Imagine a world where a child’s first breath is met not with joy, but with fear and condemnation. This is the stark reality in some parts of Nigeria, where infanticide—the unthinkable act of killing newborns—still casts a long shadow. But amidst this darkness, a Nigerian couple, Olusola and Chinwe Stevens, have dedicated their lives to rescuing these innocent lives, offering them a chance at a future. But here's where it gets controversial: their fight against deeply rooted cultural beliefs has sparked resistance, denial, and even accusations of spreading falsehoods. And this is the part most people miss—the complex web of tradition, poverty, and lack of education that perpetuates this tragedy.
Esther Stevens’ story is a haunting example. Born in 2007 in a village near Abuja, her mother’s death during childbirth marked her as ‘cursed’ in the eyes of the villagers. They tied her to her mother’s lifeless body, ready to bury them together. It was a Nigerian missionary who intervened, pleading for the baby’s life. ‘Finally, the priest agreed,’ Esther recalls, ‘and said, let them give her the evil child and see what the child will become.’ That child was Esther, now 18, with a broad smile and a quick wit, a living testament to the power of compassion.
In Nigeria, children are often seen as gifts, but certain traditions view some as harbingers of misfortune. Albinism, disabilities, or being born as twins or triplets were once believed to bring curses. While these beliefs have largely faded in urban areas, they persist in isolated communities. Human rights activist Leo Igwe points out that in some places, a mother’s death during childbirth is blamed on the child. This is where the Stevenses step in, running the Vine Heritage Home Foundation, a sanctuary for over 200 vulnerable children since 2004.
Their journey began in 1996 when they discovered children were being poisoned, abandoned, or buried alive. They started by pleading with families to hand over ‘cursed’ children instead of killing them. Today, communities bring newborns directly to them, a sign of growing awareness. But the challenges are immense. Nigeria’s high maternal mortality rate—one in 100 women die during childbirth—exacerbates the problem. According to Olusola, 75% of the children at Vine Heritage are there because their mothers died giving birth.
The Stevenses’ work has not been without controversy. In 2013, they were summoned by the Federal Capital Territory government, accused of tarnishing Nigeria’s image. Yet, their persistence paid off, and they now run awareness campaigns with government support. Their partnership with ActionAid has been pivotal, focusing on community development before tackling infanticide directly. This approach has shown results, with some communities halting the killings and parents reclaiming their children.
However, resistance remains. Influential elders often deny the practice, and when funds ran low in 2022, much of the work was left unfinished. The Stevenses’ vision of reintegrating children into their communities has also faced hurdles. Many children, like Esther, struggle with language barriers and cultural differences when visiting their families. Others, like eight-year-old Monday, are returned to the home due to safety concerns.
The emotional toll on the Stevenses is evident. Chinwe’s health has deteriorated, and she now lives separately, relying on donations for medical care. Yet, their legacy is undeniable. Older children at Vine Heritage are stepping up, managing operations and preparing to lead the home in the future. Olusola reflects, ‘When God asks you to do something, you only obey.’
As we grapple with this issue, a thought-provoking question arises: How can we balance respect for cultural traditions with the urgent need to protect innocent lives? The Stevenses’ story challenges us to confront this dilemma, inviting us to join the conversation and take action. What’s your take? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
