Tag: mental-health

  • Brilliant Girls – Broken Systems.

    The Alliance Girls case is not isolated—it exposes a culture of grooming that stretches from high school dormitories to PhD scholarships.

    We have read with horror about the sexual grooming of students at Alliance Girls’ High School. For many, the news is shocking. For others—especially women who passed through similar institutions—it is tragically familiar.

    What few are willing to admit is this: this is not an isolated incident. It is the inevitable outcome of a system that has, for decades, neglected to protect the very girls it claims to empower. Behind the polished school gates and gleaming academic trophies lies a darker truth—predators have not just infiltrated the education system; they have been enabled by it.

    In schools like Alliance—elite, high-performing, tightly controlled—the grooming isn’t just of girls. The institution grooms the public too: to trust, to praise, to deny. Reputations are managed. Whispers are silenced. Victims are disbelieved or blamed. And so the cycle continues.

    The Anatomy of Grooming: Power, Silence, Betrayal

    Sexual grooming is not about sex. It’s about power—slowly applied, carefully masked. A teacher begins with kindness. Offers mentorship. Shows concern. Sends late-night messages. Touches too long. Tests the boundaries. And by the time the girl realises what’s happening, she’s isolated, ashamed, and afraid to speak.

    Worse still, in many cases, she doesn’t even realise it was abuse—until years later.

    This is the horror: abusers hide in plain sight. They are not strangers. They are the ones given staff housing. They lead chapel. They coach debate. And in the name of discipline, of tradition, of “moulding future leaders,” they are left unchallenged.

    The System Protects Itself

    Why does this happen in top schools like Alliance Girls? Because reputation is currency. And girls—no matter how brilliant, how ambitious, how hurt—are expendable when that currency is threatened.

    The school will call it “an unfortunate incident.” The ministry will promise “a full investigation.” A sacrificial lamb might even be offered—a teacher quietly transferred. But the truth is that the system is designed to forget, not to protect.

    There are no safe reporting structures. There is no trauma support. There is no accountability for silence. There is only a message: Don’t embarrass the school.

    Let’s Tell the Truth

    This is not just about Alliance Girls. This is about how deeply broken our societal response to sexual abuse is—how quickly we turn away, how instinctively we defend the institution over the individual.

    It’s about how we, the public, collude in the cover-up every time we shrug and say,

    “At least they passed their exams.”
    “Why are they remembering now?”
    “Isn’t that an isolated case?”
    “So many girls went through that school and turned out fine.”

    But what is the perfect time to remember a trauma you were never allowed to name?
    What is the perfect age to unearth the shame that was handed to you as a teenager and has sat like a stone on your chest ever since?

    We do not ask the same questions of survivors of war, or accident, or illness. Only girls who were groomed, silenced, and violated are told to remember on schedule—or not at all.

    This culture of disbelief is what keeps predators safe and victims invisible. It’s what trains a generation of girls to quietly fold their pain under their uniforms and smile for prize-giving day.

    Grooming Doesn’t Stop in High School

    This idea of grooming—the slow corrosion of boundaries under the guise of opportunity—does not end at the dormitory gates of girls’ schools. It has crept, fully clothed in academic prestige, all the way up to PhD scholarships, fellowships, and international research programs.

    At that level, it is more subtle but just as lethal.
    A white professor, as old as Methuselah, shares a hotel room with a bright, young African female student—because, without his “help,” she can’t afford to attend the conference. Or a powerful male academic dangles access, authorship, or visas in front of a female student with a knowing smile.

    It is never a male student sharing a room with Methuselah.
    It is rarely a female academic hosting a young man under similar terms.

    Because grooming, at its core, is not just about sex. It is about the manipulation of need, ambition, and silence. And in academia, where hierarchies are steep and opportunities rare, the predator’s power is often wrapped in letters of recommendation.

    What makes it more insidious is that the victims are adults—or so we assume. But age does not immunize one from imbalance. When your academic future depends on one signature, consent becomes currency, and silence becomes survival.

    The Gatekeepers Are Not Innocent

    Universities and funding bodies are not bystanders in this. They are often active enablers—turning a blind eye to inappropriate mentorships, brushing off complaints as “misunderstandings,” or quietly sidelining victims who speak up. Conferences are sponsored, research is published, fellowships awarded, and yet no one asks how certain students got access, or why the same professors are named in hushed tones year after year.

    There are no clear reporting mechanisms, no meaningful protection for whistleblowers, and certainly no appetite for scandal. The institution protects its own, not its students. And the result? A silent, global network of abuse dressed up as academic excellence.

    The Silence Ends Here

    We must stop pretending that grooming is rare, or isolated, or “handled.” It is embedded in our education systems, from the first prize-giving ceremony to the final thesis defense. We need to listen differently, act quicker, and stop sacrificing young lives at the altar of institutional prestige.

    Because if our brightest girls and women cannot find safety in the places meant to shape their futures, then what exactly are we building?

    I hope the case of Alliance Girls does not become just another moment of hashtags and fleeting reflection. I hope it becomes a reckoning. A line in the sand. Because we must now find the courage to ask: What would justice look like for the girls and women who endured grooming—silently, fearfully, and alone? What can we do, as a society, about this collective hypocrisy of forgetting?

    Because when girls or women excel academically, they should be safenot sacrificed at the altar of prestige.

  • The Truth About Caregiving: Love, Loss, and the Strength to Stay

    The strange kind of love – Reflections on caregiving

    Last week I posted something on social media about caregiving.

    They don’t tell you that caregiving is a strange kind of love. You watch your loved one fade like the setting sun — while you are supposed to shine like sunrise. It is also love in the purest form.  

    I didn’t expect the wave that followed. Now I feel that the moment is ripe to deepen the conversation with clarity and hopefully some grace, for I clearly touched a nerve in many different ways.

    Many replied with quiet tears: “Me too.”
    Others, with concern: “But what about your own life, are you ok?’’
    And a few, with sharp practicality: “It’s a waste of time, energy, money.”

    Those who are living it

    For those who are living it. You don’t need me to explain this kind of love. You’re living it. You’ve learned that time bends — that a single hour can feel like a year when the person you care for no longer knows your name, or repeats the same question twelve times before breakfast.

    You’ve felt that pang — the one where love is still strong, but recognition is gone. And yet, you carry on. You show up. You hold the line between memory and forgetting.

    I see you. And more importantly — you are not invisible to your loved one and others who give care.

    My mum no longer remembers my name — she calls me Mummy, the same way I’ve always called her. It’s her strange, beautiful gift to me.
    If she ever calls me by name, especially at night, we know something’s wrong. My name has become a signal — not of recognition, but of pain. A quiet plea for help.

    For those who fear it

    Some asked: “What about your dreams?”
    “Isn’t this a kind of death sentence?”

    I understand where that comes from. It can be hard to watch someone devote their life to a role that demands so much and gives back so little in tangible terms.

    And yes — it’s hard. It can feel like a slow erasure of the self. But that doesn’t mean it’s a dead end.

    Caregiving didn’t kill my dreams.
    If anything, it lit a fire under them. Gave them purpose. Clarity.
    It stripped away the noise — all the distractions, the vanity goals, the borrowed ambitions I once mistook for my own.

    In caring for someone else so completely, I finally saw what I was meant to fight for. This wasn’t an excuse to give up — it was my liberty card. Not the kind we wave when we want out, but the kind we earn when we finally understand what matters.

    For some of us, caregiving isn’t the death of our lives — it’s the rediscovery of what matters. It’s a different kind of becoming. A quieter kind. A harder kind. But not lesser.

    For those who call it a waste of time, I guess money and emotions too!

    I won’t argue. I simply offer this: Not all value is transactional. Not all time has to earn. And not all love must be proven with profit.

    Some things are sacred — not because they are easy, but because they strip us down to our essence and ask us: Who are you, when no one claps?

    That’s what caregiving does.
    It’s not just about caring for someone else — it strips you bare and shows you who you really are. It reveals the self.

    And to put it in terms that might land better: adulthood is a scam.
    Maybe love won’t scam you — not the real kind — but life will.
    You will be scammed. By duty, by capitalism, by expectations dressed up as dreams.

    I’ve simply chosen my scam.
    Caregiving is the one I picked with my eyes open.
    You get to choose yours too.

    For those of us who will stay.

    I don’t romanticise caregiving. I know the toll. The isolation. The fury. The bone-deep fatigue. But I also know the quiet, searing beauty of being someone’s anchor when they are lost to themselves.

    Caregiving isn’t for everyone. It shouldn’t have to be. But for those of us who walk this path — by choice or by circumstance — let it be known:

    This is not a waste.
    This is not weakness.
    This is love — strange, costly, inconvenient, and transformative.

    Last word.

    If you’re caregiving, or considering it, or afraid of what it might make of you — welcome. There’s room here for your story. Your fear. Your grit. Your grief. Your uneven strength.
    We don’t have to agree on everything.
    But we can choose to hold space — for each other, and for the versions of ourselves we’re still becoming.

    Because in the end, that’s what caregiving teaches us:
    How to hold.
    Even when it hurts.
    Even when it fades.
    Even when it’s never returned.

    And maybe, in this fractured world, that’s the most radical thing left to do.

    If you’re walking this caregiving path too — or just want to connect — I’d love to hear from you.
    You can leave a comment below or reach me via the contact page.