Children

My heart aches with unquestionable pain as I watch a child clean the wind screen of a taxi that was stuck in traffic beside me. The boy wore faded brown shorts and a stained, dirty yellow shirt. He held a clothe in one hand and a bottle of soapy water in the other.

The boy stretch out a thin hand for his reward  beads of sweat on his forehead. Standing under the hot, blazing Nigerian sun would not be easy.

"Get out of here!" The driver exclaimed in annoyance, the boy was not swayed. Instead he went to the next car and repeated the action.

The woman who sat in the back seat rolled down her window of the old bashed up mercedes benz. A single 20 niara dangle out her window. The boy eagerly snatched it and put it into the pocket of his dirty faded shorts.

My heart broke, I am a mother of three. Two girls and a boy but no matter how poor I was, I would never abuse my children in such a way.

I know he certainly didn't choose to turn out  this way, I know that little boy was meant to be in school around this time. He wasn't meant to be on the road hustling.

I heard a horn from the cars behind me, the cars were moving forward ahead of me. I did the same. I ignored the boy's desperate need for help. After all I am just another Nigerian and I wouldn't make a difference.