In South American Indigenous communities, a child’s place is wherever they choose to be. Babies crawl on the earthen floor, approach the fire, investigate anthills, and experience the world with their whole bodies. They learn by feeling: discovering limits, recognizing dangers, and gathering lessons no manual could ever teach. In urban contexts, by contrast, children are often confined to spaces designed for adults, filled with rules that—though well-intentioned—tend to distance them from essential experiences. Rather than judging which model is “better,” what matters is recognizing that when cultures observe one another, there is always room for learning.
From an architectural perspective, this childhood with little freedom of time and movement challenges us to rethink how we shape daily environments. Why restrict spontaneous exploration to controlled settings? Why create physical and symbolic barriers between children and the natural world? And, above all, how might contemporary architecture break away from this paradigm and, inspired by Indigenous childhoods, design environments that restore to children their wild, curious, and complete dimension?
In Territorialidades Infantis (Childhood Territorialities), the authors remind us that “every child is a child in a place,” emphasizing that children’s cultures are territorially anchored. This anchorage not only frames the context in which childhood unfolds but also provides the very ground of existence. In other words, children become who they are through the relationships they cultivate across the spaces and territories they inhabit, observing, participating, and reinterpreting their experiences.
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Why We Should Create Cities for ChildrenSeen in this light, the role of environments—natural or built—in child development becomes fundamental. South American Indigenous cultures preserve invaluable knowledge in this regard, knowledge capable of inspiring new ways of thinking and building the world. A world that nurtures citizens with a deep sense of community and environmental respect—qualities indispensable for facing the challenges of our time.
Connection with Nature
This is the Indigenous mystery, a legacy passed from generation to generation. What children learn from the beginning is to place their hearts in rhythm with the earth. — Ailton Krenak
The distance between children and nature is not new, but it has become increasingly urgent in the age of constant technology. Added to this is the scarcity of high-quality urban green spaces, which remain rare in most cities despite ongoing efforts, yet children’s attraction to the natural world is instinctive: a baby marvels at touching the soil, chasing an insect, or exploring the texture of leaves. To provide such encounters is not to invent something new but to recover what is primordial—a connection that Indigenous peoples have never lost.
For them, nature is not a resource to be consumed but an extension of life itself: to care for the forest is to care for one’s own existence. As Daniel Munduruku reminds us, to educate is to guide the child to learn with nature—fishing, climbing trees, observing the stars. Without such experiences, whether at school or elsewhere, children miss the chance to build deep learning and meaningful relationships with the world. A childhood connected to nature nurtures health, imagination, and collaboration. More than leisure, it provides the foundation for raising human beings capable of solving problems and living in harmony with the planet.
Freedom to Explore and a Different Notion of Risk
Exploring the diversity of village spaces, Indigenous children build and transform their relationships. They move between houses, take part in community life, observe and interact with different people and situations—both influencing and being influenced by everything around them. This unrestricted mobility, punctuated by moments of listening, interaction, and rest, broadens their repertoire and strengthens essential senses such as sight and hearing—the primary channels of learning in oral traditions. Free exploration opens paths to discovery, a freedom sustained by the distinct perception of danger cultivated in these communities.
A child who can climb a tree, who can endure a wasp or ant sting, is exposed to risks that will help them cope with the world. They will know how to create and protect themselves in life. If all you have is insecurity and fear toward everything around you, it becomes difficult to develop a collaborative attitude. — Ailton Krenak
Learning Through Play
In Indigenous communities, adults do not intervene directly in play. There is no concern with telling children what to do, how to behave in different environments, or how to correct mistakes. Trust lies in the very process of living—in the certainty that the child will learn by observing, trying, failing, and creating. Within the weave of spaces where life unfolds, play arises naturally, blending with daily activities and becoming inseparable from culture and from the act of existence itself.
Echoes in Contemporary Architecture
In these cultures, territory is shaped dynamically—the spaces of the home, community life, and cultivation intertwine in continuous movement. Here, child, territory, and ever-present freedom form the pillars of identity. An educational approach inspired by Indigenous worldviews is, therefore, one that “places the heart in rhythm with the earth”—promoting a sensory and ethical connection with the environment, essential for cultivating care, cooperation, and sustainability.
This way of thinking poses a direct challenge to contemporary architecture: what if environments were designed to embrace spontaneous movement rather than restrict it? In urban contexts, spaces for children are typically conceived for specific, controlled uses, with areas strictly separated for play and for “serious” activities. In villages, however, there is no boundary between living and playing: the home, the courtyard, the path to the river—all become part of this experience. To embrace such a vision would mean creating more permeable architectures, integrated into daily life, where children can move freely, explore textures, smells, and sounds, and learn through their journeys.
This philosophy can be seen in contemporary projects around the world, which demonstrate how children's architecture can be rethought to embrace movement, nature, and autonomy, regardless of local culture. Among them, Tezuka Architects' Fuji Kindergarten in Japan stands out, a building with no boundaries between inside and outside, with continuous roofing and free circulation, which encourages spontaneous mobility among children and becomes an environment of freedom and discovery. Another interesting example is the Lycee Schorge Secondary School by Kéré Architecture in Burkina Faso, which redefines belonging and contact with nature by using local and natural materials, placing the blocks in a kind of “village” that forms a central public courtyard, open to different uses.
Another important mention is Moradas Infantis in Canuanã, by Aleph Zero and Rosenbaum, in Brazil, a rural school and boarding school built to accommodate the indigenous population, featuring open spaces protected by a roof that encourages imagination in different ways. Finally, we can also mention the El Guadual Children's Center by Daniel Joseph Feldman Mowerman + Iván Dario Quiñones Sanchez in Colombia, where open spaces, obstacles, and multiple variables make the process of discovering the center itself a challenge and a game, turning education into a recreational and liberating experience. These projects, like many others that could be mentioned here, exemplify how architectural spaces can embrace the ancestral spirit of childhood—where living, playing, and learning occur simultaneously in harmony with the environment.
This article is part of the ArchDaily Topics: Shaping Spaces for Children, proudly presented by KOMPAN.
At KOMPAN, we believe that shaping spaces for children is a shared responsibility with lasting impact. By sponsoring this topic, we champion child-centered design rooted in research, play, and participation—creating inclusive, inspiring environments that support physical activity, well-being, and imagination, and help every child thrive in a changing world.
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