The Future Wears Little Shoes

The Future Wears Little Shoes

Nov 15 , 2025. By Eden Sahle ( Eden Sahle is founder and CEO of Yada Technology Plc. She has studied law with a focus on international economic law. She can be reached at edensah2000@gmail.com. )

A routine household survey revealed a disturbing pattern, children are frequently uncounted in families. The belief that youngsters should speak less, eat later, and expect little is passed down as tradition. These norms create adults who internalise inferiority and accept deprivation as a moral standard. The omission may look small, yet it signals a structural problem. Nations progress only when their youngest citizens are properly recognised.

A couple of weeks ago, a team of government civil servants knocked on my door, saying they were collecting economic data from households. My helper answered the gate and spoke to them. When she returned, I asked who it was, and she told me, “People from the government wanted to know how many people live here and what everyone does for a living.” She seemed unbothered, but I was curious about what she had said.

When I realised she had given them incorrect information. I went out to meet the surveyors myself to provide the right details.

Out of all the mistakes my helper made, one in particular shocked me; she hadn’t counted my daughter, Gabriella. I smiled a little and teased her, asking how she could forget my child, the sweetest person in the house.

Her answer froze my smile. “Since when are children counted?” she boldly said. I was taken aback. I looked at her, a young woman who had finished high school, and I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

When I asked her what she meant, she explained that where she came from, children weren't really considered part of the family in that way. “Children don't talk,” she said. "They wait until adults finish eating to eat what's left. Even in weddings, or on holidays, they wait until everyone is done."

She wasn't bitter or resentful when she said it; she spoke as though she were describing a rule of nature, something that made sense to her. She told me that she believed it taught children discipline and gratitude.

I couldn't stop thinking about what she said. She was right about one thing: many children in Ethiopia grow up in similar circumstances. During my travels for work, charity, and leisure, I’ve witnessed the same pattern repeatedly around the country.

In the cold mountains of the north, where the wind cuts even through thick blankets, I saw adults wrapped in full clothing and layers of shawls, while children wore only shorts. Their skin had turned pale and dry from the cold. No one seemed to think that there was something wrong.

Children often stand at the very end of the hierarchy. Many of them, like my helper, are raised to believe that this is normal, even proper. That respect means invisibility.

The way children are treated, especially in their formative years, leaves permanent marks on their confidence, mental health, and ability to see themselves as worthy human beings.

When children are told their voices don’t matter, they grow into adults who question their own worth. When they’re made to eat last, they learn they deserve less. When they’re silenced, they’re conditioned to accept injustice as normal. These lessons shape not only individual lives but the moral fabric of entire societies.

What if discipline looked different? What if gratitude wasn’t taught through hunger but through kindness? What if we raised children to speak respectfully, not fearfully; to listen and also be listened to?

Respecting children doesn't mean spoiling them. It means recognising their humanity. It means clothing them properly. It means giving them a full plate, not scraps. It means allowing them to ask questions, to laugh, to make mistakes without shame.

We cannot discuss poverty, development, or progress without considering how we treat our children. They are the ones who go barefoot, miss school or are malnourished.

Neglect is not always violent. Sometimes it comes disguised as tradition, as discipline, as “the way things are.” Sometimes passed down through generations as a form of love, but if love leaves a child cold, hungry, and unseen, then what kind of love is it?

The problem is a cultural blind spot that has persisted for centuries. In many Ethiopian homes, children are taught to be subservient. They grow up learning that adults are unquestionable, that authority is sacred, and that obedience is the highest virtue. While respect for elders is important, it should not overshadow a child's humanity. Respect should be mutual; it should nurture confidence, not fear.

In several regions I visited, girls bear an even heavier burden. They wake up earlier, sleep later, and shoulder endless chores. They grow up believing their dreams must fit into the small space that remains after everyone else's needs are met. This early conditioning keeps many women from recognising their own worth even as adults.

When I think back to my helper's words, I realised that she didn't mean harm. She was simply repeating what she had lived through. She believed she was defending a tradition of humility and respect. But what she called discipline is, in truth, deprivation. What she called gratitude is resignation.

If we want to raise children who will lead the country to a better future, we must first address the notion that they should be invisible from their minds. We must count them in surveys, in decisions, in conversations, in love.

Ethiopia has signed international conventions protecting children's rights. The supreme law of the land promises them education, protection, and dignity, but laws don't raise children; people do. Policies mean little if families still believe children should stay silent and wait for leftovers.

When we stop saying "they don't understand" to our children and start asking "what do they think?" then we are valuing them.

To break the cycles of poverty and inequality, we must start at the beginning, with the smallest hands and the quietest voices. We must teach our children that they are seen, that they belong and that their thoughts matter. When we recognise that every child matters, we honour their potential, their rights, and their role in shaping the future.

PUBLISHED ON Nov 15,2025 [ VOL 26 , NO 1333]