No Place To Call Home: Lost childhoods of Sokoto’s displaced children

Rabia Malami, 14, has never lived in a home with proper doors and windows. She dreams of a bed to call her own, an enclosed bathroom, and maybe even a bulb hanging from the ceiling. But more than anything, she wants her family to stop living under the constant threat of eviction.

For six years, Rabia and her family have lived in a crumbling building in the Gagi community, Sokoto South. The house, abandoned for years, was offered to them temporarily when they fled violent bandit attacks in their hometown, Giyawa, in the Goronyo Local Government Area of Sokoto State.

Now, the owner is back—and he wants to sell.

“He comes every week,” Rabia said. “Sometimes he brings men who check the building. They always start with the rubble where walls had collapsed under the force of the wind, then move on to the room.”

She said the men spend less time invading their space, as there was not much to see in the house. But they always comment on the cracks in the walls, the rusty roof and the presence of displaced families in the building.

Their presence terrified Rabia and her three sisters. It was a constant reminder that her family, once again, is likely to find themselves homeless.

The family first settled at a temporary shelter in Goronyo for two years and arrived in Gagi when the village authorities asked the IDPs to settle in the old, abandoned buildings that littered the community.

Now, the landowner, who had spared them the house for about six years, has decided to sell it.

“The man tells my father that we have to leave, although he hasn’t said when yet. It could be this week, next week, or even much later, depending on when he sells the house. The frequency of his visits has increased in the last few months, and I sense that we might have to leave at any moment,” Rabia explained in Hausa.

“I ask my father where we would go, and he says he doesn’t know yet. My mother says the same. But we will move soon.”

Rabia told PREMIUM TIMES about her father’s lofty dreams. “He wants to buy the house from the man so that we and the other people here will not have to worry or buy land and build our own house. Maybe a single room that we can all share.”

But he cannot afford any of these and was only trying to reassure the children. Rabia knew this.

Living in limbo

As a result of the repeated terror attacks in different parts of Nigeria, an entire generation of children is growing up knowing very little outside of life in displacement. They are born into a conflict they hardly understand, and inherit a life stripped of stability.

Like much of Nigeria’s north-west, Sokoto State is gripped by armed conflict. Thousands have fled their homes as bandits raid villages, steal cattle, and burn farmlands.

Most victims have found shelter in makeshift or abandoned structures in communities like Gagi in Sokoto South, Ramin Kura in Sokoto North and the Gandi IDP camp in Raba Local Government Area.

These are not officially recognised IDP camps. They lack infrastructure, healthcare, adequate water, and security.

According to the International Organisation for Migration (IOM), over 1.3 million people are internally displaced in Nigeria’s north-west and north-central regions. A large portion of them are children, many born into conflict, living lives stripped of stability, education, and hope.

Rabia’s memories of life in her hometown are hazy, but she recalls experiences that starkly contrast with her present reality.

She remembers her home and its comfort: the clay walls, open fields, farmlands, and cattle that belonged to her father. These memories now feel like fragments from another life.

As an IDP living in an informal shelter, space is tight, food is rationed, and the people live as though they have just arrived. Never fully settled, yet unable to return home.

There are many other children in Gagi with experiences similar to Rabia’s. Often, the children discuss things within themselves, which sometimes form the basis of the questions they would later ask their parents.

‘They have what I don’t have’

Wahab, 10, whose family lives next to Rabia’s, was born in displacement. His parents fled Gima in the Tangaza LGA in 2016, one year before his birth. He has never seen the place they still call home.

Wahab always tells Rabia he doesn’t like his classmates’ remarks about him. He feels different from the other students and does not hesitate to vocalise this.

They have things he does not have — good uniforms, sandals, socks and books. Although primary education in public schools is free in Sokoto, and parents do not worry about school fees, displaced families often struggle with the cost of learning materials.

This has prevented many children, including Rabia and her sisters, from attending school.

When PREMIUM TIMES asked Rabia’s mother about this, she explained that although the school was free, other things required for enrollment cost money, and it was difficult to afford these for the three girls who were of school age.

Meanwhile, Wahab’s mother, Asiyu Yau’u, describes him as quiet but observant. He listens more than he speaks,” she said. “But when he does talk. He asks why we don’t live in a fully built house like others. He complains that all his trousers are torn, and questions why we live the way we do. He asks questions that make me feel helpless.”

When children become providers

While Wahab and Rabia still have parents who work to feed the family, many children from displaced families often have to fend for themselves. They take up menial jobs even where they are likely to be exploited or abused.

In the Ramin Kura IDP camp in Sokoto, 13-year-old Umar Hawal begins his day before sunrise. He walks to Sokoto Central Market, where he spends hours running errands for traders or helping customers carry heavy bags to their cars.

This is what he relies on to get by, and sometimes, it is the only thing that guarantees that he and his grandmother, Aisha Tukur, have food to eat. She has been his only surviving family since Boko Haram killed his parents in 2015.

On days when business is slow, they could go to bed hungry.

However, the market could sometimes be hostile. Traders often accused him of loitering or getting in the way of customers and would chase him off. Their harsh words made him feel sad and unwelcome.

“They treat me like a beggar,” he told PREMIUM TIMES. “I don’t beg. People often treat beggars poorly; I don’t want to be treated like that. But they still call me lazy and poor. They act like I want to steal from them.”

Umar began working in the market at 10, and his daily earnings, which he gives his grandmother each evening, have become crucial to their collective income.

“When the market closes, I buy food on my way home. If I don’t do that, there might be no food, and we won’t have anything to eat.”

When asked what food he buys, Umar responds, “Most of the time, I buy rice. I like rice.”

This, for Umar and many other children in Sokoto IDP camps, is what their childhood has become. Simple routine built on instability and hardship.

Govt’s inaction

According to the district head of Gagi, Umar Jabbi, children from displaced families endure difficult living conditions because the state government has failed to prioritise their welfare and long-term resettlement.

Mr Jabbi believes resettling displaced families by building mega communities in safe parts of the state that can accommodate the influx of displaced families should be a key priority for the state government.

“For sustainability, they would need a stable source of income. Most of them are farmers. So, provide farms for them,” he said.

“With a stable source of income, they can stand on their feet. Feed their children, send them to school and protect them.”

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The state government, he said, is unwilling to address the humanitarian crisis at the grassroots level.

Ironically, while displaced families are neglected, Sokoto authorities are working towards the reintegration of the terrorists responsible for the senseless killings and displacements.

The policy reflects a troubling imbalance in the government’s priorities, but the state government said its openness to dialogue and reconciliation is to bring an end to the prolonged conflict in the state.

However, previous efforts to reduce insecurity through dialogue and reconciliation with terrorist groups have yet to produce the desired results. For instance, Operation Safe Corridor, a federal deradicalisation and rehabilitation programme for Boko Haram fighters in the Northeast, has not improved the situation in the region.

While it has successfully processed hundreds of “repentant” insurgents, attacks by Boko Haram and ISWAP persist.

Similar efforts at the state level in Zamfara and Katsina also struggled to yield lasting peace. In Zamfara and Katsina, the state governments had offered terrorists amnesty in exchange for disarmament.

In the absence of long-term, sustainable government action, the crisis in Sokoto deepens, causing continued displacements and a growing number of children to live in precarious conditions.