See the Child, Not Just the Empty Hands

A challenge to teachers, corps members, and anyone with influence

Back in my NYSC year, there was a teenage girl who hawked boiled groundnuts around our lodge. She’d slip through the gate, tray balanced on her head, and call out: “Buy your sweet boiled groundnuts.”

My lodge mates would pour out. They’d shout their orders — “N200 own, N100 own” — while casually scooping handfuls to “taste.” By the time they paid, they’d eaten more than they bought. Some didn’t buy at all. They just came to eat free.

One evening I found her outside, tray empty, eyes worried. “Aunty, I don’t make gain,” she said. “They chop my market finish.”

That day changed something in me. I bought her packs of nylon. “Stop heaping groundnuts on the tray,” I told her. “Measure with a tin, tie each portion. Stand outside the lodge, not inside. It may sell slower, but your money will be complete.” She listened.

She kept coming. Weekends, evenings. Over a year. In that time, I started noticing more than her sales. I bought her thrift clothes, shoes, underwear, pads — things a teenage girl needs but can’t ask for. She once brought her elder sister to thank me. Their mum died of cancer. It was just her, her dad, and two siblings.

Then she vanished.

Months later, a knock. It was her, smiling. “Aunty, my name is Lilian. I don’t know yours.” I’m Catherine. We hugged like sisters.

She’d finished WAEC. Stayed with grandma in the village. Now her dad had paid for her to learn tailoring. Her sister was learning hairdressing. “We’re not poor,” she said. “My parents were okay until cancer took our money. We started from scratch. But things are looking better.”

She handed me a sack — yams, maize, raw groundnuts, fruits. “You always knew when I needed pads, bra, pants. You were filling a big void.” I offered her money. She refused. “It’s my turn to thank you.”

Lilian will go places. She dreams high and won’t be caged by her environment.

Teachers, here’s the challenge:

How many Lilians sit in your class, flogged on Monday for no textbook, mocked on Tuesday for torn sandals, sent home Wednesday for no PTA levy? We see the empty hands and punish the child. We don’t see the empty home she’s coming from.

As a corps member, I wasn’t rich. But I could buy one pair of sandals. One maths set. One uniform. That was enough to keep a child in school instead of on the street.

So brace up. Identify just one or two students drowning in life, not laziness.

1. Look beyond the offense: No book? Ask why before you cane.

2. Intervene with dignity: A pack of nylons saved Lilian’s business. A pair of shoes could save a child’s attendance.

3. Mentor, don’t just mark: She didn’t need my lesson notes. She needed someone to notice she needed a bra.

You won’t save every child. But if each of us holds one Lilian’s hand, we empty the streets and fill the future.

Stop waiting for government. Stop saying “not my job.” The child outside your gate today is the adult you’ll meet tomorrow.

See the child. Then act.

That’s the real scheme of work.

I am Dr Frank Peter Ombugadu still being modest in adding value and substance to the reservoir and storehouse of knowledge and education