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Random Tip of the Day Quality time doesn’t have to be hours long. Even 10-15 minutes of focused, distraction-free connection—playing, talking, or reading together—can strengthen your bond and make your child feel valued. Drop a ❤️ if this made sense #Grateful #Attendance #BeautyPeter

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#Discipline #nakupenda SHE WAS 8 YEARS OLD WHEN THEY FORCED HER TO MARRY AN 80-YEAR-OLD MAN AND THIS HAPPENED She was only eight. She still played with dolls, still chased butterflies barefoot in the dusty yard, still slept with her head on her mother’s lap. Her name was Amina, and all she ever wanted was to go to school, eat sweets, and laugh with her younger brother. But one morning, her mother pulled her aside, eyes red, voice trembling. "You are to be married next week." Amina blinked. Married? She thought it meant putting on a pretty dress and playing bride, the way she did with her friends. She didn’t understand why her mother cried harder when she smiled and asked if there would be cake. Her father didn’t explain. He only said, “This will save us all.” The man—Alhaji Umar—was 80 years old, rich, with hands that shook and breath that smelled of bitterness. He had four wives already. The youngest was 40. Now he wanted a fifth, and he wanted Amina. Because her father owed him. Because her father was drowning in debt. Because no one in the village would dare refuse Alhaji Umar. The night before the wedding, Amina asked her mother if she’d be allowed to go back to school afterward. Her mother didn’t answer. She just held her tighter. And when the drums began the next morning, when the guests gathered to dance and eat and celebrate what they thought was a blessing, Amina sat in the middle of the room in a white dress too big for her tiny frame, not knowing she was being led into a nightmare. The marriage was celebrated with loud music. But the silence in Amina’s heart was louder. She didn’t cry during the ceremony. She didn’t cry when she was taken to his house. But she cried when he locked the room that night. She cried when he touched her tiny hand and called her his "new beginning." He didn’t hurt her—not yet. But his eyes did. They looked at her like she wasn’t a child. Like she was property. Days turned into weeks. She didn’t go to school again. She cleaned the house. She sat beside his bed. She listened when he ranted about how none of his sons respected him. She became a shadow in a palace she never asked for. And the worst part? No one came for her. Not her father. Not her mother. They had vanished into the silence of guilt. But one night, when the wind howled and the rain slapped the windows, Amina heard someone at the door. A stranger. Wet, tired, breathing heavily. He said he was Alhaji Umar’s grandson. A university student back from abroad. “Who are you?” he asked, staring at her with confusion. “Why are you wearing a wedding necklace?” “I’m his wife,” she whispered. The boy’s face went pale. That night changed everything. TO BE CONTINUED...

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