In Nigeria, a courageous battle against infanticide is being fought by an extraordinary couple, Olusola and Chinwe Stevens. Their story begins in a village near Abuja, where the birth of a child can be a matter of life and death.
Esther Stevens, now a vibrant 18-year-old, is a testament to their dedication. Born in 2007, she was considered cursed due to her mother's death during childbirth. The villagers' traditional belief dictated that such a child should be buried with its mother. However, a missionary's intervention saved Esther, and she was taken to the Stevens' children's home, where she was raised with love and care.
The Stevens have been confronting these harmful practices since 1996. They discovered that children were still being killed, poisoned, abandoned, or buried alive. In response, they established the Vine Heritage Home Foundation, a sanctuary for vulnerable children. Today, their home provides a safe haven for over 200 children, ranging from newborns to young adults.
Nigeria's transition from Lagos to Abuja as its capital in 1976 was meant to symbolize a fresh start, free from ethnic and regional tensions. Yet, just a short distance away, communities struggle with poor infrastructure and limited access to healthcare. According to Olusola, a staggering 75% of the children at Vine Heritage lost their mothers during childbirth, a stark reminder of the country's dire maternal health statistics.
The Stevenses' journey began with a shocking discovery and a mission to save these 'cursed' children. They went from community to community, pleading with families to surrender their children rather than take their lives. Their efforts expanded as they reached out to local missionaries, spreading the word about their willingness to provide a home for these vulnerable children.
One of their contacts, missionary Andrew Tonak, described Chinwe as an incredibly open-hearted soul, a leader whose generosity and instinct to give have left an indelible mark on countless lives. Tonak's own experience rescuing twins from Kaida village, located west of Abuja, highlights the impact of the Stevens' work. Over the years, he has saved 20 children from similar fates.
The children at Vine Heritage come from diverse backgrounds. Some, like Godiya, the oldest resident, have been there since infancy. Others, like the newest arrival, a baby born in May 2025, have been fighting for their lives since the day they arrived. The home has grown significantly, moving from a cramped facility to a larger compound in Gwagwalada, funded by the EU and ActionAid.
As I toured the grounds with Olusola, the warm smile on his face and his sprightly demeanor were a testament to his dedication. The children, especially the youngest ones, were thrilled to see him, calling out, "Daddy!" Their small faces pressed against the windows, eager for attention.
Among the residents are multiple-birth siblings with names that sound alike, like Victor and Victoria, Mabel and Bethel, and even triplets named Paul, Pauline, and Paulina. Their parents, fearing for their safety, brought them to the home, knowing that their village might not be a safe place for them.
Esther, with her broad smile and quick wit, is a favorite among the younger children. They love to follow her around, and it's clear that she has a special bond with them. Her journey to discovering her true origins is a heart-wrenching one. She assumed she was the Stevens' biological daughter, but a visit from her biological family shattered that illusion.
Kaida, a village in Gwagwalada, is a place where infanticide may still occur. It's a community with limited connectivity, both physically and digitally. Here, I met Abubakar Auta, a father of 13, who sent his twins, Eric and Erica, to Vine Heritage to protect them and their mother. Amina, Abubakar's wife, works as a sand digger to supplement their income, a job that keeps her in constant contact with the river.
The village's two clinics, one government-run and the other operated by missionaries, highlight the stark differences in healthcare access. While the government facility stands empty, the missionary clinic buzzes with activity. It's a place where community health workers tend to the needs of the villagers, like the woman whose grandson had a toe injury.
The village head, Lakai, described the killing of children as belonging to a time when people didn't recognize their humanity. He claimed that their eyes are now open, and such killings no longer happen. However, his words contradict the evidence, as infanticide continues to be a hidden practice in many communities.
The secrecy surrounding these beliefs makes it challenging to address them. Government officials, when contacted, claimed ignorance, and infanticide remains against the law. Arinze Orakwue, who worked for the state's child rescue body, encountered denial and resistance when trying to change these entrenched beliefs.
As more children found their way to the Stevens' home, they realized the extent of the problem. When they decided to speak publicly about infanticide in 2013, they faced accusations of spreading falsehoods. However, clear evidence eventually convinced the government, and they were commissioned to run awareness campaigns in the affected communities.
ActionAid's approach to tackling this issue was thoughtful and indirect. They established committees in each community, involving men, women, young people, traditional rulers, and religious leaders, framing their aim as community development. This strategy produced some positive outcomes, with killings gradually stopping in four communities and parents reclaiming their children.
The Stevenses' work extends beyond Christian networks. In Godiya's case, it was a Muslim cleric who intervened, saving her from being buried with her mother. Their vision for the children is to return them to their communities as agents of change, and in recent years, 36 children have been reunited with their families.
However, reintegration is not without challenges. Communication barriers, differences in education, and the adjustment to rural life can be difficult. The Stevenses usually wait until the children are older before revealing their true origins, and the process of convincing them to return to their families can be arduous.
The years have taken a toll on Chinwe and Olusola. Chinwe's health has deteriorated, and she now lives in a small flat nearby, with two of the older children taking turns to care for her during school holidays. She speaks candidly about neglecting her own health while caring for others.
Olusola believes that the home has its future leaders among the older children, those who are already involved in administration and management. He has full confidence in them, and plans to hand over the reins in the next 10 years.
The home relies heavily on donations, but with Nigeria's soaring inflation, many supporters have had to cut back or stop altogether. ActionAid, while still supporting the home, has expressed concerns about the lack of formal structure and consistent paperwork. Mamedu, ActionAid's Nigeria head, believes that institutionalizing the process is crucial for the home's long-term sustainability.
The Stevens' family-first approach has undoubtedly saved lives and fostered emotional bonds, but the original vision of reintegrating children into their communities appears to be facing challenges. Olusola admits that he had expected more progress and development in these communities by the time the children grew up.
In conclusion, the story of Olusola and Chinwe Stevens is a powerful testament to the impact one couple can have in the face of deeply rooted cultural beliefs. Their work at Vine Heritage Home Foundation is a beacon of hope for vulnerable children, offering them a second chance at life and a future filled with possibilities.
