well, always had money for biscuits. He lived alone in the boys’ quarters. Every evening, children gathered around his door. He had PlayStation. He had cold soft drinks. He was the “big brother” everyone trusted.
Mrs. Bola knew him. She greeted him every morning. When Chidi asked to go and play at “Uncle’s” place, she said yes without thinking twice. After all, he was a “good boy.” After all, Chidi was a boy, boys don’t get touched. That was her first mistake. That was the lie we all believe.
The Truth About Boys
Here is the hard truth: We protect our daughters because we know the world is dangerous for them. But our sons? We send them out and say, “Go and play, you are a man.” We forget that predators don’t care about gender. They care about access. They care about silence. And they know little boys are the easiest to silence. Why? Because we have already done half the work for them.
We tell our sons: “Don’t cry.” “Be tough.” “Man up.” So, when something happens, they think: *If I say something, Mummy will say I am weak. Daddy will say I am not a man.* So they stay quiet. And the predator wins.
What the National Assembly Is Trying to Do
In October 2025, something important happened in Abuja. The Nigerian Senate voted to pass a bill that could change everything for children like Chidi. Under this proposed law, anyone found guilty of defiling a minor (boy or girl) would face life imprisonment. No fine. No “I beg, forgive me.” Life in prison. The bill also removes the “statute of limitation” meaning even if a victim speaks years later, the case can still be prosecuted. For adult rape, the bill proposes a minimum of ten years.
But and this is crucial; the bill has not yet become law. It must still be harmonized with the House of Representatives version and get the President’s assent. As of today, the old law still stands.
Here is what the police officer told Mrs. Bola, and it is something every parent needs to hear:
“Ma, whether the new law passes or not, the real work is for us to prevent it. You see your son? You must talk to him. You must teach him. You must be the one he runs to, not the one he hides from. Don’t wait for government. Start now.”
Three Things That Can Save a Boy
The officer gave her three practical things. I give them to you.
1. Call the body part by its name.
“Ma, do you call his penis by name? Or do you call it ‘something’ or ‘that thing’?”
Mrs. Bola was quiet. She called it “nke” meaning “that thing” in Igbo.
The officer said: “When you don’t call it by name, you teach him it is shameful. If someone touches it, he will be too ashamed to tell you. Call it penis. Call it bottom. Say it like you say elbow. When he has the words, he has the power.”
2. No secrets in this house.
“Uncle” had told Chidi: “This is our little secret. If you tell anybody, I will kill your mummy.” Chidi believed him. He kept the secret for months.
The officer said: “Create a family rule. No secrets. Only surprises.
A surprise is a birthday gift something you will eventually tell. A secret is something you must never tell. Any adult who asks a child to keep a secret is not safe.”
3. Listen to the small, small signs.
“Ma, your son stopped playing football. He stopped eating.
These were signs. Children tell us with behaviour before they tell us with words. If your child suddenly changes; becomes aggressive, too quiet, has nightmares, wets the bed again, ask questions. Not angry questions. Curious questions. Say, ‘I notice you are sad. Wetin happen? You can tell me. I won’t shout.'”
That evening, after Chidi told her, Mrs. Bola made a choice. She knelt down. She looked into her son’s eyes and said:
“Chidi, I believe you. Thank you for telling me. This is not your fault. It will never be your fault. I am here for you. I will protect you. And that man? We will report him. We will fight him. I promise you.”
Chidi cried. But this time, it was different. It was the cry of a boy who had been carrying a heavy load and finally put it down.
What Happened Next
“Uncle” was arrested.
The police are investigating. Mrs. Bola doesn’t know how the case will end. The new law is not yet in place, so the outcome depends on the current system.
But she knows one thing: her son is talking again. He is eating again. He is even kicking the ball against the wall. Although not every day. At least not yet, but that is enough.
She started talking to other mothers in her street. She told them Chidi’s story. Some cried. Some said, “Ah, my son also stopped wanting to go to that man’s place. I thought he was just difficult.” Some went home and had conversations they should have had years ago.
A Message to Every Parent
I am telling you this story because Chidi could be your son. He could be your neighbour’s son. He could be the boy selling pure water, or the boy in the private school, or the boy in the village.
The government is trying. The National Assembly is working. But they move slowly. Committees must meet. Bills must be harmonized.
The President must sign.
But the predators are not waiting. They are in our streets, our churches, our mosques, our schools. They are not waiting for the President’s assent. So, we cannot wait either.
Today, go home. Look at your son. Sit with him. Not with anger. Not with fear. With love. And say to him:
“Your body belongs to you. No uncle, no aunty, no friend, no pastor, no coach. No one has the right to touch you in a way that makes you uncomfortable. If anyone tries, you tell me. I will believe you. I will protect you. I will never leave you.”
Say it in Yoruba. Say it in Hausa. Say it in Igbo. Say it in Pidgin. Say it in the language of your heart. The law is coming. But our children cannot wait.
If you suspect a child has been abused, report to the nearest police station or contact NAPTIP. Silence helps nobody. Action helps everybody, the statement further stressed.
