At ABU Zaria, Students with Disabilities Struggle to Navigate Unfriendly Infrastructures

On September 23, 2023, Rhoda Olatinuke experienced a sudden bout of dizziness. She had just returned to her dormitory after completing an exam in her second year at Ahmadu Bello University when she was suddenly overwhelmed by weakness. Concerned, her roommate assisted her to the school clinic, which then referred them to the university’s teaching hospital in Shika. There, the doctors delivered life-altering news: Rhoda had suffered a hemorrhagic stroke.

Partial paralysis now affects the left side of Olatinuke’s body, making simple daily tasks feel like monumental challenges. She is one of several students at ABU Zaria who are navigating university life with disabilities, often feeling invisible in an institution that was not designed with their needs in mind.

Across campus, Aminu Mustapha manoeuvres his tricycle with determination, steering with one functional hand due to a defect in the other. The 200-level Guidance and Counselling student cannot walk, making navigating ABU’s sprawling campus a daily ordeal. Meanwhile, visually impaired students Yusuf Abdullahi and Ahmed Shefiu rely on sighted guides or walking sticks to traverse the university’s complex landscape.

Ahmadu Bello University has earned a reputation for academic excellence, stunning architecture, and cultural inclusivity. The university’s impressive structures, including the eight-story Senate Building and the multi-level faculty buildings throughout the campus, symbolise educational achievement. However, these architectural wonders can pose significant challenges for students with disabilities.

“The buildings are beautiful, but they weren’t built for people like us,” Mustapha observes. While Ahmed Shefiu can navigate stairs with difficulty using a walking stick or guide, students like Olatinuke and Mustapha face insurmountable barriers when classes are held on upper floors.

Beyond physical barriers, disabled students encounter social and academic challenges that compound their struggles. Mustapha recounts instances where lecturers refused him entry to classrooms despite knowing his difficulty in reaching them.

“I used to attend classes regularly,” he says. Some lecturers allow me to enter, while others don’t because they think I’m supposed to be in the streets.” The assumption that he’s a beggar extends beyond the classroom. When he seeks assistance from fellow students, many walk away before hearing his request.

Olatinuke carries her own painful memory from an examination hall where an invigilator falsely accused her of cheating. “One difficulty I faced was when one of my lecturers collected my papers before I finished, claiming I was talking. Meanwhile, I was trying to remember what I had studied,” she recalls. The incident highlights how little understanding exists about the unique challenges disabled students face during assessments.

Yusuf Abdullahi, President of the Association of Students with Disabilities at ABU, provides insight into the broader challenges facing his constituency. Though visually impaired and dependent on sighted guides, Abdullahi acknowledges he faces fewer barriers than his peers.

“My lecturers seem to be understanding. They let me participate just like every other student,” he notes. However, as president of the disability association, he regularly fields complaints from fellow students struggling to access facilities, blend in socially, and succeed academically.

In 2021, the National Commission for Persons with Disabilities (NCPWD) implemented accessibility improvements at ABU, including wheelchair ramps and inclusive bathrooms. While these interventions represent progress, they were limited to the Faculty of Education—one facility among the university’s many departments.

Professor Junaidu Sahalu Balarabe, the Dean of Student Affairs, outlines the university’s current support systems. “The university has several policies for students with special needs,” he explains. “Registration and accommodation fees are waived, and the university offers scholarships.”

Both Mustapha and Abdullahi acknowledge receiving institutional support. Mustapha received 40,000 naira from the Student Affairs office, while Abdullahi commends the university’s scholarship programs. The Kashim Ibrahim Library has also placed computers and books on the ground floor to improve accessibility for students with mobility challenges.

Despite these efforts, significant challenges remain. ABU’s campus features few ramps, minimal elevator access outside the Senate Building, and numerous multi-story buildings with extensive staircases. Standard students already struggle to access basic facilities like bathrooms during class periods, creating even greater difficulties for those with special needs.

The small percentage of students with disabilities at ABU compounds the problem, making it harder for them to build support networks and advocate for their needs. Mustapha depends on friends to carry him up and down stairs when elevators aren’t available—an undignified and unreliable solution.

The experiences of Olatinuke, Mustapha, Abdullahi, and their peers highlight the difference between ABU’s ideals of inclusivity and the daily reality faced by disabled students. Although the university has made significant progress with initiatives like fee waivers, scholarships, and some improvements in accessibility, achieving comprehensive change demands a deeper commitment.

True inclusion requires more than just financial support; it needs changes to architecture, training for faculty, and cultural shifts that acknowledge disabled students as capable scholars who deserve equal access to education. Until these changes are made, these students’ voices will continue to struggle for recognition within university life.

As ABU continues evolving as a leading educational institution, the question remains: will it create an environment where all students can thrive, or will some continue navigating their academic journey in silence, fighting barriers that shouldn’t exist in the first place?