In the early hours of the morning, the dusty streets of Seme are already alive. Lorries line the road, market stalls open one by one, and the scent of roasted maize fills the air. For the people living here – as in Jibiya in the North or Idiroko in the West – this is not just Nigeria. This is the border. This is home.
Growing up in a border town is like living in two countries at once. For many families, life is a daily dance between Nigeria and its neighbours – Benin Republic, Niger, or even farther. It’s a place where cultures mix freely, languages blend, and identities stretch across invisible lines.
“My Childhood Was Split Between Two Worlds”
Seun Adewale, 26, grew up in Idiroko, the gateway to Benin Republic. “My dad is Nigerian, my mum is from Porto-Novo. As a child, we would cross the border every weekend. My cousins were on the other side. It didn’t feel like we were from two countries,” he says with a smile.
But life wasn’t always simple. Border closures, customs officers, and surprise crackdowns sometimes made visits tense. “One time, they stopped my uncle and seized his goods. He lost everything he had that week. We were scared, but we got used to it,” Seun recalls.
Traders in the Middle
The border towns are lifelines for local traders. In markets like Jibiya’s, people sell everything from tomatoes to motor parts. But every deal comes with a risk. Traders have to know the rules – and the tricks – of both sides.
“Mama Alhaja” as she’s called, has sold fabrics in Seme for over 30 years. “Sometimes, customs will say something is banned in Nigeria but not in Benin. Or it’s fine today, and tomorrow, they change the rule,” she says, waving her hand in frustration. “We live in confusion, but we survive.”
Many traders rely on informal routes – what locals call “bush paths” – to keep their businesses alive when official routes are blocked. It’s risky, but for many families, it’s the only way to eat.
Youth Caught in the Crossroads
For the younger generation, growing up in these towns comes with both challenges and unique advantages.
Ahmed Yusuf, 19, is from Jibiya and speaks fluent Hausa, English, and French. “It’s normal for us,” he shrugs. “I have friends in Niger. We talk online, and sometimes they visit. I’ve never travelled far, but I know more about two countries than some people who’ve lived in the city all their lives.”
But border life also comes with a shadow. Young people are often tempted by smuggling, lured by quick money and peer pressure. “It’s not that we want to be criminals,” Ahmed says quietly. “But when there are no jobs, and you see others making money crossing things illegally, you’re tempted.”
Many local youth dream of leaving – not just the town, but the hustle. “I want to be a teacher,” says 17-year-old Kemi, who lives near the Idiroko border. “But my parents want me to help them sell. Sometimes I feel stuck between their world and the one I want.”
A Life of Resilience
Despite the challenges, border communities are some of the most resilient in Nigeria. Families find ways to survive. Children grow up navigating two cultures. Traders adapt to ever-changing rules. And through it all, a sense of identity forms – not just Nigerian or Beninese or Nigerien – but something in-between.
“It’s a hard life, but it’s our life,” Mama Alhaja says proudly. “We know how to make a way, even when there’s none.”
As Nigeria continues to debate its border policies, it is important not to forget the human stories on the ground – the families who live between lines, and the children who grow up knowing that home is not just one place, but two.
