Blindness is more than the loss of sight—it is often the loss of livelihood, dignity, and access to basic opportunities. Across Nigeria, thousands of men and women live in darkness, struggling daily with discrimination, poverty, and neglect, yet holding on to hope for a better tomorrow. From a bus driver-turned-beggar to a veteran journalist cut off the newsroom, and a once-thriving businessman who now depends on his wife for survival, their stories, as captured by Adeola Ogunlade in this piece, are of daily struggles -hidden and open, laced with appeals for better treatment both by society and governments.
I used to sew for the President – Emmanuel Shomefun
At 69, Shomefun Emmanuel still remembers the day his life changed forever. A commercial bus driver and former fashion designer, Emmanuel lost his sight after a canister of teargas was fired into his vehicle during a protest in 2015. What began as a painful eye condition gradually worsened until 2019, when he became completely blind.
“I was driving passengers from (Sango) Tollgate to Oshodi that day when the teargas landed inside my bus,” he recalled with a shaky voice. “Thereafter, I began a prolonged battle with my eyes. They said it was glaucoma. By 2019, I lost my sight completely. Doctors told me something could still be done, but I had no help.”
Once a tailor, Emmanuel takes pride in the clothes he made during his active years. “I used to sew for many people, even for President Bola Tinubu when he was governor of Lagos in 1999. If my memory serves me well, I sewed at least five clothes for him back then. He never wore the same outfit twice,” he said with a faint smile, followed by a deep sigh.
Now, blindness has forced him and his wife, Adesanya, 47, into a life of daily struggle for survival. “We have no helper. We beg to eat. To pay rent, electricity bills or school fees for our children is a challenge. We have four children, and our neighbours are the ones who often support us,” Emmanuel said, wiping away tears.
Unfortunately, Adesanya also went blind three years ago after a strange breeze carried dirt into her eyes. She explained how difficult life has become for them as a couple living in total darkness. “When we wake up, we don’t know whether it is morning or night. We just depend on God. Even the food we eat, we can tell how healthy they are. To move around, we grope in the dark. Sometimes, we get injured.
Emmanuel recently hit his head on one of the kitchen cabinet. “It was so painful. Though, I know the in and out of my room and parlour apartment, I still need help to move around the house,” he recalled, showing this reporter the spot.
Despite their condition, the couple insists that their love for each other remains strong. Emmanuel gently held his wife’s hand during the interview. “Our love is intact. We still have fun as husband and wife, even in our darkness,” he said with a smile that appeared to soften his grief.
Their biggest worry, however, is the future of their children. The eldest is nine, while the youngest is just four. Although they once enrolled them in public schools, they later switched to private education. “In the public school they once attended, classes had over 120 pupils. When my children came home, they smelled so badly because of overcrowding,” Emmanuel explained. “Now we pay ₦10,000 per term in a private school, but even that is a huge burden.”
Public transportation has also been a source of humiliation. Although the Lagos State Bus Rapid Transit (BRT) scheme allows visually impaired persons to ride for free, Emmanuel says operators often treat them poorly. “Sometimes, they tell us not to enter until sighted people have boarded. Other times, they refuse to let us stand inside the bus. We may be blind, but we are not mad. We deserve dignity,” he lamented.
Despite his struggles, Emmanuel holds on to hope, hope that government, kind-hearted Nigerians, or organisations will come to their aid. “Doctors said I can still see again if I get treatment. But we have no money. What keeps us alive is faith. The Bible says the just shall live by faith. That is what I am holding on to,” he said.
Shomefun Emmanuel and his wife, Adesanya, recalled how their ordeal began with multiple hospital visits after their eyesight began to fail. “We went to hospitals when the whole thing started. We were referred to different hospitals and drugs were prescribed, but there was no money to treat our ailing eyes when it was needed most,” they said.
Despite the setbacks, they remain firm in their resolve to keep living. “We want to counsel blind people not to give up, because death is not the end of the world. However, the way sighted people treat us is not humane enough. Sometimes the discrimination makes it seem as if we should just go and commit suicide. It is a societal flaw that blind people are inhumanly treated,” Emmanuel lamented.
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Yet, their faith in God has not dimmed. “We are not deterred, neither are we dismayed. We were not born blind and thus we will not give up. God can turn the tide around for us and give back our sight.”
Empower, not pity
When asked what government could do, Emmanuel was clear: “Empowerment, not pity. What the government can do is to empower physically challenged persons and blind people. There are many educated blind people who, if given opportunities, can be productive citizens. Names of visually impaired persons should be included in the federal government’s social register and stipends should be provided for them.”
The couple recounted their recent struggle for survival. “Last Friday, we went to a Jummaat prayer at a mosque on Lagos Island to beg for alms, where we got ₦2,000. Meanwhile, we were supposed to pay our bus transportation back to Meiran where we live and still feed from it. For how long are we going to live like that? All we need is empowerment, not just pity,” Emmanuel stressed.
Their story is one of resilience but also a call to action; a reminder that behind every blind beggar on the street lies a life that could be transformed with compassion, dignity, and opportunity.
From newsroom to darkness: Story of a visually-impaired journalist fighting for a second chance
For Mr. Kerry Osunde, journalism was not just a profession, it was life itself. From his early days at Observer Newspaper in Benin, to Daily Times, The Guardian, and the now-defunct Resources Magazine, Osunde built a career rooted in words, deadlines, and the passion to inform the public. But today, the once vibrant journalist finds himself battling blindness, a cruel twist of fate that has cut short a career he dearly loved and left him navigating an uncertain future.
“I wasn’t born blind,” Osunde said firmly, as though refusing to be defined by his condition. “If I had been born blind, I would never have worked in those media houses. It was glaucoma. At first, I thought it was cataract that could be operated on, but doctors told me it was glaucoma. They said the surgery was risky 50-50 and advised me to keep using eye drops instead.”
Those drops, however, come at a steep price: ₦10,000 for a month’s supply, with costs expected to rise to ₦15,000 soon. “The ophthalmologist said I should even buy 20 bottles at once and keep them, but where will the money come from?” he asked, his voice breaking. “If I stop, the pain and the headaches are unbearable. I don’t pray for anybody, even my enemies to go through what I am going through.”
A career interrupted
For decades, Osunde’s bylines appeared in Nigeria’s most reputable news outlets. He recalls with pride the days of Lagos Weekend, the excitement of newsroom chatter, and the deadlines that kept adrenaline pumping.
“I used to be an editor. I knew the situation on the ground. Journalism was my world,” he said. But when glaucoma struck eight years ago, everything changed. “I found myself in Lagos with nothing. No newsroom. No stories. Just darkness.”
Yet, Osunde refuses to give up. Instead of resigning to despair, he is seeking ways to rebuild his life through education. His dream is to attend a school for the blind where he can relearn communication skills and adapt to assistive technologies that would allow him to return to electronic media.
But the cost is overwhelming. “Private blind schools charge about ₦400,000. I cannot afford it. I cannot even afford to send my own daughter—who is very intelligent, more intelligent than me—to a tertiary institution. Where will I find ₦400,000 for myself?” he asked.
Some colleagues and well-wishers have stepped in, offering occasional support. Stations like Wazobia FM, and friends who knew him from his newsroom days, have raised money for his eye drops and daily needs. But Osunde insists such assistance is not sustainable. “They cannot keep helping me forever,” he admitted.
Despite the challenges, Osunde carries an unbroken spirit. He speaks with the conviction of a man determined not to let blindness rob him of dignity or purpose. “My plan is to go to school, learn, and return to electronic media. With God’s grace, I can still contribute. I know I can.”
For him, every day is a battle between despair and hope. His faith keeps him going. “The just shall live by faith,” he said quietly, before adding with a wry smile, “I used to write stories that gave people hope. Now I’m living mine.”
Osunde, a graduate with a diploma in journalism, refuses to see blindness as a limitation — yet he insists that without stronger government support, many in his condition are denied the opportunity to live independent and dignified lives. He emphasised the urgent need for broader access to education for the blind across Nigeria’s 36 states (and the Federal Capital Territory). Currently, only a handful of specialised schools exist, leaving many visually impaired people with little or no access to formal learning.
“They should create more schools of the blind in different states,” he said. “Imagine if every state had a functional school for the blind—many more would get an education and a chance at life.”
Beyond education, Osunde stresses the importance of economic empowerment. Too many visually impaired Nigerians, he noted, are forced into street begging due to lack of support structures.
“I don’t want to beg. I am a graduate,” he said firmly. “The government should financially empower blind people who are willing to work. Not all of us want handouts — some of us just need opportunities.”
His words reveal both pride and pain. Despite his qualifications, Osunde has faced difficulties finding meaningful work. His situation has also affected his family life.
“Love life has been tough. Sometimes, my wife just roasts corn so that we can eat once or twice a day,” he said, a touch of resignation in his voice.
Still, Osunde remains hopeful that his advocacy will spark action. He believes education, vocational training, and financial support programmes for the visually-impaired could transform lives across Nigeria.
“My prayer is that nobody else should encounter what I and others like me have faced,” he added quietly.
For Osunde and thousands of visually impaired Nigerians, the plea is simple: open more doors, not just one.
His wife, Peace Osunde, admitted that the burden has been overwhelming. “It’s not easy,” she said, fighting back tears. “Crossing the street alone is a struggle for him. Feeding the family is another. Sending our children to school is almost impossible. Sometimes, even those who used to help us have stopped. But we keep managing.”
The couple’s two children, aged 13 and 16, are bright but face uncertainty with their education. Osunde is especially worried about his daughter who excelled in her WAEC exams but risks being stranded because of lack of funds. “She is more intelligent than me,” he said with pride. “But if I can’t afford ₦400,000 for private blind school for myself, how do I pay for her tertiary education?”
I now live not knowing whether it’s day or night – businessman, Ogechi
For Ohenatu Ogechi, life changed forever in 2014. Once a thriving businessman dealing in electronics and electrical appliances, the father of many children now battles the daily reality of blindness, an unexpected condition that turned his world upside down.
“I wasn’t born blind,” Ogechi began his voice heavy with emotion. “It all started like something small, like ants entering my eyes. I thought it was nothing serious. I never knew it would bring me to this condition.”
After several surgeries in Onitsha and Lagos, the situation only worsened. His thriving business collapsed, his children’s education became uncertain, and despair nearly consumed him. “I even wanted to kill myself,” he admitted. “But I thank God for my wife. She and the children have been my strength.”
Coping with darkness
Since losing his sight, daily life has been a struggle. Ogechi can no longer differentiate between day and night. “Without the sun, I don’t know whether it’s day or night. It has been very, very bad. Honestly, I’m not happy.”
He does not use a white cane. Instead, he relies on his children, especially during school holidays, to guide him around. “If my children are in school, I stay indoors. If they are around, one of them follows me out.”
His wife, whom he met during his trading days, shoulders much of the family burden, managing a small business to keep food on the table. “What has helped me is not me—it’s my wife, Iheanacho” he said simply.
Beyond the personal loss, Ohenatu feels robbed of opportunities to better his life through education. He recalls once considering enrollment in a school for the blind but could not afford the fees. Later, he was disheartened to learn that the school had been shut down.
“When I heard the school was closed, I was very annoyed. Instead of government expanding such schools, they shut it down. Many blind people are uneducated, and are just wasting away. If I had attended that school, maybe I could have been more—like some blind doctors, lawyers, or presenters I know.”
Despite the difficulties, Ogechi remains determined not to beg. “I am not a beggar. I don’t like to ask people to ‘give me.’ What I need is empowerment—a business I can do to provide for my family. My sight is gone, but my hands, my brain, and my body are still working. If I’m given the opportunity, I can do anything that will bring money to the table.”
His greatest wish is to regain financial independence and provide for his children’s education. “If I go back to business, I won’t have to depend on people. I just want something to do.”
Hope amid Struggles
Though the weight of his blindness leaves him broken at times, Ogechi still speaks with quiet faith. He is hopeful that society, government, and well-meaning individuals will recognise the plight of persons with disabilities like him and extend support—not as charity, but as empowerment.
“Life is not easy for us,” he said. “But if given a chance, I believe I can still live a meaningful life.”
It’s my cross; I’m ready to carry it – Ohenatu’s wife
Fifteen years ago, when Mrs. Iheanacho Ogechi from Anambra State married her husband, life seemed set on a steady path. She was a young woman with dreams, trading in foot wears to support her household, while her husband worked hard to build a future for them. Nothing prepared her for the drastic turn that would change her family’s life forever.
“My husband didn’t have a disability when we married,” she says softly, her voice steady but weighted with memory. “It wasn’t like this. But when it happened, I told myself, it’s my cross. I’m ready to carry it.”
Today, Ogechi lives with a disability that has reshaped the family’s journey. For his wife, it has meant stepping into a role she never anticipated: caregiver, breadwinner, and unwavering pillar of support.
Carrying the weight with grace
Ogechi admits coping hasn’t been easy. For a time, she left her small trading business to focus on her family’s survival. “Some people help us, by the grace of God,” she explains. “But I’m ready to take care of my family, no matter what. If I get financial support, I can go back to my business. That’s what I know how to do.”
Although her education ended at secondary school, her resilience has been her greatest qualification. She once ran a modest business, buying and reselling footwear. For her, restarting that business is not just about income—it’s about dignity, stability, and giving her children a sense of normalcy.
Asked how the incident has affected her marriage, Mrs. Ogechi paused, and then smiled faintly. “It makes me to have more power and faith. Sometimes when I look at my husband, I say, wow… as long as God keeps him alive and strong, who am I to question Him? He is a human being like me, not less. So I have to be there for him.”
In those words lie the quiet strength of a woman who has chosen love over despair, faith over bitterness. Her story is not just about hardship, but about the resilience of a marriage tested by unforeseen challenges and sustained by compassion.
Like many caregivers in Nigeria, Mrs. Ogechi represents an often overlooked reality—the silent sacrifices of women who put aside personal ambitions to care for their families in times of crisis. With the right support—financial, social, and emotional—she could revive her business and regain the stability she once knew.
For now, she holds on to her faith. “This is my cross,” she repeats. “And I will carry it.”
