By David Arome
What Nafisa Umar finds most upsetting about her job selling wara (Traditional Hausa Snack) on the streets of Minna, in Nigeria’s northern Niger State, is the abuse she gets from customers.
“The major danger of street hawking is abuse and insults, particularly from young men,” says the 15-year-old. “Some of them refuse to pay their debts when I ask; they insult me or even throw money at me.”
It’s not as if the job is not difficult enough for Nafisa, who dropped out of school to support her family after her father died when she was eight. Hawking wara, a local tofu-like delicacy, means walking around for up to five hours a day in temperatures that rise well above 3°C in the summer months.
The money does not go far, either. Each week, she purchases around ₦18000 (11 US dollars) worth of stock on credit from a supplier, combining ground soya beans with water to make the wara herself. “The gain is not constant; it varies between ₦3000 (1.8 dollars) and ₦4500 (2.7 dollars) weekly, not from the sale of the wara but from the chaff of the ground soy beans.”
“The little I make from street hawking is not enough to cater for my own personal needs, let alone my brothers and sisters,” says Nafisa, who is one of ten siblings.
Nafisa is not alone. Child street hawkers are a common sight in Nigeria, which with 18.3 million out-of-school boys and girls tops the global chart, according to a 2024 UNICEF report. In Niger State, 42.8% of children are out of school, the highest rate in the north-central region and 10th nationally.
Many children who drop out of school turn to hawking goods in the country’s streets and marketplaces, often travelling between towns to do so. Popular items include disposable sachets of water, groundnuts, bread, soft drinks, roasted corn, and wara.
Voices Silenced by Fear
Aside from the damage caused by missing out on education, hawking also brings the risk of children being attacked or sexually assaulted, as several studies have confirmed. “Boys are more likely to be exposed to physical violence, while girls are vulnerable to gender-based exploitation,” says Ibrahim Musa, a teacher at Day Secondary School Chanchaga’s community schools.
Incidents often go unreported, Musa adds, because children are afraid of speaking out – and of losing their livelihoods.
A complex mix of factors push children to drop out of school in Nigeria, varying from region to region, but poverty is a key driver. “After the death of my husband, it became challenging to keep my children in school because I was unable to afford the cost of their education,” says Saadatu Mohammed, Nafisa’s mother.
Nigeria’s public schools at primary and secondary schools don’t charge admission fees, but uniforms, books, and exam fees all require money. Saadatu, who earns around ₦2000 (1.2 dollars) renting out her food grinding machine to others in the community, says that it costs about ₦15,000 (9 dollars) per term for a child to attend school. With ten children, she says, she simply can’t afford it.
Only three of Saadatu’s children are in school at present, thanks to a sponsorship programme by an NGO, the Rose of Sharon Foundation. Three others have been married off, while the rest stay at home to help earn money by trading and hawking.
Nafisa’s first job after dropping out was at a food stall, but she left because the owner mistreated her.
“The food seller often called me stupid, foolish, and hopeless; he said ‘your mates are in school; and you are here doing nothing,’” she says. “I could not bear it any longer, so I left and started hawking.”
Saadatu is painfully aware that her children are suffering. “I worry for my children who are out of school,” she says. “They all have great dreams – of becoming doctors, engineers or pilots – but achieving these dreams requires education.”
Ibrahim Mohammed, 14, was also forced into street hawking after the death of his father, shortly after he completed year 6 of primary school. He sells peanuts, buying 20 mudus (measures) each week on credit, at the rate of ₦700 (40 cents) per mudu. As is common, the supplier takes the bulk of the profits, allowing Ibrahim to keep a small commission. In other cases, children work directly for their families.
The informal nature of the business makes it more difficult to regulate and prone to exploitation, with hawkers working for lengthy hours with little pay. “Street hawking can be so challenging; hawking throughout the day, coupled with customers buying on credit, leaves me with little money to take home,” Ibrahim says.
Ibrahim’s mother Hajarah explains that Ibrahim’s school charged ₦12,000 (7.3 dollars) per term excluding books and uniform, and that after her husband died she couldn’t keep up with the cost. All five of her children had to drop out.
Now, the family’s income from hawking, combined with Hajarah’s own work making and selling bedsheets, is barely enough to cover their basic living costs. “Some days there is nothing for us to eat,” she says.
In spite of the hardship, Ibrahim remains hopeful of returning to school one day – to pursue his dream of becoming a doctor, he says.
Israel Chukwuma, headteacher of Ab Tech International School in Chanchaga finds the rate of dropouts in his area alarming. “Over time, I have realised that prolonged absenteeism and inconsistency in the payment of school fees are glaring pointers to the likelihood of a child dropping out of school,” he says.
In an effort to reverse the trend, Chukwuma’s school, Ab Tech International, has introduced a scholarship scheme for children who lose a parent. Families facing financial difficulties are offered discounts on payment and their children given extra food at school.
Nevertheless, Chukwuma adds, it’s not enough to stop some children dropping out.
“The effects of school dropout are enormous, ranging from illiteracy, criminality, and poverty, and a huge burden to society in the long run,” he says. Phone snatching has become a particular issue in Chanchaga, according to the Chukwuma, who thinks Nigeria’s government should do more to compel parents to send their children to school.
Although education is recognised by the UN as a fundamental human right, UNICEF estimates that one in three Nigerian children are not in school. That includes 10.2 million children at primary level and 8.1 million at junior secondary school level.
Beyond poverty or the death of a parent, a range of other factors are at play, although these vary from region to region. In northern Nigeria, child marriage, conflicts, insurgency, and the nomadic lifestyle of some communities are significant barriers to education. By contrast, in the south of the country, dropping out is more prevalent among boys due to a preference for trade apprenticeships over formal education, prompting many parents to withdraw their sons from school to join the labour market.
Moreover, many parents nationwide lament the poor state of infrastructure in public schools, which lack basic amenities like chairs, tables, proper roofing and adequate staffing, further discouraging attendance.
“Out-of-school children are found everywhere [in Nigeria],” says Abdulmalik Abduljalil Adinoyi, north central coordinator for the Rose of Sharon Foundation.
In Niger state, several factors, including poverty, religious beliefs, nomadic lifestyle, the death of parents, and displacement due to terrorism activities, have been identified as the leading causes of the high burden of the out-of-school children.
Regardless of these economic and social challenges, education remains a legal right for every child in Nigeria. The government has established legal frameworks, such as the Child Rights Act of 2003, which sets the minimum employment age at 14, and the Universal Basic Education (UBE) Act of 2004, which mandates free and compulsory education for children up to the age of 15.
The UBE Act dedicates 2% of Nigeria’s Consolidated Revenue Fund – its central pot for state spending – to the Universal Basic Education Commission established to ensure access to education, but this is not always used efficiently due to poor implementation and corruption.
In theory, children are prohibited from engaging in hazardous work or employment that interferes with their education, including street hawking. But enforcement is weak due to economic pressures on families, inadequate oversight, and entrenched sociocultural norms. The result is that educational neglect and child labour persist.
Some states in Nigeria, including Niger state have legislated for free and compulsory education at primary level, as a result of the UBE Act. However, implementation is a problem. “The role of government goes beyond establishing policies but enforcing them,” Adinoyi says.
Once children have left school, encouraging them to return can present additional difficulties. Adinoyi, whose organisation offers scholarships that cover fees and provide additional support, says that parents can be resistant to integrating their children back into the classroom.
“As some children have gone beyond the primary level, bringing them down may look demoralising and frustrating for the child,” he says. “We still have to follow up with the children supported by our educational program to ensure they stay in school, learn, and take all their assignments.”
Adinoyi stressed the need for more sustainable, impact-driven programmes aimed at improving Nigeria’s education system and integrating children back into school.
The reporting for this piece was supported by a grant from the Institute for War & Peace Reporting‘s Voices for Change project
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This out of school children issue is generally alarming and government need to tackle it.