In the heart of Nigeria’s Middle Belt, amid the dust and tarpaulin-lined shelters of an Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) camp in Benue State, the cries of newborn babies mix with the dull murmur of survival. Last month alone, camp officials recorded 380 pregnancies and 49 childbirths, turning a humanitarian crisis into a startling demographic reality.
Each pregnancy here tells a story—of loss, of love, of resilience, and of despair.
At 19, Miriam Tyovenda has already seen more than most women twice her age. Her village in Guma Local Government Area was attacked two years ago. Since then, she’s lived in the sprawling camp near Daudu with her aging mother and, now, her two-week-old baby girl.
“I didn’t plan to get pregnant,” she says, cradling her infant wrapped in faded Ankara. “There is no privacy here, no protection, no proper health care. My husband is a farm laborer, and sometimes we go two days without food.”
A Crisis Within a Crisis
The surge in pregnancies has raised alarms among health workers and humanitarian organizations. IDP camps—meant to be temporary shelters for displaced families—are quickly morphing into makeshift communities with their own tragic cycles.
The lack of access to reproductive health services, contraceptives, and proper education on family planning has created a perfect storm.
“We are overwhelmed,” says Mrs. Felicia Uji, a midwife volunteering at the camp clinic. “There’s only one delivery bed, and sometimes we have three women in labor at the same time. We’ve had to deliver babies on mats, on benches—even outside at night.”
Many of the women in the camps are teenagers, some survivors of sexual violence during the conflicts that displaced them. Others are married early, either as a means of survival or under traditional pressure. In the absence of functioning schools, healthcare, or structured daily activities, young girls are especially vulnerable.
Babies Born Without a Homeland
Of the 49 babies born in the past month, most will never know the villages their parents once called home. They enter the world as stateless citizens within their own country, born without birth certificates, access to proper nutrition, or even a safe bed.
Their mothers, many malnourished and psychologically scarred, must choose between queuing hours for food rations or queuing at the clinic—both of which may run out before it’s their turn.
The Silent Toll on Young Girls
According to data from the Benue State Emergency Management Agency (SEMA), girls aged 15 to 21 account for over 60% of the pregnancies recorded in July. While some are married, others have been coerced into relationships with men who offer them food, money, or security.
“They call it love,” says Ngozi, a teacher at a learning space funded by an NGO. “But many of these girls are trying to escape hunger. It’s survival sex, and it’s heartbreaking.”
Some girls drop out of the informal schooling offered by NGOs once they become pregnant. Others struggle to care for their babies with no family support, leading to a growing number of abandoned infants in the camps.
Systemic Failures, Generational Consequences
Benue State has long been the epicenter of herder-farmer clashes and communal violence, which have displaced hundreds of thousands. Despite repeated calls for intervention, the state’s IDP camps remain underfunded and overcrowded.
The lack of government presence and sustained humanitarian support has made the camps breeding grounds for chronic poverty, gender-based violence, and now, an unplanned population surge.
“These babies are being born into conditions that violate their most basic rights,” said Dr. Amos Egwu, a reproductive health specialist. “We’re not just failing the mothers—we’re condemning a generation to suffering before they can even walk.”
A Plea for Action
Humanitarian agencies have called for urgent scaling-up of maternal health services, access to contraceptives, psychosocial support, and education for displaced girls. They also stress the need for long-term solutions: resettlement, security, and the reconstruction of destroyed communities.
But for mothers like Miriam, the immediate concern is more personal.
“I just want to go home. I want to raise my baby where there’s peace.”
As another dusty day settles over the Benue camp, the cries of newborns continue, life pushing forward against all odds, reminding the nation that even in the darkest corners of displacement, the future is arriving—ready or not.
