‘Now people stop to ask their names and even stroke them’: Nigerians embrace dogs as pets | Global development

Every weekend in Lagos, 36-year-old Izien Aigbodion walks down his street with his three dogs – a poodle and two chow chows. Neighbours and passersby, more used to seeing dogs in cages than walking on leashes beside their owners, stop to stare.

With treats in one pocket and a bottle of water in the other, he pauses to calm his most skittish dog. “People believe that dogs can only follow orders,” he says, as one nudges his leg for attention. But when you live with them, you come to appreciate things like loyalty, emotion, even empathy.”

In Nigeria, where dogs have long been viewed mainly as guard animals or, in some areas, as meat in “pepper soup” restaurants, Aigbodion’s weekend ritual is part of a broader cultural shift.

For decades, dog meat – known locally as “404” – has been a familiar sight on open grills and in stews across Nigeria, especially in the south, where many consider it a cultural staple with supposedly healing benefits.

But as social attitudes shift, and concern for animal rights grows, Nigeria’s dog meat tradition is coming under increasing scrutiny as a growing community of dog lovers and animal welfare organisations redefine the norm.

Advocates such as Jackie Idimogu, an anti-animal cruelty campaigner and founder of the My Dog and I group, which organises the annual Lagos Dog Carnival to promote responsible pet ownership, and veterinarians such as Dr Mark Ofua, founder of St Mark’s Animal Rescue Foundation, are leading a movement that signals a broader shift in Nigeria’s approach to public health, the economy and biodiversity.

In many parts of Nigeria, dog meat is more than food – it is a way of life. In open markets in cities such as Lagos and Abuja, it sells for about £13 to £25 a kilo and is also valued for its spiritual benefits, due to its perceived role as a protector from evil spirits, ritual intermediaries, and symbols of loyalty.

Although widely celebrated, this cuisine is closely linked to the darker side of the dog meat trade. Rising demand has fueled dog smuggling, particularly from informal breeding settings.

Dogs sold in unregulated markets and butchered in informal slaughter facilities rarely receive vet care, increasing the risk of disease and zoonotic infections such as rabies.

Despite these dangers, many Nigerians see an alternative trade that supports street vendors and provides affordable meat in a country where prices keep rising. For the poorest, dog meat is an important food source.

Idimogu’s efforts are part of a wider movement, inspired by global animal welfare debates yet firmly grounded in Nigerian realities and spreading quickly across the country. Crucially, her message is not couched as a rejection of culture, but as advancing it.

As she puts it: “We are not asking Nigerians to abandon their traditions, but to adopt a new relationship with their dogs and pets, one grounded in compassion, responsibility and respect. This is about progress, not rejection.”

Her advocacy not only challenges perceptions but also celebrates the growing bond between Nigerians and their dogs. “We now care for dogs in more thoughtful, stylish ways. That’s why we launched the Lagos Dog Carnival seven years ago – to recognise how much dog dads and dog moms invest in their pets and to honour their loyal companionship.”

Nigeria has no national law expressly banning the killing or consumption of dogs or cats for meat. Still, the 1990 Criminal Code prohibits cruelly beating, kicking, infuriating or neglecting to properly care for animals, with possible penalties of fines or imprisonment. However, the provision is rarely enforced.

Last April, conversations about animal cruelty surged in Nigeria after a controversy over a primary-school English textbook. Some social-media users argued that its portrayal of a dog and its owner could encourage children to be cruel to animals. The backlash reflected a growing awareness of animal welfare and spurred wider calls for more humane portrayals of animals in media and education.

Idimogu views this as a leading factor in Nigeria’s broader shift, with more people now speaking out against animal cruelty. Central to this new approach is the work of vets such as Ofua, who rescues and rehabilitates abandoned dogs and promotes animal welfare.

He, and other vets, are laying the groundwork for a new kind of relationship between Nigerians and their dogs, prioritising animal health, wellbeing and compassion.

Ofua says eating dogs is a complex issue, especially emotionally. “Dogs are called man’s best friend for good reason: people raise them, live with them and form deep bonds,” he says.

“For those of us who feel this bond, seeing dogs killed, eaten or sold in open markets is deeply painful, especially knowing there are no dog farms and that nearly every dog slaughtered for meat was once someone’s pet – often killed and eaten by the very owners it trusted.”

A significant factor driving the campaign against the dog-meat industry is awareness of its health risks. Nigeria, like many African countries, has long faced zoonotic infections such as rabies, linked to contact with diseased animals. In this trade, dogs are often sold without vaccination or treatment, significantly increasing the risk of disease transmission.

Rabies remains a big public health concern, causing an estimated 10,000 human deaths annually in Nigeria, according to a report released by the Global Health Observatory last year.

Globally, the disease kills 59,000 a year, with nearly 95% of the deaths in Africa and Asia.

The informal dog-meat supply chain is closely linked to illegal wildlife trade networks, posing risks to public health and biodiversity. Many of the dogs slaughtered for meat are former hunting animals that can no longer work and have been exposed to wildlife-borne diseases; they are subsequently sold in open markets.

Ofua warns: “Spent hunting dogs should not be introduced into dog markets at all; doing so is a major risk to public health.”

As efforts continue to foster changes in perceptions, a shift in animal welfare is becoming visible among younger people, who are increasingly adopting dogs as companions rather than as security tools or meat sources.

In cities such as Lagos and Abuja, more Nigerians are adopting dogs and giving them a second chance at life. Shelters, rescue groups, professional dog trainers and groomers all report more interest in dog ownership. Facebook dog adoption groups are also growing.

For Aigbodion, walking his dogs has become an unexpected form of advocacy. At first, he recalls, neighbours questioned why anyone would spend so much time caring for animals they thought lacked emotional intelligence.

But over time, curiosity replaced doubt. “Now people stop to ask their names and even stroke them,” he says. “Some admit they never realised how emotional and intelligent dogs could be.”

The encounters, however small, are reshaping perceptions in ways that numbers and initiatives alone rarely can, turning vague discussions about animal rights into concrete, human experiences.

For Sunday Agbonika, a vet and founder of the Dogalov HumAn Support Initiative, which uses rescue dogs to provide therapy for children with special needs in Abuja, the shift in perception is not theoretical. He sees it first-hand. People who once regarded dogs only as guard animals or even as food are now rethinking their value through direct experience.

“The change is instantaneous once they understand what these dogs can do,” he says. “When a nonverbal child begins to interact and respond, you know that dog is no longer something to be locked away or thrown in the pot, but part of the healing process.”

Such encounters are transforming perceptions, replacing fear with empathy. “For those in the dog-meat trade, I believe offering alternative livelihoods is a viable pathway,” Agbonika says.

“When they understand that these animals are vital to our health and wellbeing, it can trigger a paradigm shift, and they start to see dogs as beings worthy of mindful care.”