Abuja urban settlements caught between two worlds

Just beyond Abuja’s gleaming office towers, luxury apartments and bustling highways lie communities that seem frozen between two worlds.

Kpadna and Daki-Biyu, indigenous Gbagyi settlements that predate the Federal Capital Territory, now sit almost swallowed by the city’s relentless expansion. Towering buildings overlook clusters of mud and cement houses. Well-paved roads end abruptly at narrow footpaths. Modern estates share boundaries with villages where residents still struggle with inadequate infrastructure and uncertainty over what tomorrow holds.

To a first-time visitor, the contrast is striking.

Construction cranes dominate the skyline while commercial activities continue quietly beneath them. Residents run small businesses, children play in dusty compounds and women prepare meals for labourers working on nearby construction sites.

Yet, beneath the daily routine lies an anxiety shared by many families.

As Abuja continues to expand, many residents fear that one day their ancestral communities may disappear altogether.

Living in the shadow of demolition

For Fatima Ridu, the uncertainty has become part of everyday life.

She has lived in the community for more than 25 years and now operates a small food business after losing her husband. The business helps her provide for her children and keep them in school.

“That’s why I’m here,” she said quietly. “I am trying to eat and pay their school fees.”

Two years ago, she began selling cooked food, serving labourers and residents in the area. The business has become her family’s main source of income.

But as development inches closer, so do fears of displacement.

“Several times there had been demolition and they cut off parts of our land for construction,” she said.

“They don’t explain anything to us. One day, they just show up.”

Despite the uncertainty, Fatima says she has learned to carry on.

“If food remains, I just share it. I won’t sell it again.”

Her generosity reflects the communal lifestyle that still exists in many of Abuja’s indigenous settlements despite the pressures of urbanisation.

Not everyone allows uncertainty to define their future.

For Mariam Yakubu, who recently returned to the village after getting married, fear is not something she dwells on.

“I don’t have that thinking that something bad will happen,” she said.

“But maybe the elders worry that someday we may be forced to leave.”

Like many women in the community, Mariam earns a modest income selling roasted groundnuts, relying on the growing population around the area for customers.

Although skyscrapers continue to replace open land, she remains optimistic that life will go on.

Businesses thrive, but insecurity remains

The rapid development around the communities has created opportunities even as it fuels uncertainty.

Yusuf Sadiq, who has operated a small provision store in the area for six years, says customer traffic has increased considerably.

“This place is booming,” he said.

“If you have even a little capital, you can start something here. The market is growing every day.”

Yet, the prosperity comes with constant anxiety.

“I’ve prepared my mind for anything,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll leave one day and come back and won’t find anybody here.”

Without formal tenancy agreements or documentation guaranteeing his place of business, Yusuf says traders simply hope for the best.

“We just beg. Sometimes they ask for money, sometimes they don’t.”

While some residents fear demolition, others are already feeling the economic effects of rapid urbanisation.

Christian, who operates a Point of Sale (POS) business, says rents for small business spaces have risen sharply.

“I used to pay between N1,000 and N1,500 every month,” he said. “Now it’s between N5,000 and N10,000.”

According to him, increasing demand for commercial spaces, fuelled by nearby construction and new housing estates, has pushed landlords to raise prices.

“They say they need money to pay school fees and feed their families.”

Despite the rising costs, his business continues to attract customers because of the village’s location near offices and residential estates.

“People pass through here every day. That’s why business is still good.”

Caught between two worlds

The experiences of residents reflect a wider reality confronting many indigenous communities within the Federal Capital Territory.

As Abuja expands outward, settlements that once lay on the city’s outskirts have gradually become enclosed by modern infrastructure. Roads, bridges, estates and commercial developments have transformed the landscape around them, but many of the original communities say they have seen little improvement in their own living conditions.

While new neighbourhoods enjoy better roads and public facilities, residents of many indigenous settlements continue to worry about whether they will eventually be displaced by the same development taking place around them.

For many families, the greatest concern is not necessarily change itself but the uncertainty surrounding it.

They want to know whether they will remain where their ancestors lived, whether they will be relocated if development reaches their communities, and whether they will be consulted before decisions affecting their future are made.

Until those questions are answered, life goes on much as it always has.

Women continue preparing meals for workers. Traders open their shops each morning. Children grow up beneath the shadows of glass towers that seem to move closer every year.

Abuja’s impressive skyline has become a symbol of Nigeria’s modern capital.

But tucked between its highways and high-rise buildings are communities like Kpadna and Daki-Biyu, where residents continue to wait, uncertain whether the city growing around them will one day make room for them or simply replace them.

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