By Hannatu Hussaini Maina
A new study from Kaduna State shows that the path to organised violence begins in early childhood and that supported mothers may be the most underutilised prevention resource
Every time a young man picks up a weapon and joins a violent group, we ask the same questions: Where did the State fail? Which criminal network recruited him? What unemployment drove him to it? These are legitimate questions. But there is one question we almost never ask – and it may be the most important one of all: What kind of childhood did he have, and who guided him through it?
We have spent decades treating insecurity in Northern Nigeria as something that happens in the bush or on the highway. Yet, the evidence shows that it often begins much earlier – quietly, within the home. The home is the first institution of peace, and mothers are often its first practitioners through early care, guidance and emotional support. When mothers are not supported to play this role, society pays dearly: in lost childhoods, damaged identities, fractured communities and lives drawn into violence. No security budget can be large enough to contain what early moral formation could have prevented.
Fieldwork conducted across low income Hausa-Fulani communities in the three senatorial districts of Kaduna State found that organised violence rarely begins at the point of recruitment. In many cases, it starts in childhood -from around the age of seven; by nine, many young boys were already engaged in petty crime and substance abuse; by their teenage years, violent groups had become their primary community.
Interviews with incarcerated and reformed youths involved in street gangsterism, banditry, terrorism and related violence revealed a recurring pattern:
Childhood neglect → early deviance → delinquency → substance abuse → recruitment into violent group. Each step followed the previous, and at almost every step, the absence of consistent maternal nurturing was a defining feature.
Notably, many of these young men did not describe themselves as ideologically motivated or economically desperate in the first instance- those factors emerged later. What they spoke of first was anger, frustration, deprivation, neglect and a hunger for recognition. Violent groups offered what their early lives had denied them: Identity, protection, belonging and a sense of purpose.
One of the study’s most striking findings was the gap between belief and outcome. Communities overwhelmingly believed in the importance of maternal influence in preventing youth violence – yet mothers’ actual interventions succeeded at a surprisingly low rate.
Why does a deeply held belief fail to translate into effective action? The research identified three interlocking barriers that limit what mothers can realistically do:
The first is authority deficit- In many of these patriarchal community settings, a mother’s authority over her children depends heavily on the endorsement of her husband or male kin. Where fathers are absent- whether through death, divorce, migration or disengagement sons often openly reject their mothers’ guidance, while deviant peer groups rush in to fill that vacuum, offering an alternative masculine identity rooted in defiance.
This dynamic is further compounded when a boy assumes the breadwinner role at a young age: the mother loses the moral leverage to question or correct him, the relationship inverts, and her preventive capacity disappears with it.
The second barrier is poverty as an impossible choice- Economic hardship within such communities, compels many mothers to serve simultaneously as breadwinners and caregivers. Long hours spent earning income leave little time for supervision, emotional support or moral instruction -and the child is left to fill that space however he can.
The third is the erosion of collective motherhood- Traditionally, childrearing in these communities was a shared enterprise. Neighbours, aunts and older women watched, guided and corrected young people. That architecture of communal care has largely collapsed. Today, many mothers manage child-rearing in near-total isolation, without the social reinforcement their mothers and grandmothers relied upon.
The mothers in this study were not passive. They were struggling – against poverty, against cultural norms that stripped them of authority, against the loss of community support structures that once made informal correction possible. When they failed to prevent their sons from joining violent groups, it was rarely for want of love or intent. It was for want of support.
What must change
Northern Nigeria’s insecurity has many roots and will not be solved by military operations alone nor by youth empowerment programmes that reach young men only after they are already in crisis. Prevention must begin earlier and it must begin at home.
This means addressing the conditions that shape early socialisation. It means restoring collective motherhood- a community-based systems in which women support one another in childrearing, and in which the monitoring of young people is a shared responsibility, not a solitary burden. It means strengthening spousal and extended family support for mothers, so that their authority within the home is not dependent on male endorsement alone.
It means connecting families to schools, welfare services and community institutions early, before deviant behaviour becomes entrenched. And it means investing in the economic and educational empowerment of mothers, so that poverty does not force them to choose between feeding their children and guiding them.
Hannatu Maina, PhD, is a Peace and Conflict Scholar, Gender Specialist, and Researcher
