As a New York Times bestselling author, I know the power of collaboration. It’s what unlocked my books’ reach and influence. Recently, when a New York Times journalist collaborated to shed light on a dark story in Nigeria, I realised I had to repurpose it through my lens as a behavioural science researcher. What they uncovered in Ogijo, near Lagos, Nigeria, is a public health disaster hidden in plain sight — a warning about the cost of convenience and the consequences of global supply chains.
Poisonous dust and invisible threats
POISONOUS DUST falls from the sky over Ogijo, coating floors, vegetable gardens, schoolyards, and churchyards. This toxic soot comes from factories that recycle lead for American companies. With every breath, residents inhale tiny particles that enter the bloodstream, invade brains, and damage nervous systems, livers, and kidneys. Toddlers crawling through dust-laden floors and playgrounds ingest the metal directly.
Lead, essential for car batteries, is expensive to mine and process. Recycling seems like a sustainable solution. But as U.S. regulations tightened over the last three decades, companies shifted operations overseas — offloading the risks to countries with lax enforcement, scarce testing, and vulnerable labour forces.
Blood tests conducted by The New York Times and The Examination revealed a staggering truth: seven out of ten adults in the area had dangerous lead levels. Among children tested, more than half faced exposure that could cause lifelong brain damage. Dust and soil samples reached up to 186 times what’s considered hazardous. Over 20,000 people live within a mile of Ogijo’s factories, and many are likely being poisoned daily.
The human cost
Lead poisoning kills more people worldwide each year than malaria and HIV/AIDS combined. It causes seizures, strokes, blindness, and irreversible intellectual disabilities. The Ogijo crisis mirrors similar tragedies across Africa: from tomato farms in Togo to soccer fields in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, to chicken coops in Ghana, lead recycling continues to harm communities.
Factories in and around Ogijo recycle more lead than anywhere else in Africa, supplying enough to produce millions of batteries for major carmakers and retailers including Ford, Tesla, Amazon, Lowe’s, and Walmart.
Yet, despite the environmental rhetoric around battery recycling, the industry has resisted proposals to use only certified clean lead. Instead, they rely on trading companies for assurance — a system in which accountability is diffuse, and responsibility is always someone else’s.
Stories from the ground
Take the story of Oluwabukola Bakare, a mother of five who moved into a home within sight of a battery recycling plant while pregnant with her fifth child. Black soot coated the floor each morning. Blood tests revealed her children were exposed to levels three times the World Health Organisation’s recommended threshold, and she herself had dangerously high lead levels. The smoke may even have contributed to her son’s premature birth at seven months.
Across the town, residents report headaches, stomachaches, learning delays, and seizures. Children cough black particles, women sweep black dust from kitchens, and families live under constant invisible threat. Efforts to pressure factories have been met with empty promises: streetlights erected, apologies given, yet the pollution continues.
An industry in the shadows
Battery recycling can be safe. In Europe, some plants operate virtually spotless, but the technology is costly. In Nigeria, companies like True Metals stand out for unsafe practices. Workers handle lead with minimal protection, factories emit thick smoke, and audits often fail because inspections are announced in advance, workers coached, and only superficial changes are made. Even factories recognised for clean practices struggle to compete with “dirty” competitors, illustrating a cruel economic incentive: harming people is profitable.
American auto manufacturers rely on these networks. Companies like East Penn Manufacturing had little knowledge of the origin of the lead they used until investigative reporting highlighted the issue. Only after scrutiny did they tighten supplier codes of conduct. Yet, much of the supply chain remains opaque, leaving communities in Nigeria — and across Africa — at risk.
A call to action
This crisis is not inevitable. Lead poisoning is preventable. As a behavioural science researcher, I see three urgent interventions:
For policymakers: Strengthen regulations and enforce environmental and labour protections. Without accountability, factories will continue operating at the expense of human life.
For industry leaders: Invest in clean recycling technology and adopt rigorous supply chain oversight. Profit should never come at the cost of children’s brains or community health.
For the public: Be informed consumers. Ask questions about the supply chains behind everyday products — from car batteries to electronics. Awareness can drive corporate accountability.
For researchers and advocates: Collaborate globally to expose hazardous practices. Public-private partnerships and investigative research can force systemic change, just as collaboration brought this story to light.
Moving forward
In September, Nigerian authorities closed several smelters, including True Metals, after blood and soil tests confirmed dangerous contamination. But these closures were temporary, and promises to install clean technology remain delayed. Residents continue to live under lead-laden skies, with few options to reduce exposure.
Yet hope exists. Every exposed community is an opportunity to intervene, educate, and demand accountability.
