What it means to live with blindness in Lagos
Nigeria is home to around 1.3 million blind people.
In August 2025, hundreds of people living with disabilities blocked the roads leading to the Murtala Muhammed airport in protest.
The demonstration was led by comedian and broadcaster Kelly Egbere, popularly known as Kellyblind, in response to the closure of the 67-year-old Farmcraft Centre for the Blind in Isheri-Olofin, Alimosho.
For parents like Esther Oboli, whose 14-year-old son is blind, the closure was devastating. She told The Independent newspaper that her son had previously attended Ketu Special Children’s School until it too was shut down without explanation, leaving parents to care for their children at home.
“The same fate has also befallen Farmcraft Centre,” she said. “You don’t want beggars on the streets, yet you shut down their schools, making it impossible for them to live a better life.”
Lagos is one of the most populous cities in Africa, with an estimated population of about 22 million people, over 1.3 million daily visitors, and more than five million vehicles on its roads.
According to the Nigerian Optometric Association, Nigeria is home to around 1.3 million blind people, with over 1.2 million Nigerians aged 40 and above living with blindness.
Although the Lagos State Special People’s Law (LSSPL) requires all new public and commercial buildings to have ramps, lifts, and other accessible features for persons with disabilities (PWDs), living with blindness in Lagos remains challenging.
“If you hold your guide cane and you are walking around Lagos, it mostly gets stuck in a refuse dump by the roadside, and it is usually hard to clean the guide cane,” 14-year-old Balogun Feranmi told Ikeja Record.
Feranmi lost her sight to glaucoma in 2020 but has been able to continue her education at Bethesda Home and School for the Blind.
For journalist Grace Atukpa, the main challenge is people’s perception of blindness as debilitating.
“I work fast on the keyboard… sometimes even faster than my sighted colleagues. In exams, I usually finish before them,” the Nigerian Institute of Journalism-trained reporter said.
But “getting jobs is very, very hard, especially in the private sector; they don’t even want to give people with disabilities a chance,” Atukpa added.
Beyond work, Atukpa also juggles motherhood with her disability which she believes is tough for women, blind or not.
“I’m married with kids, I have two kids,” she said. Her five-year-old daughter has already learned to support her. “She comes and tells me, Mommy, I want to help you do something. Please give me something to do for you.”
Still, she notices how people react when they see her with children. “People see me with my children, they get surprised. They see me strap my baby on my back or walk with them, they get surprised.”
Earlier this month, I visited Bethesda Home and School for the Blind in Idi-Oro, Mushin. At the reception, I spotted a blind girl, about 15, being led by two elderly women.
Her guardians were showing the receptionist the list of school items they had brought. The receptionist checked each item off carefully. It looked like the girl was about to be enrolled for the new school year.
During my interview with the school’s founder, Reverend Dr. Chioma Ohakwe, she confirmed my theory.
“Did you notice how that girl walks?” she asked me. “She still stumbles and has to be led because she never learnt mobility and has been cooped up at home all her life. But my students are different. They are independent.”
According to Reverend Dr. Ohakwe, Bethesda is the first school of its kind in Nigeria and Africa that caters for blind children from nursery through secondary school, with boarding facilities for all at no expense.
The school began in her small apartment in Lagos. Then, the chairman of Surulere Local Government, Hon. Tajideen Ajide, offered them a building. Now, the school is domiciled in a three-storey facility furnished by the Office of the Senior Special Assistant to the President on SDGs. More than 470 students have passed through its doors, many of them going on to university and securing formal employment, according to Reverend Dr. Ohakwe.
For Reverend Dr. Ohakwe, the vision of being “the eyes for the blind” began with a dream where she saw herself leading a long line of blind people in blue and white uniforms, singing and dancing.
But her journey was also shaped by personal experience. Two of her brothers lost their sight to measles during the Nigerian civil war. Her husband’s sister is also blind. She met her husband through his sister, who attended the same blind school in Enugu as her siblings.
“Back then, people believed blindness was a curse,” Reverend Dr. Ohakwe said. So, according to her, families would lock blind children indoors, ashamed of their conditions. She said her home became a sort of refuge for some.
The belief that blind people can live fully and independently is what drives her. Yet, she admits the challenges are numerous. Many children come to her school late, already teenagers who never learnt mobility. Some are terrified of stepping outside.
“Mobility is the biggest challenge,” Reverend Dr. Ohakwe said. Another challenge is most learning tools are imported and expensive. Also, employers are often unwilling to give blind graduates a chance. “It’s not blindness that limits them,” she said firmly. “It is society. If Lagos opens the door, you will be shocked at what blind people can achieve.”
Still, Reverend Dr. Ohakwe urges blind people to acknowledge their own agency. “Anybody that is blind, start learning mobility,” she told me. “Don’t be a liability to anybody. Learn to use your cane. Face your problem and your problem will go away.”
To show me what she meant, she shared the story of one of her former students who now works with Ikeja Electric. Every day, he leaves his house, takes public transport, and makes his way through the noise and rush of Lagos traffic to get to the office, all by himself. He was once recognized as the most punctual staff member in his office, Reverend Dr. Ohakwe said.
“I’ve said it before, as a blind person, people tend to sympathize and tell you, ‘sorry,.” Atukpa, the journalist living with blindness, told me. “We don’t need that. We need to be empathized with, not sympathized with.” ✚