Chinwendu Tabitha Iroegbu and Prudence Enema (Lead writers)
What happens when fleeing from conflict leads straight into the arms of hunger?
Reyan Safianu, 45, is struggling to make ends meet while caring for her nine children in Wassa, a displacement camp in the outskirts of Abuja, Nigeria’s capital. She and Mohammad Safianu, her husband, who currently washes vehicles for a living, have lived in the camp for over ten years. Before displacement, Reyan worked as a tailor, but she is now unemployed and battling daily to support her family. With no access to farmland, the family relies entirely on her husband’s inconsistent income from washing cars and motorcycles.
On days her husband manages to wash two to five vehicles, Reyan’s household of 11 survives on just ₦500–₦1,000 — an amount far too small to provide even one nutritious meal for the entire family.
“On days when there’s nothing to earn, he comes home empty-handed. There’s no food to cook, so my family survives on boiled water. When he makes money, we eat Tuwo with Miyan kuka (traditional Baobab leaf soup). Sometimes we manage sugar and Lipton tea not for nutrition, just for something different. On good days, we eat rice with Yaji (ground pepper),” Reyan explained.
According to the United Nations Children’s Fund (UNICEF), this dietary habit can put children at significant risk of stunting, wasting, anaemia, and developmental impairments, especially those under five. It also raises the risk of decreased development and productivity, decreased immunity, and pregnancy problems for women like Reyan. UNICEF estimates that over 6 million Nigerian children are stunted due to chronic malnutrition.
“Starvation is a normal thing for us here. We just keep managing,” Reyan said.
Most displaced communities across Nigeria, whether uprooted by conflict or climate change, struggle to rebuild their lives, often resorting to menial jobs or small-scale trading. The disruption to their livelihoods leaves many unable to afford basic food items, forcing them to rely heavily on food ration donations for survival, making displaced settlements a dwelling place for children struggling with malnutrition, mothers mourning the loss of their infants, and families surviving on meagre rations from philanthropists and non-governmental organisations (NGOs).
Some have already lost their children, like 25-year-old Mary Fidelis, who lost two children to deaths she attributes to hunger. “I just make kunu or tuwo with Miyan kuka without meat. I know eggs are good for my children, but I don’t have money. One egg is ₦250,” Mary noted.
A cycle of rejection and neglect
In 2014, which was the early years of their displacement, aid flowed regularly into Abuja’s IDP camps from the National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA) and its partners, including MTN Foundation and other humanitarian organisations.
At camps like Wassa, New Kuchingoro, Durumi, and Waru, NEMA distributed structured food rations that typically included bags of rice, beans, maise, millet, and vegetable oil, as well as hygiene items like soap, detergents, and sanitary pads.
Over time, interest dwindled, coordination failed, and malnutrition rates in Wassa began to rise. “There is no regular support,” Fatima Buba, a 30-year-old mother of three, said. She added that “sometimes rice comes once a year, and when it comes, it’s not much. Some people will collect while some will not get it sometimes.”
Today, most of these residents survive by begging and doing menial jobs that pays very little.
While Nigeria’s National Multi-Sectoral Plan of Action for Nutrition (2021–2025) exists, it ignores informal IDP camps like Wassa in Abuja. Given that the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre states about 3.7 million Nigerians have been internally displaced, hundreds of thousands of such IDPs live in camps like Wassa, however, they are at risk of being left out of national nutrition assistance as these communities are not formally recognised by the government and are not included in national data, funding, or implementation maps.
Programmes like the Home-Grown School Feeding Programme once served as lifelines by providing nutritious meals to children, especially those living in poverty and displacement but these programmes have seen a sharp decline due to inflation, poor coordination, and underfunding. In IDP communities like Wassa, parents now struggle to feed their children, while school attendance and health outcomes continue to suffer.
Without reliable school meals, the burden of nutrition falls entirely on impoverished parents, many of whom are jobless or earn less than ₦1,000 a day. This collapse in basic nutrition support is not just a Wassa problem; it is a national emergency affecting the future of Nigeria’s most vulnerable children.
Malnutrition now contributes to nearly 45% of under‑5 deaths in Nigeria, a grave reminder that this is not just Wassa’s struggle, it is a widespread emergency affecting the nation’s most vulnerable.
Wassa, as one of Abuja’s largest informal IDP settlements, lacks access to Nigeria’s Community Management of Acute Malnutrition (CMAM) programme due to several structural barriers. CMAM implementation typically targets areas with functional Primary Health Care (PHC) centres, which Wassa lacks.
Without adequate health infrastructure, trained personnel, or reliable supply chains for therapeutic foods, the programme cannot operate effectively. Additionally, outreach and community engagement are key components of CMAM, but low awareness and the absence of proper monitoring systems hinder these efforts in Wassa.
These challenges, ranging from a lack of official recognition to poor infrastructure and limited government support, exclude Wassa from receiving critical malnutrition interventions, despite being home to hundreds of vulnerable children. As a result, many children suffering from acute malnutrition in Wassa remain untreated, highlighting the need for inclusive and flexible response strategies.
What needs to happen now
To truly address the silent crisis unfolding in Wassa and similar IDP camps across Nigeria, there must be a bold and urgent policy shift that places food and nutrition security at the heart of humanitarian and development planning. IDPs, like those in Wassa, must be formally included in national nutrition strategies, budgets, and implementation frameworks.
It is no longer acceptable for displacement camps, particularly those just kilometres from the nation’s capital, to remain afterthoughts in the national fight against hunger.
Proven programmes like Msizi Africa’s feeding scheme in South Africa offer practical models Nigeria can adapt. Locally, the Food Africa Project in Kaduna is working, now is the time to expand it to more states and camps.
The government must also work together with NGOs already active on the ground, like No Hunger Food Bank to ensure food relief is not scattered but strategic. At the same time, private individuals and companies can step in through donations, support for local RUTF production, or targeted corporate social responsibility (CSR) initiatives.
Wassa is a mirror, reflecting what happens when national promises fail to reach those who need them most. Hunger here is not just a lack of food, it is an erosion of dignity, opportunity, and childhood.
The mothers of Wassa are not asking for miracles, they are asking for a fair chance to feed their children. Until policies are backed by action, until nutrition programmes reach the forgotten, and until every displaced child is seen and served, the cycle will continue.
Very enlightening and well written