In a country grappling with high population, hundreds of thousands of couples still have sleepless nights on baby making routine. While some babies result from the desires of the couples, others come from unwanted pregnancies. The latter could be caught in the loop of trafficking and corruption plaguing adoption of children in many parts of Nigeria. Consequently, Kaduna has evolved a model that is almost akin with global best practices. Hence couples seeking to have babies in their homes throng to Kaduna in order to have their cries silenced and their tears wiped away ironically by the cries of babies they can cuddle. ALABI ABDUL reports that the model is already working because of its transparent nature.
Nigeria is a land of contrasts. With over 200 million people, the image of abundance appears deceptive.
For instance, in every overflowing gathering, bustling market and crowded street, there are silent crt of households where the longing for a child echoes louder than any other sound. In many instances, couples, some married for decades, continue to pray for a child — not many, yet do not have.
In some homes, this cry is due to infertility. For others, menopause has set in before motherhood, while in some cases, they have endured repeated pains of miscarriages. With medical treatments failing, yet emotional wounds deepening, many have turned to adoption — not as a last resort though, but as a new path to love, parenting and ultimately bonding.
While adoption remains a legal and regulated alternative, its process in Nigeria is neither uniform nor easy. In fact, in many southern states, particularly those plagued by money-induced adoption, child trafficking and commercial adoption rings bell; therefore to a greater extent, the system is bogged down by suspicion, red tapism and corruption. For this reason, a growing number of desperate couples now seek to adopt in the northern states where systems like the Kaduna model offers hope because of its structure, transparency and compassion.
Why adoption is alternative
Every applicant who files into the Ministry of Human Services and Social Development in Kaduna state to face its adoption committee carries a story: usually symptomatic of years in pain.
Theresa Bitrus (not her real name), a 45-year-old banker who appeared before the state’s adoption committee recently said, ” My husband and I have been married for over 10 years now, but no child; so his family consented to adoption five years ago. We are fully prepared and I’ve even chosen names for the child. The child would bear my husband’s name. In case of divorce, either my husband or I would take custody of the child and we would co-parent,” her voice trembled and she looked pitifully at the panel.
Others, like Mrs Azizah Usman (not her real name) from Zaria, simply wanted to raise a child, even as a single mother who had lost her husband. “I’ve prepared myself,” she told the panel as she requested for a child between birth-age and age four years. Her voice shook as she explained that her entire family supported her decision.
Then there was another couple, the Iheanachos (not their real names), who have been married for 16 years without a child. Originally from Delta and Calabar respectively, they had once lived in Kaduna briefly before relocating to Lagos. Still, they returned to Kaduna to adopt a child.
Asked by the panelists why they chose to adopt in Kaduna and not Lagos, Mr Iheanacho replied, “In Lagos, the bureaucracy is choking. Everything is slow and there’s always suspicion. I want my own child. I do not want to labour for people in vain, but for my family. Everything I worked for should not go to waste. I’m from a polygamous family and I have named my brother as the next of kin for my property. Now, this would be switched to my adopted child immediately or the property would be split into two. Things cannot continue like this; I want a child who is answerable to me. I have concluded arrangements to relocate to a new area just for the child, once my wish is granted,” he said.
Why is adoption difficult in the south?
As at today, the choice to adopt in the north rather than the south is becoming more common. Investigation shows that applicants increasingly bypass their states of residence, especially in the south, due to the infamy of baby factories, inflated illegal fees and a general climate of mistrust around the adoption processes.
A case study is that of a lady with the pseudonym, Mary Nkechi, who was seen by this reporter as she was grilled by the Kaduna Ministry of Humanitarian Services panelists. Nkechi, originally from Ebonyi state but married into an Enugu family, told the panelists that she had suffered several miscarriages in over seven years and had repeatedly tried to adopt a child in the South-east, but every attempt failed due to bureaucratic bottlenecks.
She however said that after learning about the adoption process in Kaduna, she decided to travel all the way to Kaduna in order to apply. “This has taken everything from me emotionally. My husband and his family support this decision. I just want to nurture a child, even just one before I die,” she said as she wept silently and was consoled by the panelists.
Over the years, investigations have exposed a thriving underground market for babies — especially in the South-east — where young, vulnerable girls are lured or coerced into ‘baby factories’ and forced to carry pregnancies. Those babies are then sold, sometimes under the guise of ‘adoption’ for N500,000 to over one million naira. Legal adoption in such an environment is understandably complicated, with even honest applicants treated with suspicion.
A 2022 report by one prominent national daily newspaper uncovered a syndicate trafficking children from northern states to South-eastern cities where they were sold or given new identity. In one case, nine children abducted from Kano and Kaduna states were discovered in Anambra and Imo states, renamed and registered in local schools. The case drew national outrage, leading to arrests. This scenario, no doubt, damages the practice of adoption in the region.
Another prominent example was uncovered by the Foundation for Investigative Journalism (FIJ) whose recent report revealed how orphanages in Lagos and in the South-east facilitated cash-for-child transactions. In one instance, an undercover journalist posing as a single mother was told by an intermediary that a baby could be obtained “for the right price.” The FIJ report exposed how orphanage staff, welfare officers and court officials manipulated adoption processes, undermining legality and increasing trafficking risks.
The challenge, however, is that genuine applicants, especially from the south, now finds it harder to gain approval. The fear of trafficking taints the process. Many are discouraged or stonewalled by endless procedures and financial demands.
Why Kaduna model is different
Although every northern state has its policies for child adoption, Kaduna has emerged as a standout model and a beacon of hope.
Under Governor Uba Sani and his commissioner for Human Services and Social Development Ministry, Hajiyah Rabi Salisu, the state has tightened adoption laws to curb trafficking and abuse. The commissioner explained that the process is governed by a tripartite legal framework: the Child Protection Law, Adoption Law and Social Welfare Law all amended in 2018.
Applicants are not merely vetted; but are rigorously assessed. The state’s adoption committee, led by the commissioner, comprises representatives from the National Agency for the Prohibition of Trafficking in Persons (NAPTIP), human rights bodies, security agencies, religious leaders, CSOs and orphanage managers. The goal is to ensure every adopted child is safe, wanted and loved.
During a recent session observed by this reporter, the atmosphere was both formal and deeply emotional. Panel members asked pointed questions like, “What would you do if the child refuses to call you ‘mother’?”, “How prepared are you as if giving birth today?”, “What if your husband remarries and has biological children, would you treat them equally”?
One applicant was told: “From the day you take this child home, you have already conceived legally and spiritually. It’s your full responsibility.”
Panelists screening applicants warned that post-adoption monitoring is rigorous and often unannounced as officials conduct regular home visits, economic assessments and follow-up interviews.
“We don’t just give children away; we monitor and assess them. And if there’s any red flag, the law would step in,” the commissioner said.
The commissioner was equally blunt in criticizing baby dumping, early marriage and abuse, saying, “Children are not garbage. If you’re overwhelmed, come to us. There is a legal process for handing over a child, but dumping? That’s criminal.”
The commissioner added that Kaduna state does not charge applicants. The process is strictly regulated but entirely free — another reason hopeful parents flock there.
She terefore described the state’s process as ‘uncompromisingly child-centered’.
“In Kaduna, adoption is not something you buy or lobby for. We are dealing with children who have experienced abandonment, trauma, or loss. We would not compound their suffering. Before approving any application, we examine everything: the home, income, mental health, marital relationship and extended family. No one adopts here without our knowing them top to bottom.”
She warned applicants against viewing adoption as charity or status. “If you’re not emotionally prepared, don’t apply. This is not about you. It’s about the child.”
Emotional weight and limitations
Beyond legal structures, the emotion behind adoption is palpable. Many applicants break down during screening. For them, this is not just a procedure; it is the culmination of years of pain, prayers and silent suffering.
One applicant, Hussienat Ismaila (not real name), a widowed single mother from a polygamous home, told the panel that her 17-year-old son is her only child, the reason for which she feared losing custody of her late husband’s property to his second wife. To her, adoption, she said, was her chance to rebuild a family.
Adoption however remains a taboo in some Nigerian communities. This is because their cultural and religious beliefs often discourage couples from revealing that a child is adopted because of the fear arising from the stigma or rejection. But Kaduna challenges this mindset, emphasizing that, being ‘adopted’ is not second-class. “We tell applicants: Don’t hide this child. Raise them with pride. If you treat them as second-tier, that’s abuse,” a panelist said.
Hajiyah Salisu was frank about limitations, especially for non-residents. “We rarely approve out-of-state adoptions. Our priority is Kaduna children for Kaduna families unless we are 100% sure monitoring is possible.” Applicants are told upfront about surprise home visits and years of welfare tracking.
“We have revoked placements for abuse, neglect, or insincerity. Let me be clear: If you maltreat an adopted child, we would prosecute it as assault,” the commissioner noted.
From policy to parenthood
Majority of panelists at the session agreed that adoption could address Nigeria’s twin crises of child abandonment and infertility — if properly regulated. With thousands of abandoned children in orphanages and rising infertility rates due to poor healthcare, late marriages or untreated infections, the need is urgent.
“What Kaduna is doing can be replicated nationwide,” said a civil society leader on the adoption panel. “We need other states to reform their systems — stop corruption, shut down baby factories, and create humane, legal adoption paths,” one of the panelists said.
For waiting parents, adoption is a dream delayed — but still alive. As Theresa Bitrus said before leaving the ministry, “Whether from my womb or not, I would raise this child with everything I have. Love has no bloodline.”
International models/global best practices of child adoption
In countries like the United States, South Korea and the United Kingdom, adoption is heavily regulated and built around the principle of child welfare, but not adult convenience. These nations place strict emphasis on background checks, home studies, psychological evaluations and long-term monitoring, often involving social workers, courts and accredited agencies.
In the United States, for instance, prospective adoptive parents must undergo criminal background checks, parenting courses, and several months of supervised visitation before final approval is given. The process can take 12 to 24 months and prioritises reunification with biological parents, when possible, especially in foster care.
In the UK, adoptions go through local authorities or registered voluntary agencies. A matching system pairs children with compatible families and social workers maintain oversight even after placement. The system prioritises the best interest of the child, not just parental desperation.
In South Korea, international adoption was once widespread, but the government has now tightened its domestic adoption laws. Adoptive parents must meet age, income and health requirements and largely, adoption agencies are monitored by the state. There’s also a growing push to reduce stigma and encourage domestic adoption.
Unlike Nigeria, these countries operate under national frameworks with consistent rules across regions, ensuring fairness and protection. They also criminalise any form of baby-selling or informal adoptions, with stiff penalties for violators.
Transparency, child safety and emotional readiness, not financial power, are the cornerstones of child adoption in developed climes.
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