From crowded bus terminals in Lagos to narrow alleyways in Nairobi, the hidden lives of street children reveal a crisis shaped by neglect, resilience, and an urgent call for responsibility and reform
As dawn breaks over Obalende in Lagos, 14-year-old Samuel (surname withheld for protection) folds a faded school uniform into a nylon bag before stepping into traffic to sell sachet water. Nights are spent under a flyover, days defined by survival. “I wanted to stay in school,” he says quietly. “But after my father died, everything scattered.” His mother could not cope financially, relatives turned him away, and the street became his refuge.
Samuel’s experience mirrors that of millions. Child-focused organisations estimate that Nigeria alone accounts for several million street-connected children, one of the highest figures in Africa. Across cities like Ibadan, Abuja, Port Harcourt and Onitsha, children roam markets, motor parks and construction sites, exposed daily to hunger, violence, exploitation and health risks. Similar patterns exist in Kenya, South Sudan, South Africa and parts of Asia, where conflict, displacement and economic collapse force children into public spaces to survive.
In Nairobi, former street child Peter Mwangi remembers scavenging for food at dumping sites at age 11. “People saw us as criminals, not children,” he recalls. A local outreach worker eventually connected him to a rehabilitation centre, where he learned carpentry. Today, he trains other vulnerable boys. “What saved me was not just food,” he says, “it was someone believing I still had a future.
Experts identify poverty as the strongest driver, but not the only one. Family breakdown, domestic violence, substance abuse at home, loss of parents, urban migration, insurgency and weak social protection systems all intersect. In northern Nigeria, for instance, thousands of children under informal religious tutelage end up begging daily, without access to education or healthcare, blurring the line between tradition and neglect. In conflict-affected regions, children displaced by violence often drift into cities where survival becomes a daily gamble.
Responsibility, advocates insist, is collective but layered. Governments bear primary responsibility for failing to implement child protection laws, underfunding education, tolerating unsafe informal systems, and allowing poverty to fester without adequate social welfare. Dr. Aisha Bello, a child rights researcher based in Abuja, notes, “We have policies on paper, but enforcement is weak. When children are visible on the streets, it reflects invisible failures in governance.”
Parents and extended families are not exempt, though many are themselves victims of economic hardship. Community leaders and traditional institutions also come under scrutiny for practices that normalise child neglect or discourage formal education. Society at large, critics argue, contributes through indifference, walking past children daily without demanding systemic change.
Faith-based and civil society organisations have stepped into gaps left by the state. In Lagos, the Care for Street Children Foundation has reunited dozens of children with families, enrolled others in vocational training, and provided psychosocial support. One beneficiary, now 19, runs a small phone-repair business after years of street life. “They treated me like a human being again,” he says.
Across Africa, art, sports, skills training and mentorship have proven effective tools for rehabilitation, restoring confidence and offering alternatives to crime and addiction. Still, capacity remains limited compared to the scale of the problem.
Beyond social policy, scripture offers a moral lens that challenges complacency. Isaiah 58:10 calls for action, not sympathy: “If you spend yourselves on behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness.” These passage frame care for vulnerable children not as charity, but as justice.
Moving forward, experts and advocates emphasise the need for expanded social safety nets that support struggling families before children are pushed to the streets. Free and compulsory education must be genuinely accessible, with incentives that keep children in school. Child protection agencies require stronger funding, trained personnel and accountability mechanisms. Rehabilitation centres should prioritise reintegration, not prolonged institutionalisation, while mental health support must be embedded in recovery programmes.
There is also a growing call for data-driven policy, as many street children remain uncounted and therefore excluded from planning. Public awareness campaigns can help dismantle stigma, reframing street children not as delinquents but as victims of circumstance with untapped potential.
Ultimately, the presence of children on the streets is not merely a social issue but a moral verdict on society. For Samuel, hope still flickers. “If I can go back to school,” he says, gripping his bag tightly, “I know I can become something.”
Whether that hope survives depends less on the streets he walks and more on the choices governments, communities, institutions and individuals are willing to make now.
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