“Madame, tu as beaucoup mangé (Madam, you have eaten a lot),” said my former student from College Technique le Bon Berger, when she saw my protruding baby bump in a grocery shop. In Cameroon, when someone tells you that you have eaten a lot, it means you are pregnant. Given the context, I agreed with her that I had indeed eaten a lot. I then asked whether she had finished at her old school, and she said yes. When I asked where she was now, she replied, “In fact, I didn’t go to school this year because there was no money.” When I pressed further, she told me, “I have a child who is one year old now.” That was when I helped her say the truth plainly by responding, “In actuality, you didn’t finish school; you dropped out because you got pregnant.” Without hesitation, she said yes. I asked her what was happening with young girls these days. “How can my students have children before me? How many of your classmates already have children? Three or four?” She answered, “Nous sommes sept (there are seven of us).” Then she turned the question on me and asked, “Et toi, madame, tu es toujours avec ton blanc là? C’est lui le père de ton enfant?” (And you, Madam, are you still with that white man of yours? Is he the father of your child?)

In my mind, I was thinking, Do you young people know that some of us older ones do actually get married? I looked at her and said, “You mean my husband?” while showing her my wedding ring. She did not seem fully aware of how her words came across. Still, I told her, “Yes, my husband is the father of my child, and yes, he is the white gentleman I was engaged to when I taught you. We got married and have begun our family.” I think my tone made her realize that she had offended me. I was not harsh, but I was firm in helping her understand that, for some of us, marriage before children still remains deeply meaningful.

After our conversation, I found myself wondering: Does marriage still hold the same significance in society today? What are parents teaching our teenagers, and what messages are shaping them beyond the home? When I was at university, I watched some students become pregnant in their first year after leaving the structure of their parents’ homes. A few of them spoke openly about weekend encounters and the dishonesty that sometimes followed. What troubled me was not only the behaviour itself, but the sense that many of them were making serious choices without fully thinking through the consequences for their future. When I sat a couple of them down and asked whether they were the ones paying their own tuition, they said no. Then I asked why it seemed so difficult to stay focused on school. They had no answer. By the end of the academic year, a number of them were pregnant, and some aborted their babies because they were afraid of their parents.

When I returned to Cameroon, I had similar conversations with students at the secondary school where I taught, as well as with some young people I met on the streets. The girls at that school laughed at me for being a virgin at 26 years old. To me, that reaction suggested that, among the 43 girls between the ages of 13 and 18 in that classroom, many had already become sexually active. It also reflected a wider gap in values and understanding between us. They did not easily respect me in the classroom until I began speaking with some of them one-on-one to get to the root of the issue. Many of these young people seem to have grown up without the consistent guidance of strong role models. Some come from unstable family situations, while others live with relatives who may not feel equipped to provide the sexual education, emotional support, and moral guidance they need at home.

In October 2018, on election day, I went to observe the elections in my area and met one of the security officials assigned to keep order. He became attached to me and asked me to be his girlfriend, even though he had a wife at home. I asked him whether he had really looked at me carefully. “Why would I, a married woman, agree to go out with a married man?” He said that the ring meant nothing and that one cannot be bound to only one person. I responded, “I understand marriage to be a commitment between a man and a woman who have pledged themselves to each other for better or for worse. My husband and I keep no secrets from each other, and as a matter of fact, this conversation is going straight to him in the next few minutes. If you want me to be your girlfriend, you will need to go through him first—which, in any case, I would never agree to.” He looked at me and asked what I would say to my husband, and I replied, “I would tell my husband that there is a certain man at the polling station who wants Mrs. Astic to be his girlfriend.” He said I would not dare, so I took out my phone and began to dial my husband’s number. I did not call immediately, but I did later when I needed to update him on what was happening at the polling station. When my husband arrived later with his team of observers, I introduced him to the man, who immediately felt awkward because he knew I had told my husband about him.

If these are the examples some young people see around them, how can they easily distinguish between commitment and casual relationships? Why would they not come to view these choices as normal while still in school? In many places today, young people are exposed to adult situations long before they are emotionally or practically prepared for them. As a result, those who still believe that family life is best built within a stable and intentional framework can sometimes seem out of step with the culture around them. Yet the deeper issue, to me, is that many girls are not being given honest guidance about the consequences of unprotected sex or the life-changing responsibility of raising a child before they are ready.

Just three weeks ago, I went for a maternity visit. On my way back, I saw a young girl, no older than 14, coming down a hill. She stopped to catch her breath, and when I saw her protruding stomach, a sharp pain went through my heart. How had someone so young already come to carry such a burden? She stared straight at me as I drove by. Another thought crossed my mind: How have we reached a point where girls who are still children are stepping into motherhood so soon? My heart broke for this young girl and for all the others I have heard reports about in the North-West Region of Cameroon. They are still children, yet many have already had their education interrupted and their futures altered in ways they may not yet fully understand.

Have we moved so far away from the virtues once associated with marriage and responsibility that even very young boys and girls are beginning to engage in adult activities? I once watched a YouTube video about a 13-year-old girl who gave birth a day after her parents discovered she was pregnant. What struck me most was her attitude toward the baby. She would not care for the child, spend time with the child, or even look at the child. On her birthday, friends and family brought gifts that were mostly for the baby, and she broke down and cried. She said, “It is my birthday, so why are all my gifts for the baby? It is not her birthday.” That moment reminded me of Paternity Court, which my husband and I have watched. Judge Lauren’s words echoed in my mind: “This is the reason why children should not have children.” They are still children themselves and often do not yet understand that bringing a child into this world means laying down many of the privileges of childhood in order to become a parent. It always brings me back to the same question: Where are the role models in their lives?

From the many episodes we watched, people in their twenties through their fifties often broke down and said that they did not know how to be better parents because they themselves had grown up without one or both parents present in their lives. And even when parents were present, the example before them was sometimes painful or unhealthy. How can young people be expected to choose differently if they have rarely seen a better model lived out before them? For me, this is not simply a question about marriage, but about guidance, responsibility, and the kinds of examples we place before the next generation. What worries me most is not only the loss of innocence, but the loss of direction. If there is hope for change, it will come through parents, families, schools, faith communities, and society as a whole taking seriously the task of guiding young people with honesty, compassion, and a sense of purpose.