In 2025, Brittle Paper had the honour of publishing Nana Darkoa’s wonderful “Dear Daughter” letter in commemoration of International Day of the Girl Child. This year, we are sharing another letter, this time from Lindsay Sesay to her daughter, Gigi.

The first letter was shared by the fantastically empowering organisation, Purposeful, and Darkoa’s letter has since inspired other members of Purposeful to write letters to their own daughters. Their Advocacy Director, Josephine Kamara, wrote a letter to her daughter, Jezreel, which was published by Eyala Blog. Another colleague, Yeiwah Kainandeh, wrote a letter which was featured in May on the BBC’s Dear Daughter podcast. And now their Programs Coordinator, Lindsay Sesay, has created a powerful meditation on a mother’s love for her daughter Gigi, which includes a much-needed lesson on child sexual abuse.

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Photograph by Isha Abis Kamara

 

Dear Gigi, my dear daughter,

I am writing to you, not only as your mother, but as a woman who was once a little girl trying to understand a world that did not always feel safe.

I was three years old when my parents separated. My mother was still very young herself, and she left to work far away so we could survive. I stayed behind with your grandfather, who later remarried. Those years shaped me in ways I am still learning to understand. I learned early what silence feels like. I learned how neglect settles quietly into a child’s life. I learned how harm can happen when adults are not watching or when they choose not to see. I also learned something dangerous: that keeping quiet felt safer than speaking up.

I was afraid that if I told the truth, I wouldn’t be believed. That fear stayed with me for a long time, and it shaped the woman I became. Even after my mother came back for me, the impact of those early years remained. Childhood has a way of settling into the body. It follows us into adulthood, into relationships, into motherhood. And yet, somewhere inside that little girl, I made a promise to myself one that I want you to carry forward with you: my daughter will never grow up alone. My daughter will always be believed.

When I became pregnant with you in my final year of university, I was scared but I was also certain. I knew the odds. I understood the work it would take. And I knew something else just as clearly: you were a choice I made with love and intention. I chose you. I chose this life with you. And I have never once regretted that choice. Your name, Gianna, means gift from God, and you truly are. You arrived not as a burden, but as a blessing; a reminder that something new and good can grow even after difficult beginnings. Today, I am married to your father, and together we are raising you and your brother, Jadon. This family did not come easily. It was built deliberately through courage, healing, hard conversations, and hope. But Gigi, I need you to understand this: even when a mother has healed, she remembers.

Sometimes, I worry not because of you, but because I know what the world can be. That worry is not fear, it is memory, and it is love. You may notice that I ask you many questions, especially about your interactions with boys and men around our family, at school, anywhere you spend time. I know it can feel annoying. I know you sometimes want to avoid those conversations. But listen to me closely, my love, because this matters: I ask, not to control you, but to protect you. I ask because I know what happens when girls are taught to be “respectful” instead of safe. Here is what I want you to remember, always: If something makes you uncomfortable, you do not need a “good reason” to leave. If an adult asks you to keep a secret from me, that is a reason to tell me immediately. If someone touches you in a way that feels wrong, confusing, or makes your stomach tighten, trust that feeling. Your body is yours. You never owe anyone access to it. Not affection, not silence, not politeness, not respect.

I also need you to know this, without any doubt: you can always come to me. You will never be in trouble for telling the truth here. I would rather hear something difficult than have you carry it alone. In this home, you will always be believed. What I want more than anything is to be your safe place, the person I needed when I was your age. I want you to bring me your questions, your fears, your confusion, and even your mistakes. Silence does not protect girls, love does. Truth does. The community does.

Much of my life’s work has grown from what I did not have as a girl. My work with Purposeful centers around coordinating partners across four districts who run safe spaces for girls, where they can speak freely, learn their rights, and understand that they are not the problem. I have sat in those circles and listened as girls told the truth about their lives, sometimes for the first time, and saw them realised they were not alone. I also help lead our Wati Kura Project, working to end Female Genital Cutting, so girls can grow up whole, with choice and dignity. I have seen what happens when girls are given language for what they feel and permission to question what harms them. Truth becomes courage. Courage becomes joy.

This is what I hope you inherit: the courage to question what feels wrong, and the tenderness to care deeply without losing yourself. Gigi, I want you remember this when life asks too much of you: Speak up even when your voice shakes. Trust your instincts. Ask questions. Leave spaces that make you feel small. Demand better. And when the world feels overwhelming, remember where you come from. You come from a woman who survived, who chose love anyway, who chose you, and who is always walking beside you.

With all my love,
Mummy

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Lindsay wrote this letter to her daughter, Gianna, and to the more than 15,000 girls she has walked alongside through the Girls Circle Collectives in Sierra Leone, and it celebrates the International Day of the Girl Child. To learn more, read Building Girls’ Power in Sierra Leone: The Impact of Five Years of Theory into Practice.