The day she was born it was more like a fine breeze passing through her nostrils as a sign of the beginning of her life. She came to realise that her life has begun, She was growing up slowly and slowly. Yet she came to realise that as she was growing up, Something was shifting away like a mysterious mist of a smoke. The problem was she could not talk. Most things happened as if it was an imagination, Like from loving others to boastfulness. In her viewing was the wearing away, Of the modest characteristics of the girl child. Yet she was a little girl she noticed gender based violence against the girl child. Fondling of little breasts and wailing, Followed by the brute force by weak and strong man removing the girl child's virginity before she had learnt about what it really means. I am so depressed from deep within, that hope Is lost each and every minute in each and every part of this world we are living in. That day when she realised the features of v