Tonight, somewhere, a child is dying. A child that is out under the cold of the night, arms wrapped around his bulging ribs, his ears filled with lullabies from buzzing mosquitoes, his lips dry, his head aching. A child seeking the warmth of a mother, the love of a father, the camaraderie of siblinghood.
Tonight, somewhere, a child is dying. Her legs forced apart, the security of her vagina invaded, the inelasticity of her budding breasts tugged at. A child whose screams will never be heard because tonight, her voice will echo in the dark and fade away. 
Tonight, somewhere, a child is dying. His hands and legs tied, kidnapped and thrown into the suffocating dampness of a dirty car and driven to a remote location in the forest where he would meet his first babalawo. His neck would be sliced and his blood would flow and flow, red and endless into an ocean of bountiful nairas. A day, a week, a month, a year and years would go by, and nobody will ask about him. Nobody will know if ever he existed. 
Tonight, somewhere, a child is dying. He is in an Aeroplane, mouth gagged, hands bound, to Italy where she would be sold into prostitution and used to make lots of money. 
Tonight, somewhere, a child is dying. Unsure of tomorrow, he only dreams of his mates in white stockings, and school bags sitting in class facing a mean-spirited teacher. He knows he can never ever be like them. 
Tonight, somewhere, a child is dying. A car has just knocked him down. Tomorrow, his dead body that nobody will claim, will be seen on the coal tar, cold as ice, still as wood. 
Tonight, a child is lying under a bridge, thinking about his friends who are sleeping in the market, and calculating how much sales he hopes to make from his groundnut and sachet water sales tomorrow. He is not certain if his calculations are correct, but who cares? 
Tonight, somewhere, a child is dying. 
Tonight, somewhere else,  a parent has just abandoned their child. A parent has just died. Family members have just neglected a child. And… And… A poor woman who has no job,  and whose husband has no job, is wailing in labour. She is about to give birth to her 13th child. 
Tonight, a child is dying, a child is living, and life is happening. 
Every CHILD Deserves a Fair Start.