A VOICE OF THE YOUNG

Tom kept kicking the mud coated ball, running off to pick it up from the goal post and running back energetically to his initial position. He was concentrating with all his might, calculating distance and the right acceleration but concentrating on the net at the center of the wide field only made his eyes heavy and his vision hazy. His mother would be out again to scold him for the third time as to why he should get rid of that ugly ball, quit the game and make himself useful in the house. 

The ball kept speeding off to the right side of the net, never hitting the spot Tom wanted it to, but he kept trying over and over again. The dirty ball rolled into the net unexpectedly and he shrieked victoriously, now he was hooked even more and felt determined to score more goals.

Thirty minutes later, the young boy was bent over his knees, panting and grinning. Four scores! It was amazing. Each goal was an encouraging push so he kept kicking and running to pick up the ball till he scored another goal, and afterwards, two more goals.

Tom frowned and turned towards his house. Why hadn't mum come to find him? Well then, he could keep playing. She probably didn't mind anymore.

Who was he kidding? When does his mum never mind anything?

Tom kicked the ball to the side of the yard and ran to the house, sweaty and feeling quite the man.

He opened the door and it creaked, always known for announcing someone's presence before they do that themselves. His Dad, Mom, Violet and Uncle Drew were all sitting in a circle, eyes glued to the television. Timothy looked at his muddy shirt and cringed, waiting for his mother to raise her head. She didn't.

“Whats going on?” No one turned to look at him.

Tom shut the door and asked again in his sing song voice but was completely ignored. 

He sat on his grandpa's rocking chair, the only chair available, and curiously looked at the program on the tv. There was a young girl speaking with so much authority. She looked younger than his sister and he was curious to why what she was saying was so important. Everyone was watching her.

It was already 04:13 pm, past the time Violets QandT show started but why wasn't it showing on the channel? 

Tom sat in, his tiny feet dangling out of the chair. Now what exactly was this about?

****************************************************************************

Lights. Camera. Action.

Malia stood stone faced in front of the camera. Her neck was itching. She was thinking also, very randomly, of the unfortunate Minister who would send a cautionary note cajoling her into silence in the future, saying something in the line of, ‘There's no need to worry your young head over such matters. How old are you again? Shouldn't you be in school today?’

She didn't feel hungry or thirsty but she hadn’t had breakfast and it was already afternoon. 

Throughout the week, her friends had spent hours speeding through corridors, hands full of high tech cables, days hacking into local satellites and generally getting borrowed equipment set up. The young teenagers all called it the day of ‘The Day of the Exposition’. The plan was to break all protocols, the unjust norm of ‘Children should not give opinions as they are childish''. It would just be any normal day in April, Malia was just any young 13 year old and the people that would watch could just be anyone. That was simply it. Malia knew her words were not going to be comforting tales, non-fiction or just any normal hand written speech. On the contrary, they were going to be harsh, raw and expository. She already knew what to expect after this live stream. Political remarks and social media criticisms. Promises of action being taken, invitations to public events, scholarships in prestigious schools for her and her friends and even global recognition. That is, the popularity speaking up brings. Of course, this wasn't the top outcome she wanted.

Silvia raised her eyebrows at Malia and placed her hand steadily on the camera. The tall aspiring computer engineer felt very professional. Tiny drops of rain echoed on the roof of the school building. She did the countdown with her left hand, her right thumb resting on the record button and Malia was ready, as ready as she would ever be. Her friends were in the background away from the camera, not knowing exactly what she was going to say, but guessing the shape it would take.

Ready, 

Set,

Action.

**

“Warm greetings. My name is Malia. I have intercepted the display of your program unapologetic and confident with a goal in mind. I have words to share with the viewer watching right now. This is not an advert, a programme or prank. All over the country, all stations will project this without their knowledge and I would like you to patiently listen, as I am going to speak truth to power and I will do this in raw, very piercing fashion. I am going to speak much truth and facts. I want the world to wake up to the knowledge that certain diseases are eating up the future of hundreds of children like me in the world. I want you, yes you, to think of these dreadful things right and feel the force to make things better. To all the Executives and authorities out there, with all due respect, yes I mean to break your very important train of thought. I mean to interrupt. I am a child with an opinion and I am standing for what is right. The right that children's human rights should stop being violated.

Everyday, a lot of children in the world experience one form of molestation or the other from society, or from their family. Every day, there is a child starving, hoping and praying for a thicker blanket at night. At least five hundred children a year experience female genital mutilation. Several girls have been forced out of school because of accidents that caused unwanted pregnancies. The schools they attend see this as a stain on their reputation and send these girls out of school. As children, we are expected to sit quietly, study and watch the government from afar, when these issues are swallowing us up. What is a voice when we do not use it? Are we seen as too young to have an opinion, to speak up and identify issues in our communities?

Young girls are taken to traditional experts, for non medical reasons and forcefully have their female genital organs totally removed. I know close friends who have experienced it. Why are we not allowed to talk about this? Why are we not allowed to campaign against this disgusting and unjust act that does complete harm and no good to the health of the girl child?

I see governance in countries, but I also want to see governance for children. I see organisations making budgets for developing communities and turning their backs on them but I also have seen young children taking up recycling projects to be able to raise long lasting funds for community development. I am speaking today to challenge the government. We do not want more speeches, we want action! We do not want you coming in your numbers in official vehicles to give us talks about the works of your organisation. We need you to involve us in plans and make us understand the work that is done for the country. Yes as children we have things to say, objections to make, opinions to give but we are shut out because we are young even though we are the leaders of tomorrow.

I am 13 years old, not a politician, not the daughter of political or human right activists but an ordinary girl who desperately wants change in her country. We have a right to good education but most of us are out of school, hawking because our parents are unable to pay school fees. We have a right to protection against harm and abuse but female genital mutilation is still rampant and only those who have the courage speak up do so.

I will leave you with this quote. ‘Bad things should be tackled by anyone who believes better things should be, otherwise they will spread slowly and will one day be accepted as normal happenings in a society’. Think about the future,about right now. What must we do to help?Thank you.

**

Silvia clicked the button and the camera shut off. The cheer around the room was loud enough to blow off the ceiling and Malia was smiling, feeling very very satisfied.

Somewhere in the country, a President was standing in front of the television in his office wondering how his press briefing had been cut off so suddenly, and he had spent the time watching a video of a young girl speaking like a warrior.

Somewhere in the same country, a boy named Tom, in his muddy t-shirt was so shocked at what he had watched, he fell off his grandfather's rocking chair. His sister's excitement was so great that she jumped up and down, despite his mother urging her to calm down. The girl on tv had done the undoable, said what no child had ever said at such a young age.

The country had watched. Phones were already ringing, computer programmers were already tracing, the internet flow was crowded.

And Malia was still feeling the vibration of her speech in the classroom, beyond the classroom, replaying in the minds of thousands of people. Her smile was contagious, her shoulders were straight and her head was held high.