Orngu-Tyavkase a parent of Jewel Leading Academy in Abuja, said, “Schools should not shut their doors to children with special needs.
“They need to feel human, valued. It should be mandatory for every school to have a special needs department”
In a modest classroom at Jewel Leading Academy in Abuja, a five-year-old boy beams with pride. He’s just been picked for a class sports event, a small gesture that means the world to him and his father.
“He was so happy all week,” recalls his father, Joseph Orngu-Tyavkase. “I shed tears. I didn’t know my child could smile like that again.”
But behind the boy’s fleeting moment of joy lies a complex and often overlooked national issue: the struggle of Nigerian families raising children with special needs, in a society that still lacks the systems, support, and empathy they desperately need.
A Sudden Silence
Joseph’s son was born healthy and talkative. But following a routine tonsillectomy, his speech abruptly stopped. “He could talk before. Then, suddenly , nothing,” Joseph said. He and his wife began an exhaustive medical journey. Tests ruled out hearing loss. An autism foundation said it wasn’t autism, just developmental delay.
They enrolled him in a special centre, but the child began imitating disruptive behaviours from other students. “We had to withdraw him. It became worse.”
The family’s search for inclusive education led them through rejection and impossible demands. “Some schools told us to bring a therapist and a shadow teacher ourselves. Others simply said no.”
Joseph, a low-income earner, found himself torn between paying rent and therapy fees. “But we can’t abandon him,” he said quietly. “We keep pushing.”
The Cost of Care
The boy now attends Jewel Leading Academy a private school with a special needs department. “The fees are higher, but here, my son is accepted,” Joseph said. “And that smile, it’s priceless.”
His story mirrors the reality of many Nigerian families: little institutional support, high costs of care, and a glaring gap in inclusive education.
Dr Stephanie Abanzi, a medical doctor and mother of a child with autism, says society often overlooks the emotional toll on caregivers. “Everyone talks about the children. But who talks about us, the parents?” she asked. “If we collapse, who will care for these children?”
As the founder of an organisation supporting vulnerable persons, Dr Abanzi called on the government to develop family-oriented policies. “Therapy must be affordable. Schools must be inclusive. And carers must be supported.”
The Fight for Policy and Dignity
The International Day of Families offered an opportunity to spotlight these struggles, thanks to an event organised by Jewel Leading Light Foundation.
Its founder, Mrs. Oluwatoyin Oboh, has firsthand experience. “Parents are losing themselves,” she said. “Many have no social lives. They are caregivers 24/7, and the cost is enormous , financially, mentally, emotionally.”
According to Oboh, the problem isn’t the absence of policy, but a lack of implementation. “The Ministry of Education already has guidelines,” she said. “What’s missing is political will and monitoring.”
She condemned the demeaning terms still used for children with disabilities in public discourse. “They are not ‘imbeciles.’ They are gifted, just differently. And it’s time society sees that.”
Oboh is calling for public-private collaboration to fund sensory tools, therapy materials, and teacher training. “These children didn’t ask to be born this way. They are gifts. It is our collective duty to support them.”
Beyond the Family Unit
Dr Abanzi also challenges traditional ideas of family. “It’s not just parents. It’s whoever supports that child — emotionally, mentally, financially. That’s family,” she said.
Her message to carers is simple: “Take care of yourself. You’re the backbone. If you break, everything breaks.”
A Call for Action
For Joseph, the solution lies in inclusion. “It should be mandatory for every school to have a special needs department. No one should go through what we went through.”
At the heart of this conversation is a silent population, families navigating pain and perseverance, love and loneliness, in a country still learning what inclusion truly means.
As Joseph walks his son to class each morning, he holds onto one thing: hope. “We’ve left some things to faith,” he says. “But we won’t stop trying.”
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