Author name: Josephine Tope-Ojo

Echoes of a Mother’s Heart – Part 5 The Light Beyond the Storm RecapZainab, a loving mother in Ibadan, Nigeria, had endured years of confusion, social judgment, and silence regarding her son Fola’s behavior. Diagnosed late with autism, Fola’s condition strained their finances, their family, and Zainab’s mental health. Through moments of hope and near collapse, her story became a mirror for many Nigerian mothers. But just when it seemed darkest, a flicker of light began to rise. The Healing BeginsZainab sat in the modest living room again, but this time, everything felt different. The TV was off. Her phone, silent. She sat on the mat beside Fola, who was lining up his crayons — red, blue, green, yellow. There was no screaming, no pacing. For the first time in weeks, he paused, looked up at her, and whispered: “Mummy?” Zainab blinked. She had waited three years to hear that word — from him. She burst into tears. Fola walked to her and placed a crayon in her palm. The red one. It wasn’t a sentence. But it was everything. A Turning Point: Meeting Dr. JoAt the recommendation of a kind neighbor, Zainab finally visited Hope4AutismFamilies.com. It led her to Dr. Josephine Tope-Ojo, a global consultant and Board Certified Behavior Analyst (BCBA-D). For the first time, Zainab wasn’t dismissed or pitied. She was understood. “Zainab, you are not broken,” Dr. Jo said via a Zoom call. “Your child is not cursed. He is not stubborn. He is not possessed. He is autistic — and beautifully so.” Zainab sobbed. Through online coaching, guidance, behavior therapy plans, and parental support, Dr. Jo began to walk Zainab through what the Nigerian system had denied her for years: understanding, tools, and hope. Bringing the Family TogetherAt first, Zainab’s husband, Rafiu, had dismissed everything as “Western thinking.” But Dr. Jo invited him to a session. She spoke not only as a scholar but as a mother. “Your son may never be typical. But he can be functional. He can be happy. And you will be proud of him.” Rafiu listened. For the first time, he held Fola and didn’t pull away when Fola didn’t hug him back. Instead, he whispered, “Daddy loves you.” Fola didn’t speak. But he leaned on his father’s chest. That was enough. Community and CompassionDr. Jo helped Zainab set up a support circle of four mothers in her area — all with autistic children. They called it “Our Echoes.” Every Friday, they met in someone’s home, prayed together, shared meals, and supported one another. They laughed. They cried. They learned. Zainab even began teaching other parents basic behavior management skills. Her voice became stronger. Her back, straighter. Her eyes, lighter. She was becoming not just a mother, but an advocate. The School that ListenedA local school, previously unwilling to enroll Fola, finally agreed after Dr. Jo helped draft an Individualized Education Plan (IEP). Zainab trained the teacher in understanding Fola’s visual cues and preferences. By the end of the first term, Fola could sit through morning assembly and participate in class using picture cards. One teacher whispered to Zainab, “I never knew he could smile like that.” A New ZainabGone was the silent woman who cried behind bathroom doors. Zainab had become a lighthouse for others. “Autism is not a death sentence,” she often said at community gatherings. “But ignorance is.” She spoke in churches. Mosques. On radio. On WhatsApp forums. She shared the name Dr. Josephine Tope-Ojo like a lifeline. Her story rippled across communities. More families reached out. More children received help. The silence cracked — and in its place, voices began to rise. The Message of HopeTo every parent walking through this painful and confusing path, this story is yours too. Yes, there is stigma.Yes, there is silence.Yes, there are days when it feels like the world doesn’t see your child — or you. But there is hope. There is compassion, there is professional help, and above all — you are not alone. Final Words: A Letter from ZainabTo every mother who cries in secret,To every father afraid to accept,To every child struggling in silence, Know this: there is a place where your pain is understood. Where your child is not “weird,” but wired differently. Where you don’t have to pretend anymore. I found that place.It gave me the courage to find myself again. You will too. – Zainab Adebayo   📩 For Trainings: As a non-profit organization, we provide both virtual and in-person behavioral training for parents and caregivers of children diagnosed with autism. For families who may need more personalized support, we also offer individualized Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) services. These services focus on promoting socially significant behavior change—supporting skill acquisition, behavior modification, and reduction programs designed to enhance the development, abilities, and independence of children on the autism spectrum. Email us at:📬 info@hope4autismfamilies.com You are not alone. 💙 Disclaimer: The characters in this story are fictional; however, the events and situations depicted are true to life.

Echoes of a Mother’s Heart – Part 4 Finding the Rhythm There was no miracle transformation overnight. Tobi still woke at odd hours, still screamed when he couldn’t find the red car, still flapped his hands when the ceiling fan turned too fast. But something was different now: Busola was no longer carrying it alone. Segun started coming home earlier. Not always, and not perfectly. But enough. Enough to hold Tobi’s hands while he danced in circles. Enough to sit quietly beside him, even if he didn’t always understand why Tobi laughed at nothing or stared at spinning things for minutes. One evening, as the harmattan breeze cooled their small compound, Tobi ran to Segun holding his alphabet cards. Segun, surprised, took the cards and read out loud.“A… Apple. B… Ball.” Tobi flapped excitedly.“C!” he yelled. Busola clapped from the doorway, her heart swelling. This—this was a kind of music.Not the one they used to dream of…But a rhythm their family was slowly learning to dance to. A Turning PointWeeks later, Busola found herself at a local church women’s gathering. The theme was “Raising Unique Children in Challenging Times.” As the other mothers shared stories of bed-wetting and school fees, Busola sat quietly. Then, one mother mentioned her son’s speech delay and how people laughed at him. Busola raised her hand. “My son doesn’t talk much either. He may never talk like your children. But he sings with his eyes. He feels with his hands. He teaches us love without language.” The room fell silent. And in that silence, other mothers nodded. A few teared up. One woman reached over and held her hand. That day, something awoke in Busola. She had a voice—and others needed to hear it. The Community BeginsBy the next month, Busola had started a WhatsApp group for mothers raising neurodivergent children. It was called “Mothers of Grace.” Each week, she shared stories, prayer points, links to free autism resources—even simple breathing exercises for tired moms. One day, she got a message: “Sis Busola, God bless you. I no longer feel alone.” And then another: “I copied your letter to your son. I read it to mine. He smiled. It’s the first time I saw him smile this week.” Segun’s ShiftMeanwhile, Segun had taken to fixing things around the house again. Not because they were broken. But because he was healing. It became his quiet therapy. He even built a small wooden swing in the back for Tobi. Sometimes, he would push him slowly and hum songs from his youth. Other times, he would sit beside Busola and read articles on autism, occasionally asking, “What does stimming mean again?”“Why does he cover his ears?” They didn’t have all the answers. But they had each other. And now, they were searching together. A Mother’s PeaceOne night, after Tobi had fallen asleep—peacefully, curled up like a question mark—Busola knelt beside her bed, her hands clasped. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered.“Not for healing yet. But for holding me through it all.” Her prayers were no longer desperate cries.They were now conversations—sometimes silent, but always sincere.   📩 For Trainings: As a non-profit organization, we provide both virtual and in-person behavioral training for parents and caregivers of children diagnosed with autism. For families who may need more personalized support, we also offer individualized Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) services. These services focus on promoting socially significant behavior change—supporting skill acquisition, behavior modification, and reduction programs designed to enhance the development, abilities, and independence of children on the autism spectrum. Email us at:📬 info@hope4autismfamilies.com You are not alone. 💙 Disclaimer: The characters in this story are fictional; however, the events and situations depicted are true to life.

Echoes of a Mother’s Heart – Part 3 The Breaking Point The sun rose as it always did in the quiet town of Akure, but inside the Adetola home, peace was a stranger. Busola had barely slept. Her eyes burned, not just from the lack of rest, but from hours of silent crying beside her son. She lay on the thin mat next to Tobi, who, as usual, had drifted off only after several hours of rocking and humming—Busola’s arms sore, her lips dry, but her heart still beating with hope… or what was left of it. That morning, her husband Segun stormed into the room holding a crumpled letter from his office.“They’ve suspended me,” he barked. “Again. You promised his noise wouldn’t reach the neighbors anymore. You said he’d change!” Busola’s body trembled, but she didn’t speak. What could she say? That she, too, wished she knew how to “change” Tobi? That she wasn’t the one disturbing the peace, but simply trying to hold it together? Segun left, slamming the door behind him, his resentment echoing through the house. That day, the walls felt closer. Every creak of the wooden floor, every squeak from the neighbor’s metal gate sounded louder than usual. But Tobi’s world was the loudest of all. He ran up and down the small corridor, slapping the wall, humming a single high-pitched sound repeatedly. He banged his toys on the floor, not in anger, but as though trying to feel something through the vibrations. Busola watched him from the doorway, her body weak and sore from constant tension. Then it happened. She collapsed. It wasn’t the dramatic fall people expected. It was subtle—like a candle snuffed out. Her knees gave in, her hand lost grip on the doorknob, and her body slid down against the wall like forgotten laundry. The hospital bed was hard. The fluorescent lights harsh. Busola blinked slowly, adjusting to the sterile brightness. Nurse Ladi stood beside her with a clipboard. “You fainted due to exhaustion,” she said gently. “Low blood pressure, stress, malnutrition. Madam, you need to rest.” “I can’t rest,” Busola whispered, her voice thin as papyrus. “My son… he needs me.” Nurse Ladi sat beside her, softer now.“I know. But you can’t pour from an empty cup.” The moment Busola returned home, she knew something had changed. Tobi sat quietly—too quietly—in the corner of the room, his toy cars lined up meticulously. Segun stood awkwardly behind him, unsure, but trying. “I didn’t know he liked lining things,” Segun said, rubbing the back of his neck.“I Googled it. They said it’s something… autistic children do.” Busola’s eyes widened, tears filling them again—but not from pain this time. “You searched about it?” she whispered. Segun nodded.“I don’t get it… But maybe I want to.” That night, Segun held Tobi while Busola finally slept.It was awkward, but real.The beginning of something new. Something like understanding. Or maybe, love without conditions. To be continued…   📩 For Trainings: As a non-profit organization, we provide both virtual and in-person behavioral training for parents and caregivers of children diagnosed with autism.  For families who may need more personalized support, we also offer individualized Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) services. These services focus on promoting socially significant behavior change—supporting skill acquisition, behavior modification, and reduction programs designed to enhance the development, abilities, and independence of children on the autism spectrum. Email us at:📬 info@hope4autismfamilies.com You are not alone. 💙 Disclaimer: The characters in this story are fictional; however, the events and situations depicted are true to life.

Echoes of a Mother’s Heart – Part 2 Cracks in the Silence The rooster crowed long before dawn. But Mojisola hadn’t slept. She lay on the thin mattress beside Dayo, who, as always, had wriggled out of his wrapper during the night. He was curled up like a cat, eyes twitching beneath their lids, occasionally making humming sounds. Her husband, Femi, had taken to sleeping in the other room “for work focus.” But they both knew what it really meant. The distance between them had grown—not just physically, but in every word left unspoken. Mojisola’s days had become an exhausting loop of struggle and survival. The market. The stares. The whispers. The judgment. The unspoken question in people’s eyes: “What kind of woman gives birth to a child like this?” But the worst was the silence. Dayo had still not spoken a single word. Three years. Not even “Mama.” Wounded FaithSunday came, and Mojisola forced herself to church, tying Dayo onto her back with the same ankara wrapper her mother had once used for her. The praise songs felt hollow. The words of encouragement bounced off her. She didn’t go to hear a sermon. She went because she was afraid that not going might invite more judgment. Or worse, more spiritual warfare. After service, she knelt for prayers. The women gathered around, hands shaking, oil dripping. “Loose him, oh Lord!”“Spirit of backwardness, come out!”“Autism is not his portion!”“Amen!” She nodded, wept, and clung to their words like lifelines—but deep down, she felt like she was drowning in quicksand. Her baby didn’t need exorcism. He needed understanding. But no one seemed to see that. The Shattered GlassIt was a Wednesday evening. She had returned from the market, carrying her wares and Dayo on one hip. Her back ached. The landlord had come by to demand rent again. Inside, she set down her goods, unwrapped Dayo, and poured water into a plastic cup. That’s when it happened. The neighbor’s child—Kenny—ran in with his usual noise. A balloon in hand. Laughing loudly. Dayo screamed. A high-pitched, glass-breaking shriek. And in one terrifying motion, he threw the plastic cup with all his might. It smashed against the wall. Shards flew. Water sprayed. Kenny cried. Dayo rocked back and forth, covering his ears and banging his head. Mojisola froze. The crack wasn’t just in the cup. It was in her heart. She knelt beside him, sobbing into her palms. “What have I done wrong, Lord?” The Search BeginsThat night, long after the world had gone to bed, Mojisola searched Google on her cheap secondhand phone: “Child not talking at 3” “Why is my child screaming?” “What is autism?” Each link was a punch to the stomach. She read symptoms, signs, therapies, causes. She saw the word “Autism Spectrum Disorder” more times than she could count. Videos of white families in America helping their children talk, play, grow. She cried again—not because she found answers—but because she realized just how alone she was in Nigeria. But amid the fear, something changed. For the first time, she saw hope. Cracks Let Light InThe next morning, she approached a school she had once passed by many times. It had a tiny sign: “Inclusive Learning Centre – For Children with Special Needs.” The woman at the gate was kind. Her name was Mrs. Adefolake. She listened. She didn’t judge. She even smiled at Dayo and gave him a biscuit. They spoke for an hour. About early intervention. About therapies. About acceptance. About love. Mojisola cried again. But this time, they were not tears of shame. They were tears of relief. Tears of a mother realizing that though the road ahead was long and narrow, it wasn’t completely dark anymore. To Be Continued in Part 3 📩 For Trainings: As a non-profit organization, we provide both virtual and in-person behavioral training for parents and caregivers of children diagnosed with autism.  For families who may need more personalized support, we also offer individualized Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) services. These services focus on promoting socially significant behavior change—supporting skill acquisition, behavior modification, and reduction programs designed to enhance the development, abilities, and independence of children on the autism spectrum. Email us at:📬 info@hope4autismfamilies.com You are not alone. 💙 Disclaimer: The characters in this story are fictional; however, the events and situations depicted are true to life.  

Echoes of a Mother’s Heart – Part 1 The Whisper No One Heard The sky over Lagos was dimming, the bustling noise of the city slowly blending into the distant hum of nightfall. Mosunmola sat by the window of their modest two-bedroom apartment in Egbeda, her eyes glazed, her hands folded tightly like she was praying—but she wasn’t. She was watching. Waiting. Wondering. Her heart beat not just for herself but for the little boy asleep in the next room—David. David was four years old and hadn’t said a word since he turned two. Not even “mummy.” Not “water.” Not “I want.” Just silence. A silence that stretched long, like a whisper no one could hear. But Mosun could hear it. She felt it in the way David avoided eye contact, in the way he flapped his hands endlessly when excited, or how he screamed uncontrollably in the market if a generator was humming nearby. She tried to explain it to her husband, Kunle, but every time she brought it up, he would shake his head and mutter, “The boy is just stubborn. He will talk when he’s ready.” Mosun knew something was wrong. But in the heart of Lagos, amid the everyday survival hustle, who would listen? The Burden of a Mother’s Intuition It started with missed milestones. David didn’t point to things. He didn’t play pretend like other children. At his age, most children in the compound were already singing rhymes and forming tiny sentences. But David? He would sit for hours arranging his toy cars in a straight line. If anyone disturbed that pattern, he’d cry for hours. Neighbors whispered behind closed doors. “That boy, abi he no get small madness?” “Maybe na spiritual problem, she go try deliverance.” Mosun heard them all. Each word sliced through her like a knife. The worst part? She was alone. Completely alone. Even her own mother, Mama Alake, told her to stop bringing shame to the family.“Na you born am! You go carry your cross. No be everything be oyinbo sickness!” Kunle’s Denial Kunle loved his son—or at least the version of his son he dreamed of. He believed in tough love. “The boy needs discipline,” he’d say. So when David had meltdowns, Kunle would beat him, hoping to “reset his head.” The first time it happened, Mosun stood there, frozen, begging him to stop. But Kunle was blinded by fear—fear that his only son was “defective,” that he would be mocked by his friends, that his lineage would be questioned. He was a man after all. In Nigeria, that meant carrying the weight of perfection—even if it meant denying the obvious. The School That Didn’t Understand When Mosun finally enrolled David in a nursery school in Alimosho, she hoped things would get better. Maybe the teachers would understand. Maybe David just needed the company of other kids. But the school called her after just three days. “Madam, please come and carry your son. He doesn’t interact. He disturbs the class. He bites other children.” Mosun broke down in tears right there in the school office. She had no answers. Only questions.Was she cursed? Did she do something wrong in her past? Was David being punished for a sin she didn’t remember? The Breaking Point One night, David had a meltdown so intense that the neighbors called the landlord. Kunle had traveled for work, so Mosun was alone. David was screaming, kicking, slamming his head against the wall. All because the electricity went out and the sudden darkness startled him. Mosun tried everything—hugging him, singing softly, even praying aloud. But nothing worked. She sank to the floor, holding her screaming son, rocking back and forth with tears pouring uncontrollably down her cheeks. The landlord knocked furiously, shouting, “If you can’t control that child, I’ll evict you!” It was the moment everything cracked. Mosun realized: No one was coming. No one understood. And she couldn’t do it alone. A Ray of Light The next day, still with puffy eyes, Mosun went online and typed:“Why my child is not talking at age 4 in Nigeria.” What she found shocked her. “Autism Spectrum Disorder.” “Sensory sensitivities.” “Speech delays not caused by stubbornness.” “Behavioral therapies.” “Early intervention.” “You are not alone.” She stumbled upon a Nigerian website: Hope4AutismFamilies.com She saw the smiling face of Dr. Josephine Tope-Ojo, a Board Certified Behavior Analyst with decades of experience supporting African families living with autism. Mosun reached out. She didn’t expect a reply. But she got one. And it changed everything. 📩 For Trainings: As a non-profit organization, we provide both virtual and in-person behavioral training for parents and caregivers of children diagnosed with autism.  For families who may need more personalized support, we also offer individualized Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) services. These services focus on promoting socially significant behavior change—supporting skill acquisition, behavior modification, and reduction programs designed to enhance the development, abilities, and independence of children on the autism spectrum. Email us at:📬 info@hope4autismfamilies.com You are not alone. 💙 Disclaimer: The characters in this story are fictional; however, the events and situations depicted are true to life.    

When Adaobi gave birth to Chukwuma, she had dreams of a future filled with laughter, school awards, and birthday parties with bouncing castles and small chops. She imagined him as a lawyer like his father, or maybe a brilliant engineer building bridges across the River Niger. But life had another plan. By age two, Chukwuma still wasn’t talking. He didn’t answer when called. He preferred to spin the wheels of his toy truck for hours rather than play with other children. Family members said things like: “Boys are usually slow.”“He’ll talk when he’s ready.”“You’re just worrying too much.” Adaobi wanted to believe them. But deep in her heart, she knew something wasn’t right. The Diagnosis That Changed Everything One hot afternoon in Enugu, Adaobi walked into the pediatric neurologist’s office, holding her son close. After a series of questions, the doctor looked up gently and said: “Your son is on the autism spectrum.” Adaobi froze. Autism? In Nigeria? She had only heard about it in foreign movies or random online articles. The questions flooded her mind: She cried for days. She felt alone. Her husband, Emeka, was supportive but confused. Church members prayed for deliverance. One aunty even suggested it was spiritual. But Adaobi needed more than prayers. She needed answers. A Mother’s Resolve Instead of sinking into depression, Adaobi did something different—she fought. She attended every workshop on special needs she could find in Lagos and Port Harcourt. She joined Facebook groups like Hope4AutismFamilies. She started keeping a daily journal of Chukwuma’s behaviour. She learned about speech therapy, occupational therapy, and sensory processing. Then one day, something remarkable happened. Chukwuma, now four, walked to the window during a Harmattan rainstorm and said: “Mummy, I can hear the rain.” It wasn’t just the words—it was the connection. For the first time, Adaobi saw light at the end of the tunnel. From Isolation to Inclusion At first, neighbours whispered. Children at the playground called Chukwuma “weird.” Even some teachers refused to include him in activities. But Adaobi refused to let ignorance win. She started a WhatsApp group called “Different, Not Less – Naija Mums.” In weeks, dozens of Nigerian mothers joined, each with their own stories of struggle and courage. She organized awareness events at churches. She wrote articles for parenting blogs. She began working with a team of local therapists to make early intervention services more accessible in her community. Chukwuma began to thrive. He now uses assistive communication devices and attends a school that celebrates neurodiversity. He loves drawing and is obsessed with trains. Every time he finishes a sketch, he runs to Adaobi and says, “Mummy, come and see! I made a train with three windows!” The Lesson We All Must Learn Autism is not a curse. It is not punishment or the result of “village people.” It is a different way of experiencing the world. Children like Chukwuma may not follow the same timeline as others, but their journey is no less beautiful. Adaobi once said at a parents’ conference: “Autism didn’t break my son. It broke me—in the best way. It tore down my assumptions, and rebuilt me into a stronger, more compassionate woman.” Hope for Every Nigerian Family If you’re reading this and wondering, “Will my child ever speak? Will he go to school? Will we survive this?”—the answer is yes. With early support, therapy, and acceptance, your child can thrive. And like Adaobi, you can become a light for others. 📩 For Trainings: As a non-profit organization, we provide both virtual and in-person behavioral training for parents and caregivers of children diagnosed with autism.  For families who may need more personalized support, we also offer individualized Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) services. These services focus on promoting socially significant behavior change—supporting skill acquisition, behavior modification, and reduction programs designed to enhance the development, abilities, and independence of children on the autism spectrum. Email us at:📬 info@hope4autismfamilies.com You are not alone. 💙 Disclaimer:The characters in this story are fictional; however, the events and situations depicted are true to life.