Fatou was a bus conductor in Dakar. Every day, she jumped off and on the moving bus, shouting stops, collecting fares, and swinging her coin pouch like it was part of her body. She had mastered the chaos of the roads, the dust, the insults, the heavy sun. But what she hadn’t mastered, what still caught her off guard was her period. She would feel it coming like a slow storm. The backache. The wave of nausea. The hot flash behind her eyes. But in her line of work, there was no break. No rest. No clean restroom nearby. She would double-pad. Wear black. Whisper prayers. And pretend. One Thursday morning, she wasn’t fast enough. The bleeding came heavier than usual. She felt it soak through there, in the middle of her route, on a packed bus with thirty pairs of eyes. Her heart dropped. But before the panic set in, a woman sitting by the window tapped her shoulder gently. “Sister,” she said, “it is okay.” She handed Fatou her shawl. Shielded her. Whispered for the driver to pause. Min...

  Building Self-esteem in Boys: Stand Up, Be Heard, Be Seen If boys had a penny for every time they were told to “man up,” they would be richer than Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk. From a young age, they’re taught to be tough, stay quiet, and never cry. In places like Nigeria, many boys still lack safe spaces to open up. Silence may look like strength, but often it’s just pain with nowhere to go. The “strong, silent” boy we often admire is just a child who was never really seen or heard. I was reminded of this while watching The Fabelmans. There’s a scene where young Sammy starts making films in his garage, not for fame, but simply to feel and speak. When people don’t have the words, they find other ways. Some create. Some lash out. Some disappear. At the center of it all is one question: Do you see me? Maybe the bravest thing we can do for our boys isn’t to teach them to toughen up, but to show them they’re already enough. In Nigeria, we often place big expectations on our boys. We want...