BY RITA OYIBOKA
“In secondary school, a classmate once said, ‘Who’s smelling like raw cassava? It’s probably Ekene.’ Everyone laughed. I laughed too, to save face, but as soon as it was break time, I ran to the toilet and I cried.”
That painful moment, recounted by a 32-year-old woman living with Albinism, Ms Ekene Godsent, wasn’t just a passing joke; it was a scar. A scar that followed her into adulthood, shaping how she saw herself and how she interacted with others.
“For years, I was extremely conscious of how I smelled. I’d bathe multiple times a day, wear layers of deodorant, and carry perfume everywhere, even if I was stepping out to buy something,” she told The Pointer.
Ekene’s experience is not unique. It is a shared reality for thousands across Nigeria: people born with albinism, living in the shadows of superstition, myth, and systemic neglect.
But how did we, as a society, come to define people by the amount of melanin in their skin? Why do we allow centuries-old ignorance to dictate how others live and die?
What is Albinism?
Albinism is a rare, inherited genetic condition characterised by little or no production of melanin, the pigment responsible for the colour of skin, hair, and eyes. The most common types, OCA1 and OCA2, leave sufferers with pale skin and fair or reddish hair. More crucially, they come with a host of health complications.
One of the biggest is vision impairment. Individuals with albinism often suffer from nystagmus (involuntary eye movement), strabismus (crossed eyes), and poor visual acuity, sometimes bordering on legal blindness. The sun, which should be a source of life, becomes a threat. Without melanin, albinos are highly susceptible to sunburn and deadly skin cancers.
Globally, about 1 in 20,000 people are born with albinism. In Nigeria, the rate is significantly higher, estimated at 1 in 5,000. That’s roughly two million citizens living with a condition most Nigerians still don’t understand.
Ask the average Nigerian what causes albinism, and you might hear anything from divine punishment, to sex during menstruation, exposure to the scorching midday sun, or even the union between a black person and a white person. But while the sun is harsh, society is often harsher.
Among the Yoruba, the albino is called “Afin.” In Igbo, “Anyali” or “Anyabeke.” In traditional society, these names weren’t always neutral descriptors; they often carried shameful connotations.
Some communities once banished albinos to live in the so-called “evil forests,” convinced that their condition was divine punishment for ancestral sin. These views, though less overt today, still seep through casual remarks, family rejection, and limited access to opportunity.
International Albinism Awareness Day
This year, on Friday, June 13, the world marked the 10th anniversary of International Albinism Awareness Day, with the theme “Demanding Our Rights: Protecting Our Skin, Preserving Our Lives.” It’s a much-needed reminder of how far we still have to go. In Nigeria, awareness has not translated to inclusion.
For many albinos, discrimination starts from the cradle. Parents, whether due to ignorance, poverty, or superstition, tend to treat albino children differently. They’re less likely to be enrolled in school, more likely to be hidden from visitors, and often end up on the streets as child beggars or menial workers.
Even though albinism does not affect mental development or lifespan, many albinos in Nigeria don’t live to see old age. Life expectancy for albinos here hovers shamefully around 40 years. Why?
Lack of access to sunscreen, proper eye care, and protection from the sun’s ultraviolet rays often lead to skin cancers. Routine care, such as dermatology visits, prescription lenses, or magnifying reading aids, is out of reach for most. A single tube of SPF 50+ sunscreen, an albino’s daily shield, can cost more than N10,000. Many can’t afford it.
In 2024, the National President of the Albinism Association of Nigeria, Mrs Bisi Bamishe, issued a heartbreaking statistic: at least two albinos die every month in Nigeria from preventable skin cancer.
Health aside, there’s the economic reality. Due to their visual impairments and photosensitivity, PWAs are better suited to indoor jobs. But with limited education and widespread bias from employers, even against those with university degrees, most are pushed into outdoor, physically demanding work that only worsens their condition.
And as if that wasn’t enough, there’s the dark, brutal underbelly, ritual killings. Some Africans, particularly in the East of the continent, still believe that the blood, hair, or limbs of albinos possess mystical powers.
This grotesque myth has cost many albinos their lives. They are hunted, mutilated, and murdered, yet arrests are rare, prosecutions even rarer. Law enforcement and the judiciary have largely failed to prioritize or even properly track these cases, allowing these crimes to continue in the shadows.
It’s ironic. In developed countries, with proper care and zero stigma, persons with albinism enjoy full, healthy lives. In Nigeria, where ignorance and neglect prevail, they die early, ostracised, and impoverished. And yet, in a dark twist of humour, some Nigerians say, “Albinos don’t die, they just disappear.” So to many, their deaths don’t matter. Their lives never really did.
Representation matters. Sadly, the media have not been kind. Albinos are often portrayed in television and film as comic relief or awkward misfits. These depictions reinforce the idea that they are “less than”, objects of ridicule, not respect. Rarely are they cast in roles of power, beauty, or romance. This absence sends a cruel message to every albino child watching: “You don’t belong.”
To truly understand what it means to live with albinism in Nigeria, our correspondent spoke with those who live it every day, seeing the world through their eyes and hearing stories the world too often ignores.
Albinism, Harder On Women – Kate
For women with albinism, rejection is doubly painful. For Chinecherem Kate, a teacher and woman living with albinism, the social dynamics are deeply gendered.
“It’s easier for men. If a guy has money, good looks, and charisma, he can easily attract women, even if he’s an albino. My late brother, who was also an albino, had more female than male friends. He was social, generous, and likeable,” she said.
But for women, it’s a different story. “Even if you’re beautiful, educated, and financially independent, many men think they’re doing you a favour by dating or marrying you.”
She urged people with albinism to develop a strong sense of self. “Ask yourself, how can I positively impact others regardless of my skin? That’s how you grow and create awareness. As we mark World Albinism Day, I’m not asking for pity-based inclusion in the workplace. I’m saying: if someone with albinism has the skills you need, why not hire them?”
Albinos Need Equal Opportunity, Not Pity – Godsent
Likewise, an entrepreneur and albino, Ms Ekene Godsent, opened up about a long-standing insecurity rooted in common stereotypes.
“People often say albinos don’t smell good. So, for years, I was extremely conscious of how I smelled. I’d bathe multiple times a day, wear layers of deodorant, and carry perfume everywhere, even if I was just stepping out to buy something.”
The fear was not unfounded. “In secondary school, a classmate once said, ‘Who’s smelling like raw cassava? It’s probably Ekene.’ Everyone laughed. I laughed too, to save face, but inside, I broke. After that, I could never sit near anyone without feeling anxious.”
She continued, “In Nigeria, albinism is still widely misunderstood. Some people think we’re cursed or not human. Others believe we don’t die but disappear. I’ve even heard people say our body parts have spiritual powers. These myths are ridiculous, but they affect you deeply when you’ve heard them since childhood, even from adults.”
Ekene also faced discrimination within her family. “When I was younger, my cousins wouldn’t sleep next to me, fearing they’d become like me. Some relatives said I shouldn’t stay out in the sun or I’d bring shame to the family if I got dark patches and sunburns. I felt like I had to shrink myself, to apologise for existing.”
‘’Living in Nigeria presents further challenges for albinos’’, she said, especially due to the heat and the sensitivity of their skin and eyesight. “However, what we need isn’t pity. It’s respect, understanding, and equal opportunity. Teachers who don’t mock us. Employers who won’t turn us away and a society that does not treat us as less than. We are human, just like everyone else.”
The Pointer not only spoke to people living with albinism but also to everyday Nigerians, to hear how society truly sees them. Sadly, the way albinos are treated in Nigeria is shaped not just by loud, obvious discrimination or wild myths, but also by the quiet things, comments passed off as jokes, “preferences” wrapped in politeness, or decisions made out of fear or shame.
These subtle biases often hurt just as much, because they send one message again and again: that people with albinism are not like the rest of us.
I’d Be Shy To Introduce Albino as My Girlfriend – Ofili
In an interview, a Digital Marketer, Samuel Ofili, spoke frankly about common stereotypes and personal experiences regarding people with albinism.
“The only thing I know is that they (albinos) don’t see well, especially in the afternoon. Many people also say they don’t eat salt, but I’m not sure about that,” he shared.
He recalled a personal encounter with a young albino woman in his neighbourhood. “She was beautiful and had spotless skin, so I asked her out. But she turned me down, saying I didn’t genuinely like her and just wanted to sleep with her, which, honestly, wasn’t entirely wrong. Still, I believed that if she fell in love with me, I’d feel shy to introduce her publicly as my girlfriend.”
While admitting he wouldn’t marry an albino, Samuel added, “There are no albinos in my family, so I doubt I could have one as a child. But if I ever do, I wouldn’t kill or mistreat them, they’re human beings like everyone else.”
And yet, this bare minimum decency is still celebrated.
“If Stares Could Kill, No Albino Would Exist”
A contributor who preferred to remain unnamed described the subtle cruelties often experienced by albinos in public.
“Nigerians are very biased when someone looks even slightly different. Just look at how movies portray people who stammer, dwarfs, or albinos; it makes everything worse. If stares could kill, no albino would exist.”
She added, “There’s that strange belief that if a pregnant woman stares at an albino, she’ll give birth to one. I’ve even read that people with AIDS rape albino women because they believe it’s a cure. It’s disgusting.”
Recalling a brief conversation with an albino man, she said, “He was rude and suspicious, almost like someone who’d never had a real conversation. And you can’t blame him. He’s probably always been treated like an outcast. He must’ve thought I was just feeling sorry for him.”
Albinism: I Can’t Put My Children Through That – Opia
For an entrepreneur, Vera Opia, the decision not to be yoked with an albino is based on concern for future generations.
“I have no issues with albinos. They can be very nice and intelligent. But I wouldn’t marry one because I don’t think it’s fair to my children and their generation. Why should I put them through that stress? They may not forgive me. I don’t want them bullied or made to suffer like many albinos do,” she said.
This kind of reasoning, while not overtly hateful, still reflects a societal failure: when people avoid relationships with albinos to spare future generations from stigma, the problem isn’t albinism itself, but the world’s unwillingness to change. And yet, voices are fighting for that change.
Albinos Deserve Full, Healthy Lives – Remi Tinubu
First Lady of Nigeria, Oluremi Tinubu, in a heartfelt message of solidarity and advocacy for persons with albinism across Nigeria and the globe, has emphasised the importance of this year’s theme, “Demanding our Rights: Protect our Skin, Preserve our Lives,” describing it as “a great call to action.”
She stressed that “people with albinism deserve not only equal rights but also the dignity, safety, and healthcare needed to live full, healthy lives.”
Sen. Tinubu reaffirmed her commitment to championing inclusive policies and public education. “I reaffirm my commitment to advocating for inclusive policies and public education that protect the rights of persons with albinism,” she declared, highlighting the need for societal change.
A Call for Action: More Than a Day
But beyond the speeches and symbolic gestures, the lived reality for most Nigerians with albinism tells a harsher story. Despite anti-discrimination provisions in the Constitution and the 2019 Disability Act, people with albinism remain largely invisible in the eyes of the law and policy.
These frameworks rarely mention them explicitly, and no dedicated national policy exists to address their unique medical, educational, or social needs. In schools, workplaces, and communities, discrimination is rampant and often goes unpunished.
If this year’s theme is truly to be a call to action, then the government must move from rhetoric to results. What good are promises without protection? Advocacy without access? Representation without resources?
Until sunscreen becomes free and accessible, until schools are equipped to accommodate low vision, until public health campaigns dismantle centuries-old myths, and until legal protections are both specific and enforceable, statements like the First Lady’s, however well-intentioned, remain hollow.
Nigeria can and must do better, not out of charity, but out of justice. As Ms Godsent puts it: “I didn’t choose to be born like this. But I’ve had to fight every single day to be seen, to be treated like I matter. That’s all we want, to be seen as human.”
And that, indeed, is not too much to ask.
