By Patience Gabriel Gutus*
In Mussa, Borno State,
tiny hands that should have been holding pencils were seized by fear.
In Oriire, Oyo State,
children who left home for school never imagined that learning would become a journey into captivity.
Their only crime was being born in a nation where innocence is too often left unprotected.
They are not soldiers.
They are not criminals.
They are not politicians.
They are children.
Children whose biggest worries should be homework, playground games,and what their mothers packed for lunch.
Yet today, their names are whispered in prayers,their faces washed by the tears of parents who wait endlessly for their return.
What kind of country kidnaps its future?
What kind of darkness looks into the eyes of a child and sees a bargaining chip?
A nation is judged not by its tallest buildings
or its loudest speeches,
but by how safely its children sleep at night.
And when little boys and girls are dragged from classrooms and communities,the soul of the nation bleeds.
Somewhere tonight,
a mother stares at an empty bed.
Somewhere,
a father fights back tears so his family will not see him break.
Somewhere,
a child is asking for home.
Nigeria, these are your children.
Not statistics.
Not headlines.
Not breaking news.
Children.
May their cries reach the conscience of those in power.
May their captors remember that no cause, no greed, and no evil can justify stealing a child's freedom.
And may the day come when every kidnapped child returns home,
not to a nation of silence,but to a nation that finally decides
that its children are worth protecting.
Their only crime was being Nigerian.
Their only dream was to go to school.
Their only wish is to come home.
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