For Nigerian Women and Orphans Left Behind By Fatima Garba
There is a kind of strength that does not shout. It is not dressed in fine clothes. It does not enter rooms with applause. But it exists — quietly — in the lives of women who raise children whose fathers are no more.
It is the kind of strength that grows from pain, necessity, and an unwillingness to give up, even when the odds are harsh. When a father dies, it is not just a man who is lost.
A shield is gone. A voice is missing. A provider is absent. And the family he leaves behind — especially the children — are forced to grow up fast.
But while we often talk about orphaned children, we rarely speak of the women who hold them, feed them, and fight every day to keep them from breaking.
These women are not waiting for pity. They are not looking for medals. They are surviving. Some of them, barely. You will find them in markets, under trees, selling little things with tired eyes and strong backs.
Their stories are not written in books, but in the lines on their faces and the way they carry their children through this unforgiving world.
Most times, it is not just about the absence of a father — it is about the presence of struggle. The school fees that remain unpaid. The food that is never enough. The roof that leaks.
The questions from children that a mother cannot always answer. And yet, she still cooks, still prays, still smiles — even if only to keep her children from seeing her fear.
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It is worse in communities where widows are reduced to nothing the moment their husbands die. Some are pushed out of their homes. Others are denied inheritance.
The culture does not protect them — it strips them. And from that place of emptiness, they are expected to raise children with dignity and hope.
But they do it anyway.
Somehow, they find a way. They become the ones who discipline and comfort. Who fetch water at dawn and tell bedtime stories at night. Who sell firewood in the morning and attend PTA meetings in the afternoon.
Their hands are full, but so is their heart. And that is what keeps them going. The orphans, too, carry their own kind of burden. They miss out on the confidence that comes from knowing someone has your back — always.
Some of them are withdrawn. Some are restless. Others carry a deep quietness that only grief can teach. But they are not hopeless. With the right support, they grow into remarkable humans.
Government policies must go beyond paper. We need practical, sustained support systems — scholarships that reach the poor, healthcare for widows and orphans, community centers where children can heal, learn, and play.
It is not enough to say “May God help them.” We must be part of the help. These women and children do not need sympathy. They need respect, protection, and opportunities.
Because behind every mother raising her children alone is a story of quiet courage. And behind every orphan who survives the storm is a woman who chose not to surrender — even when no one was watching.
