Child labour: A persistent issue in Nigerian democracy

Some days ago, I had a conversation with my elder sister about her working place and she narrated to me about a woman who brought a girl between the ages of 8 and 10 to her pharmacy for treatment of deep cuts and bruises on her arms, claiming that it was injury from rough play at home. One of my sister’s colleague while treating the child encourage the girl to tell her the truth which she confessed that the woman who brought her is her aunt and she had used razor blade to cut her as a punishment for refusing to do some house chores she complains was too difficult to do for her age.

In Nigeria, a nation often hailed as the “Giant of Africa” for its population and economic potential, the specter of child labor casts a long, dark shadow over its democratic aspirations. While the country boasts a constitution that guarantees rights to education and freedom, the reality for millions of its youngest citizens is a clear contradiction, with hours spent toiling in fields, hawking goods on bustling streets, or serving as domestic workers, rather than sitting in classrooms. This opinion piece is set to explore the issue of child labour in Nigeria, weaving real-life examples with critical analysis to argue that its persistence is not just a socio-economic failing but a profound betrayal of democratic principles.

A statistical overview of child labour in Nigeria

The statistics are huge. According to the International Labour Organization (ILO) and Nigeria’s National Bureau of Statistics, over 15 million children, roughly 43% of those aged 5 to 17 are engaged in child labour. Of these, nearly half are involved in hazardous work, from mining gold in Zamfara to sifting sediment in the creeks of the Niger Delta. These numbers are not mere abstractions; they represent lives like that of Awwal Abdulahi, a 13-year-old boy featured in a 2020 Voice of America report. Awwal spends his days in an auto-mechanic workshop in Kano, pushing broken-down cars and repairing tires under the scorching sun. He told reporters, “Many times, I get exhausted by the work, and the sun makes it even more tiring,” yet he persists because his parents cannot support him and his six siblings. Awwal’s story is nothing strange but just a little expression of a systemic failure where poverty forces children into labor to survive.

Another traumatic example is that of Abdul Multalif and his brother Yusuf, also from Kano, who beg on the streets to meet their daily needs. Abdul, barely a teenager, confided, “Honestly, I don’t want to beg. I wish to get some money to buy sweets and chocolates to do business.” Their plight underscores a grim reality: for many Nigerian children, dreams of entrepreneurship or education are supplanted by the immediate need to eat. These real-life cases highlight how child labour is not an isolated issue but a pervasive one, deeply rooted in economic desperation and societal neglect.

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A democratic irony for Nigerian children

Nigeria’s 1999 Constitution, under Section 34, prohibits forced labour, and the Child Rights Act of 2003, signed by former President Olusegun Obasanjo, sets the minimum working age at 17, aiming to shield children from exploitation. Yet, the gap between law and enforcement is as wide as East from the West. In theory, Nigeria aligns with international standards like ILO Convention No. 182, which targets the worst forms of child labor. In practice, cultural norms, economic pressures, and weak governance render these protections hollow. Take the case of the Almajiri system in northern Nigeria, where millions of boys are sent to Quranic schools, only to end up begging on the streets to support their teachers. A 2017 DW report quoted activist Zariyatu Abubakar lamenting, “These are only children. They need to be supported, to go to school,” yet the government has largely turned a blind eye and given deaf ears, allowing this tradition to snowball into a sanctioned form of child exploitation.

The democratic principles shows that citizens, especially the most vulnerable should have a voice and a chance to survive. Child labour in Nigeria, however, silences that voice before it can even form. When girls as young as 8 are trafficked from southern states like Rivers and Akwa Ibom to work as maids for wealthier families, as documented by Wikipedia’s entry on female child labour, they are not participating in democracy, they are its casualties. These girls, often subjected to abuse and sexual assault, are denied education and agency, creating a cycle of poverty and powerlessness. If democracy is about equality and opportunity, Nigeria’s failure to protect its children exposes a system more akin to feudalism than a modern republic.

Causes, origins, roots of child labour in Nigeria

I cannot explain the root cause of child labour in Nigeria without speaking of poverty. Poverty is usually the culprit, and rightly so 70% of Nigerians live below the poverty line, according to the CIA World Factbook. Families like Sherif Muhammad’s, displaced by the Boko Haram insurgency in Borno State, is an example of this desperation. Sherif told DW in 2017, “It is true we send our children to go and work so that they will get some money for us to buy food.” His children, orphaned or displaced by violence, bear the burden of survival in a region where conflict has destroyed schools and livelihoods. The insurgency, which has displaced over 2 million people since 2009, has pushed countless children into labour, from street vending to recruitment by armed groups, a grim irony given Boko Haram’s name translates to “Western education is forbidden.”

Yet, poverty alone does not sufficiently explain the persistence of child labour; corruption and governmental neglect is another factor for the crisis. The informal sector, where over 75% of child labor occurs, operates beyond the reach of labor inspectors, who are understaffed and underfunded. The U.S. Department of Labor notes that Nigeria lacks sufficient inspectors to enforce even basic standards, a failure so increased by a political class who are more focused on personal gains than public welfare. The £28 million ILO project, funded by the Netherlands in 2024, aims to reduce child labor in supply chains like cocoa production in Ondo State, but without tackling corruption in Nigeria, I do not intend to sound as a prophet of doom but such initiatives is on the risk of being mere band-aids on a deep wound.

Advocates of child labour in Nigeria

One thing to know about Nigeria is that not all fingers are equal, while many like myself have viewed child labour as a dehumanizing affair some claim otherwise. Defenders of child labour might argue that it is a cultural norm in Nigeria and not a crime. In local communities and remote villages, children working on family farms, like those harvesting cassava or cocoa, are seen as learning life skills, a tradition Agbo’s 2020 study at the University of Texas calls a “social instrument of child training.”

Similarly, employers of child mechanics, like Omuwuri in Kano, claim they’re providing mentorship, not exploitation, telling Voice of America, “We give them some change to eat and buy soap… instead of staying at home and doing nonsense.” In a country where the economy is at an abyssal zone and no robust welfare system, this labour can be framed as a necessary evil or better still avoid the statement of an idle mind is the devil’s workshop.

But hello!!! This argument still lacks depth of proof and can still be criticized. Cultural practices that expose children to hazardous conditions such pests infestation in cocoa fields or physical strain in workshops is a violation of both human rights and common sense. The ILO’s 2022 Nigeria Child Labour Survey found that 45.3% of 15- to 17-year-olds struggle between work and school, often to the detriment of both, while 21.9% work exclusively, abandoning education altogether. This is not training or providing livelihood; it is what I call theft of childhood, health, and future potential. Economic necessity may drive families to these extremes, but a democracy’s duty is to break such cycles, not promote them.

Conclusion: A call to action, protecting child rights

Child labour in Nigeria is not something that appears as a bolt from the blue but a symptom of deeper failures; poverty, conflict, and a government that prioritizes personal gains over public service. Real change demands more than making laws or foreign aid, it requires a cultural shift where education is something that must be prioritized and guaranteed to all children in the country, enforcement of the law must be rigorous, and corruption is uprooted. Subsidizing families, as the ILO proposes, and regulating the informal sector could free children like Awwal and Abdul from labor’s grip, letting them chase dreams instead of survival.

Until then, Nigeria’s democracy remains a hollow shell. A nation that imprisons its children’s futures in fields and streets cannot claim to be free. The voices of Awwal, Abdul, and millions more cry out not just for pity but for justice, a democracy that delivers on its promises, not one that buries them under the weight of exploitation