“We Have Everything But Time”: Inside The Lonely World Of Banana Island’s Wealthy Kids

Banana Island is Nigeria’s most exclusive address manicured roads, oceanfront mansions, round-the-clock power and security at every gate. But behind the glass walls of some of these homes, a quieter story is unfolding, one involving children who have swimming pools, iPads and private jets in their Instagram feeds, yet describe themselves as lonely.

Over the past month, this publication spoke with three parents, three domestic staff and two child psychologists in Lekki. A pattern emerged that experts are now calling “affluent isolation.”

For many children on the island, life unfolds across just three locations: home, school, and the car in between.

Twelve-year-old Toyin has lived on Banana Island her whole life. She has never ridden in a danfo or walked to a corner store to buy a snack.

“Banana Island is not for walking,” her mother said, asking not to be named. “Security reasons. So driver takes her everywhere.”

Elsewhere in the estate, 10-year-old Dani returns each evening to a six-bedroom house. Dinner is served at 7pm on a long table — where he usually sits alone.

“My parents are both in business,” he said. “Mom travels. Dad comes home late. So it’s me, the nanny, and my iPad.”

Dr Folake Martins, a Victoria Island-based child psychologist with 15 years of practice, says she has noticed a rise in cases from high-income households over the last three years.

“Money removes many problems. It does not remove the need for presence,” she said.

Martins and two other counsellors identified recurring issues among children in wealthy homes:

Social confinement — Fear of kidnapping means unsupervised play is rare. Birthdays happen in event centres; playdates are scheduled affairs. The result is a shrunken social world.

Parental absence — Long work hours, business travel and hustle culture mean domestic staff often provide emotional care instead. “We pay for everything, but we are not there for bedtime stories,” one CEO father admitted.

Pressure to perform — With classmates flying abroad for summer programmes and sitting SATs at 14, expectations run high. A 2025 NOI Polls report found that 62 percent of high-income Lagos parents spend less than an hour of quality time with their children on weekdays. “88 percent is not celebrated. They ask ‘who got 95?'” Dani said.

The identity gap — Online, these children are labelled “privileged” and told they have no right to complain. At home, they’re often told not to dwell on their problems because others have it worse. Many simply stop talking.

“She asked me why the boy at our gate looks hungry,” said Aunty Bose, a nanny in the estate. “I didn’t know what to tell her.”

“Glass Walls, Full House, Empty Table”

The phrase came from one mother during the interviews.

“We built the safest place in Lagos,” she said. “Glass to keep danger out. But sometimes I think the glass is also keeping us apart.”

The irony isn’t lost on parents. They moved to Banana Island chasing safety, top schools and infrastructure — and got all three. But distance came with it.

Not everything is bleak. A small group of parents has started “Tech-Free Sundays.” For one hour, phones are switched off, nannies step back, and families gather at the beach gate to play together.

“Last month my daughter said, ‘Daddy, can you just sit with me for 10 minutes? No laptop,'” said one father who runs three companies. “That was the hardest and best meeting of my week.”

No one is suggesting Banana Island is a bad place to raise children. It offers safety, elite schools and opportunities most Nigerian children will never have.

The real question facing Lagos’ growing middle and upper class is different: what does success cost when a child only sees a parent through FaceTime?

As Dr Martins puts it: “You can buy security, schools, and healthcare. You cannot buy back missed dinners. Presence is the one thing money cannot replace.”

For Toyin, one Sunday told a different story. The power went out in Lekki. WiFi was down. Bored, she knocked on a neighbour’s gate. For an hour, there was no iPad — just sand, football and laughter.

“That was the best day this month,” she said.