Our children don’t have scars by Toni Kan

Our children don’t have scars by Toni Kan

This morning, talking to a friend, I was reminded of what our late big bros, Efere Ozako, used to say; our children lack grass. They have grown up thinking that “Sonic the Hedgehog” is equal to playing football. I look at my children’s skin and its smooth, they have no scars. How can a child not have scars?

When I was seven we lived in Utagba-uno in Kwale area of Delta state. In Kwale, women rode bikes a lot in those days. Anyway, on this Saturday, three women came to see my mom and while they were gisting, my brother and our cousin, Ifeanyi, took two of the bikes and rode away, with me on the back of Ifeanyi’s bike. 5 minutes later, in trying to overtake Ifeanyi, my brother’s pedal caught in his spokes and we all fell in a bloody heap. I still have the scars today.


In 1981, I went home to Ibusa to live for the second time, away from my parents.

I was living with my maternal aunt and was supposed to be going to school at Umejei primary school but there was a long strike. Ambrose Ali was the governor then.

The strike must have lasted over 7 months and in that time, I remember that I discovered Fela’s music and would spend the mornings playing Unknown Soldier. Then in the afternoon, we would go to the school and because I was sickly, I would watch my new friends play football.

One afternoon, as this dark boy went to tackle another boy, we heard something snap and the dark boy fell screaming. He had snapped his ankle. The football field was empty in minutes and I was the only one left to help the boy up.

Holding me by the shoulder, this boy and I walked the equivalent of about 5 miles to his house. His mother was standing outside the house, her eyes shooting sparks when we got there and the moment I opened my mouth to speak, she slapped me so hard I fell to the ground with her son.

“Chukwudi, where did you go to?”

That was when I realised his name was Chukwudi. We had walked five miles hand in hand and I hadn’t asked his name.

When the mother had calmed down and found out that I was a good Samaritan and not one of her son’s ‘bad friends’, she served me lunch (which I needed) and we discovered she knew my father who was a school principal like her husband.

Anyway, Chukwudi Anene and I became friends from that day until he died, a few months shy of 17.

Ok, one more story. When I was 11 years old, my mother gave birth to her last child. My father had been forced to resign as principal because he refused to join UPN (no be today political madness start) and was working at UTC in Lagos. My older brother was someplace and so it was me, an 11 year old, who prepared nsala soup, made pounded yam and got on a bus to St. Mary’s hospital Ogwashi-ukwu.

I remember crying all the way home, because my mother had given birth the previous night after I left and my father’s friend who came to visit that morning had taken her home. I saw her in his car as I got into Ogwashi- ukwu but hello, there were no phones then. So, I carried my nsala soup and pounded yam to the car park, waited for another bus to fill up and went back home. I was crying because I thought I would be the first to see the new baby.

Why all these stories? Well, my children are 11 and 9 and they can’t go to the shop on our street to buy bread without someone accompanying them. Oh, my children are sharp and intelligent but not street savvy.

They don’t understand the streets. At this age, they have never been in a danfo before or travelled by public transport. The day my partner’s car broke down and she took a cab home, her children thought it was an adventure.

These children are growing up in the living room and bedroom. They don’t play outside. They don’t walk on the streets. I don’t even know whether children are still taught this in school: ‘Look left, look right and left again.’ My brother, can your 10 or 11 year old cross a busy street all alone?

We love our children but maybe we are killing them with love. We think that by keeping them at home we are protecting them but what we are doing is making them unable to function out there in boarding school, on the playground and ultimately in the work place. The real world!

This weekend I am taking my kids on a BRT ride.

Do you think I am being crazy? Well, drop me a line in our comment section.

photo credit

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  1. nana

    I llook forward to reading your experience from the BRT trip.
    When my nephew was 6 years old, his parents were held up in the office and couln’t go to pick him from school themselves, so they called one of our cousins to pick him up. Till today we still laugh at the boy’s reaction, it was a super treat for him and he cried for days, for more of such trips.
    You see, my cousin took the lad on a kabukabu, when they entered my nephew started asking everyone out of his father car! When they stopped to pick a passenger, he’d start crying and pushing them away from his “father’s car”, ha! They laughed and welcomed and congratulated him on his first ride in a public transport! When they took a bike to enter their Estate nko? He was dizzy with excitement. He was said to be scared at first but after a few minutes ride, he was begging the Okada rider to ride faster! While our cousin had warned him to ride slowly because its the kid’s fiirst time. They had to buy him a bicycle which they have upgraded twice as he grew older, he is now 10, he got lots of scars from his bicycle rides.

  2. Otaigbe

    This essay is timely. But isn’t this a reflection of how society has changed. Dont we all build houses with fences now? Isn’t this because Nigeria is less safe than it used to be? The way Danfo drivers maneuver the roads will make parents’ heart skip. So yes, kids should explore more in order to prepare them better for life, but they need to be alive first.

  3. Yinka Adebiyi

    This is what has troubled me all along. I have a three years old son is straight from school to the sitting room, watch cartoon, play with toys and the cycle continues the following day. When I grew up in the streets of Ring Road, Ibadan and Mushin in Lagos!

  4. Evans Ufeli

    Wow! You are doing the right thing.Let them go on the adventurous BRT .By the way,you just mentioned my village utagba-Uno !

  5. Yetunde

    BRT ride?…cool! my sister took her kids on a ride in a keke and then a proper danfo with crazy conductor to boot, like your partner’s kids they were excited and thought it was an adventure. I tell dem i’m sad for them, I told them about playing suwe (hopscotch) and they really wanted to learn but guess what??? They didn’t have any area in the estate where we could draw in the sand and use broken pieces of bottle like we used to. The only option was to use chalk but we had a white board with markers in the house, they have no idea how d sweet corn they love so much is planted…lol. I sooo love my generation and I feel bad for the ones growing now.

  6. kaomoloy

    Tnx. for this piece Toni. Its really an eye opener, of recent i have been forced to start sending my 6yr old daughter on errand, i cant do it all, and i dont ve a help.Not that i want to. Ystday i came back from work and was told my son fell into the gutter, i turned to his dad and he said ,learning process, let the boy be.


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