Of Little Voices and Big Pain

Trigger Warning: This post explores childhood suicide.

Imagine a 10-year-old girl, sitting in a classroom engrossed in a mathematics lesson. She has neat cornrows adorning her head, dressed in a school uniform that adheres to every detail of the school rules. Crisp white shirt, a pleated blue skirt, white socks, and polished black Bata prefect shoes. Around her neck hangs a red tie, albeit clumsily tied, for she’s yet to master the art of knotting it just right. Math doesn’t particularly excite her, and while the teacher’s enthusiasm fills the room, her thoughts wander back to the night before when her mother endured yet another brutal beating at the hands of her father.

As she sits there, fiddling with her tie, she begins to unconsciously tighten it, almost as if willing it to constrict, yearning for it to silence her breath forever. The teacher’s voice calling on her to answer a question snaps her back to reality, grounding her in the classroom once more. She continues with her day, but that seed of doubt, that notion of whether the world might be a better place without her, has been sown deep within. Perhaps, she thinks, if she weren’t here, her parents wouldn’t fight so bitterly, that if she still didn’t wet the bed or suck her thumb at her age, their problems would be less, and that maybe, just maybe, her presence is the source of all their problems.

That 10-year-old girl was me, and that was the first time that suicidal thoughts entered my young mind. Regrettably, although mostly silenced now, they have never truly left.

Why do I share this story? A few weeks ago, I came across the news of yet another child who had taken their own life. As it so often does, the conversation revolved around what could drive a child to feel so utterly hopeless, to make such a monumental decision. As someone who has been there, I hope my story can shed some light on this complex issue.

Have you ever wondered why a child’s initial reaction to the news of their parents’ divorce is a desperate promise to be good or to fix things? Or why a small child might attempt to intervene in a physical fight between their parents to protect one from the other? When they inevitably fail in these scenarios, they feel an overwhelming sense of guilt, thinking it’s all their fault. Young children’s developing brains can’t yet grasp the intricacies of adult relationships, leading them to believe they’re the root cause of every problem.

What’s worse, research consistently shows that trauma in children can begin as early as two months old, with some suggesting it starts in utero. The challenge is that at such a young age, children lack the words to express their experiences, and these early traumas leave their first indelible mark. The feelings of inadequacy and responsibility for events beyond their control only surface as their language and emotional skills develop, usually around age seven. Consequently, many children carry the heavy burden of believing that the world might be a better place without them.

I won’t delve into the impact of social media on younger children, as that’s an entire dissertation-worthy topic on its own.

In Africa, we have a saying: “It takes a village to raise a child.” Now, more than ever, our children need us. Parenting is a demanding job, but as communities, we must step up for our children. The belief that children are resilient and can bounce back from anything is a misconception. Their seeming recovery is often just a temporary facade; unresolved issues can resurface later in life.

Does this mean it’s too late to make a difference? Absolutely not.

I am calling for active listening to our children. Yes, it’s a lot of work, and yes, after a long day, it may be the last thing you want to do. However, creating an environment in which a child feels safe to communicate with their parents can make all the difference. Let’s be clear: it’s vital to maintain the role of a parent but do so from a place of mutual respect, not fear. If not a parent, then an understanding aunt or uncle can serve as a confidant and a beacon of hope for a child on the brink of despair. And as a child raised where children were to be seen and not heard, I know first-hand how frightening the world can feel.

Our children’s young hearts bear a heavy burden, and it’s our collective responsibility to provide them with a safe space, empathy, and understanding. By actively listening to our children, we can help prevent the insidious growth of despair and the feeling that the world might be better without them. In our global villages, we must be the support system that guides our children towards hope, healing, and brighter tomorrows.