The Child Bride I Almost Became

The man who wanted to marry me at 16 sent me a Facebook message a few months ago asking me to help sponsor his grandson’s education.

And it has taken me months to even process the message properly.

Months.

Meanwhile, some people are wondering,

“Ehn ehn, why is it taking so long to decide?”

“It’s just school fees.”

“If you can help, just help.”

But it’s not that simple.

Because people are seeing one message.

I am seeing the life I almost lived.

When my dad died, I was 16 and my mum was struggling badly.

And somewhere in the middle of grief, confusion and financial hardship, marriage became the “solution” people were suggesting for me.

A much older man wanted to marry me.

And like they always do, everybody came with promises.

“He will take care of you.”

“He will send you to school.”

“You won’t suffer.”

“Your life will be better.”

At 16, when life suddenly becomes hard, those promises can sound like rescue.

But now, over 20 years later, the same man is asking me to help his grandson stay in school.

And honestly, the message triggered me deeply.

Not because I hate him.

Not because I’m wicked.

Not because I don’t care about the child.

But because this situation forced me to confront something painful:

This could have been my life.

Completely.

His first wife should be around 50 now and she still does a small business in Kaduna just to survive.

The kind of struggling many women quietly do every day just to keep life moving.

And I kept thinking back to all the promises that were made to me at 16.

Promises of school.

Promises of stability.

Promises of a better future.

But the reality is there now for everybody to see.

His wives didn’t go to school.

His children struggled too.

Now his grandchildren are struggling educationally.

And suddenly I found myself upset at a version of my life that almost happened.

Because in the work I do today, I have met girls who did not escape that path.

Girls who got married too early and never returned to school.

Girls whose dreams slowly disappeared into survival.

Girls who became adults too quickly.

Girls who lost themselves before they even had the chance to fully know themselves.

I had tenacity.

I fought hard for my future.

I somehow kept pushing through.

But honestly, not every girl gets out.

And that’s the part that has stayed heavy in my chest.

So when people wonder why I haven’t rushed to respond emotionally or financially, I wish they understood that this is not just about helping somebody’s grandson.

This message reopened something old.

It reminded me how close I came to becoming another story entirely.

And this is exactly why my work is so important to me.

Because every time I fight for a girl to stay in school, every time I speak up for girls at risk, every time I push conversations around early marriage, safety, education and opportunity, I am painfully aware that many girls are standing at the same crossroads I once stood at.

The difference between one future and another can sometimes be one vulnerable season.

One decision.

One opportunity.

One person saying, “let her stay in school.”

And maybe that is why this work is personal for me.

Because I know what almost happened.