LAST week, I wrote about how holidays should not become escape routes from parenting. Many parents, overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of daily life, quietly hand off their responsibilities to schools, technology, or even prayer, hoping the children will “turn out okay.” But this week, I want to go beyond vacations and comfort zones to ask a more critical question: Who exactly is raising our children today?
At first glance, the answer might seem obvious, we are. After all, we clothe them, feed them, pay their school fees, discipline them when necessary, and throw in an occasional “I’m doing this for your own good” lecture. But if we look deeper, beneath the surface, who is really shaping their values, teaching them right from wrong, forming their identities, guiding their habits, and giving them a sense of belonging?
If we’re being brutally honest, many Nigerian children today are being raised by screens, strangers, and silence.
Screens
In today’s Nigeria, from Lagos to Lokoja, Jos to Jalingo, the smartphone has quietly become the third parent in the household. Go to any mall, restaurant, salon, church, mosque, or even a family gathering and what you’ll find is a toddler with a phone or tablet. The moment a child cries or demands attention, instead of a lullaby or lesson, they are pacified with YouTube Kids. My two-year-old nephew can unlock a phone, go straight to YouTube, and search for Cocomelon. Once that jingle begins, it’s like a magnet, children rush to the screen like it’s a cleric delivering their sermon.
While digital tools can be useful, they’re becoming a silent substitute for real human connection. TikTok is the new elder. Cartoons are now delivering life lessons. Sarcasm, rebellion, entitlement, all wrapped in catchy songs and colourful animations are becoming the daily diet of a generation too young to even question what they’re absorbing.
Screens are not just entertaining our children; they are raising them.
It’s no surprise that Steve Jobs, the visionary behind Apple products, once said he would never allow an iPad in his home, calling it dangerous. Why? Because even he recognized that the very tools he helped create could harm a child’s brain development if overused.
A child’s brain is constantly building neural pathways, mental “maps” that lay the foundation for physical coordination, emotional intelligence, and cognitive skills. But excessive screen time can replace real-world experiences, interrupting this natural process and stunting growth before those maps are fully formed.
In a world where children are developing faster than ever, the devices we place in their hands can either become tools for growth or barriers to it. The responsibility begins at home.
Strangers
Then there are the strangers. And by strangers, I don’t mean kidnappers or unknown faces. I mean people other than you, the nanny, the driver, the house help, the gate man, neighbours, schoolmates, teachers, TikTok influencers, Instagram celebrities, and even that popular skit maker your teenager follows religiously.
Many Nigerian parents are too busy with “hustle” to notice who their children are becoming. We leave the home at dawn and return when they’re asleep, trusting the housemaid to help with homework or cook lunch. In doing so, we inadvertently outsource moral training to people who may not share our values. These people become more accessible than we are and influence seeps in.
Let’s not deceive ourselves. While we’re chasing “daily bread,” others are planting seeds of ideology, attitude, and behaviour in our children. If you’re not raising your child, someone else is and they may not be doing it with your approval, or in your interest.
Silence
Perhaps the most dangerous guardian raising children today is silence. In many Nigerian homes, tough conversations are avoided like potholes on a rainy road. We don’t talk to our children about: Consent and body safety, discipline with love and not fear, social media and its dangers, identity, values, and purpose and handling rejection, heartbreak, and peer pressure.
In the absence of these conversations, children turn elsewhere. They find answers from peer groups, influencers, TV shows, or online forums. Often, they absorb the wrong messages, because we were silent when they needed us to speak.
I know it’s not always easy to have certain conversations with our children. Talking about puberty or teen awareness with kids who are just on the brink of adolescence can feel awkward and uncomfortable.
I remember when I first tried to have such conversation with Bilkisu (Afrah), a 10-year-old. I couldn’t quite bring myself to sit her down and talk directly, so instead, I gave her a book to read and then used that as a starting point to ease into the discussion.
Earlier last week, I had a heartfelt conversation with my dad. He was visibly disturbed by something he had seen a group of children doing. With a mix of sadness and disbelief, he kept repeating, “That’s not how I raised mine.” And truthfully, he was right.
In our cultures, many of us grew up under firm guidance. I remember how difficult it was to ask my father for permission to attend a birthday party. I would rehearse for days. Even then, I’d be met with deep scrutiny: “Who invited you? What kind of party is it? Do I know their parents?” It was inconvenient, but it was love. That discipline and boundary-setting helped shape our understanding of safety, accountability, and caution.
That is the million-naira question. What exactly changed? Why does it feel like today’s children, many of whom were raised by yesterday’s well-disciplined generation, are now lacking the same values?
Is it that we stopped teaching? Or are we teaching, but the lessons are not landing? Or perhaps, we have replaced parenting with provision, giving gadgets instead of guidance, money instead of mentorship, and silence instead of speech.
Today’s children are loud. Bold. They talk back. They interrupt elders. Some may call it confidence, others call it disrespect. Soro Soke, once a rallying cry for youth empowerment, now often sounds like an excuse for rudeness. In the name of mental health and self-expression, discipline is being labelled trauma. And in the pursuit of equality, the natural hierarchy of family authority is under threat.
Let’s be clear, this is not to shame parents. Parenting has never been easy. But in today’s Nigeria, it’s arguably harder than ever. Inflation is high. Traffic is hell. Schools are expensive. Work is draining. Security is a concern. And yet, the call to be present in your child’s life has never been more urgent.
It’s time we asked the hard questions: Who are your children listening to? What are they watching, and for how long? Who do they look up to? When last did you have an honest conversation with them? Are they afraid of you or free with you?
Being physically present is no longer enough. We must be emotionally present. Intentionally involved. We must make time, not just money for the children we claim to love. Because if we don’t raise them, someone else will. And that “someone” may not raise them right.
Yes, the world is louder now, digital noise, peer pressure, societal confusion but your voice still matters. The parent’s voice must not be drowned out by cartoons, TikTok trends, or societal dysfunction. The Nigerian parent must rise again, not with cane and fear alone, but with wisdom, engagement, and consistency.
Let’s guide with firmness and empathy. Let’s teach by example, not just instruction. Let’s speak up, step in, and stay involved. Our children may live in a new world, but they still need the age-old foundation: love, discipline, values, truth.
Voice just cleared its throat!
- Kabara, is a writer and public commentator. Her syndicated column, Voice, appears on News Point Nigeria newspaper on Mondays. She can be reached on hafceekay01@gmail.com.