WE CALLED HER AUNTY, BUT SHE WAS THE STORM

I remember this like yesterday.

We had this woman everyone called Auntie Margaret.
She wasn’t our auntie by blood, but in our old compound, you didn’t need blood to be family. You just needed to be kind… and show up.

And Auntie Margaret? Oh, she showed up with a big smile, warm pots of jollof, and a booming voice that could silence any child mid-sprint. She was like the compound mother. Always correcting somebody’s child, wiping snot off another, carrying babies on her back like she was collecting motherhood awards.

But then…

One evening, I noticed something strange.

Mama came back from market, exhausted, and went to rest. As usual, Auntie Margaret offered to help bathe my baby sister. It was normal. She had done it before.

But that day, my sister screamed like her body was on fire.

The sound shook me. My feet froze. And I remember Mama jumping out of sleep like someone had poured cold water on her soul.

What followed was a wave of secrets.

Long story short?

Auntie Margaret wasn’t just being “helpful.”
She had been disciplining kids… with things no child should ever feel on their skin.
And worse? Some children weren’t crying because of water or soap. They were crying because of silence.
Because they didn’t know if anyone would believe them.

I was just a child, but that was the day I learned:
Not everyone who smiles is safe.
And proximity is not protection.

Reflection Pause

Now, why am I telling you this?

Because some of us are so busy managing life, we’re outsourcing our children’s memories.
We let culture call abuse “tough love.”
We let “family friend” override discernment.
We ignore their cries because they’re inconvenient.

But hear me, as long as God has trusted you with a child, you are their covering.
Not everyone deserves a front-row seat to your children’s trust.