Slum and Rural Health Initiative

Where Are the Fathers? The Absence of Men in Maternal Health

September 16, 2025

Where Are the Fathers? The Absence of Men in Maternal Health

In the quiet corridors of clinics across sub-Saharan Africa, a question lingers: Where are the fathers? As women wait in antenatal lines, navigate childbirth, and cradle newborns through the uncertainties of postnatal care, men are too often absent, unseen, unheard, and uninvolved. Yet behind many maternal health outcomes lies a man’s decision: when to seek care, where to deliver, whether to spend or to save.

In many African societies, patriarchy runs deep. Masculinity is cloaked in strength, stoicism, and detachment, qualities that clash with the nurturing presence required during pregnancy and childbirth. Emotional support is seen as feminine; antenatal visits, a woman’s duty. Men, by tradition, are providers, not participants.

But the data tells a different story.

In Nigeria, when men show up, when they walk into clinics alongside their partners, help plan for birth, and stay present after the baby arrives, everything changes. Skilled birth attendance rises. Emergency care happens faster. Babies cry louder. Mothers recover quicker. Families grow stronger.

Yet still, in much of Nigeria, men remain on the sidelines. In many parts of the North, especially, maternal health is considered women’s business, a quiet, private domain where men are neither expected nor encouraged to enter. Clinics are not built with them in mind. Health workers rarely ask for their presence. And so, the cycle holds: men don’t come because they don’t feel welcome, and the system doesn’t change because it assumes they never will.

Even women, shaped by the same traditions, sometimes resist their presence. A husband in the waiting room can feel like a disruption, like something is out of place. The idea that pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood are burdens to be carried alone runs deep.

But this doesn't have to be the story.

In places like Kaduna and Lagos, the script is beginning to shift. Community groups are using conversation circles and peer champions to reach men where they are, in mosques, barbershops, and motor parks. They speak the language of responsibility, of pride, of family. They reframe fatherhood not as distance, but as presence. And slowly, men are responding. Not out of obligation, but out of love.

Yet real change demands more than inviting men into clinics. It calls for a cultural shift. Maternal health must become a shared responsibility. Health workers need training to engage men positively, while still centering women’s autonomy and comfort. Health messages must speak to men not as bystanders but as partners and protectors.

Religious leaders, local chiefs, and community influencers can amplify this message. So, can media, by reshaping the image of fatherhood, one that holds a baby as confidently as it holds a briefcase. Importantly, women, too, must be part of this transformation. When women understand the benefits of male support and feel safe and respected in that partnership, they become powerful allies in rewriting this narrative.

The absence of men in maternal health isn’t destiny, it’s history. It’s a story written by generations of gender roles and silence. But stories can change. And in a continent striving to reduce maternal mortality and strengthen families, engaging fathers is no longer optional. It’s essential.

The future of maternal health lies in partnership, in shared hands, shared hopes, and shared journeys. So, let us move beyond the question “Where are the fathers?” toward a new vision, where fathers are present, not just at the end, but every step of the way.

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