project boy child advocacy

12/06/2026

11/06/2026

Consider your mental.
,_______________________

They told him, “Be a man.”
So he swallowed his tears with his fufu.
He buried his fear under “I’m fine.”
He carried bills, burdens, and silence — because men don’t break.

But this month, for a man…
We say: You’re allowed to bend.

You’re allowed to say “I’m tired” without shame.
You’re allowed to cry when the street is too loud in your head.
You’re allowed to ask for help — and still be a king.

Because the boy who grew up on the street didn’t choose the pain.
And the man he became shouldn’t have to carry it alone.

Mental health is not “for women.”
Depression doesn’t check your gender before it visits.
Anxiety doesn’t respect “man of the house".

So this month, for a man
Check on your brother.
Hug your father.
Listen to your son.
And to every man reading this: Your mind matters too.

Strong is not silent. Strong is speaking.

10/06/2026

10/06/2026

*"What Is My Fault"*

What is my fault?
That I was born where food is a fight?
That my cradle was the gutter, my lullaby was car horns?

What is my fault
That school bells ring for others, but for me only rain?
That my uniform is dust, my bag is empty nylon?

I beg, and you shout “Thief!”
I sleep, and you call me “Menace.”
I cry, and the street swallows my tears.
Tell me — what is my fault?

Did I choose to hawk in traffic while your child learns ABC?
Did I choose cold nights, sore feet, and men with hard eyes?
Did I choose to forget my own name, because “hey you” is all I hear?

I am not my pain.
I am not the dirt on my skin.
I am a boy. With a heart. With a dream. With a fault I never committed.

So I ask again — what is my fault?
And if you have no answer…
Then help me carry the pain I did not cause.

I am not a street child.
I am a child. On the street.
Salah Weliyo fans Hogis Group Voice channel tv Verydarkblackman Arinze Omaka

07/06/2026

*Life of Pain: The Street Child*

He wakes up to the sound of car horns, not a mother’s call.
His bed is cardboard, his roof is the sky. Rain is his bath, hunger his daily bread.

Every day is a fight — fight for food from dustbins, fight for coins at traffic lights, fight to keep older boys from taking his shoes. Night brings new fears: cold, mosquitoes, and men who see a child but not a human.

He laughs sometimes. When a driver gives him ₦100. When he finds a ball to kick. But the laughter fades fast. Because tomorrow is the same pain with a different sun.

He has a name, but the street calls him “hey you.”
He has dreams, but the street buries them under traffic and smoke.
He has a heart, but the world taught it to be stone so it won’t break again..