When historians write Nigeria’s story, they will ink the names of generals, governors, and oil magnates. But they often forget the women who sold firewood to send these sons to school, the mothers who skipped meals so daughters could eat, the wives who prayed by their flickering kerosene lamps while their spouses hunted for daily bread.
These are the unsung architects of survival, the mortar that holds the nation’s cracked walls. When you visit places like Balogun, Dugbe, or Ariaria markets, you will see women who command stalls like monarchs, their voices rising above the bargaining chorus. They are often the last to complain but the first to sacrifice.
They balance ledgers in their memory, discipline apprentices with only a glance, and build large empires without ever being invited into special “economic forums.” They are CEOs without titles and strategists without suits. Yet, whenever policies collapse, it is their pockets that first feel the impact and bleed.
In the IDP camps of Borno, in the flooded homes of Bayelsa, in the cramped slums of Ajegunle, women carry more than their share. They are midwives of hope, even as their own dreams are starved. Their backs bend, not because they are weak, but because society has piled too much on them.
Nigerian women are both a cushion and a wall absorbing shocks, holding structures that should have collapsed long ago. But when it comes to politics, they are mostly reduced to footnotes. They dance at rallies, sing loudly for candidates, and deliver votes village by village. Yet, when the seats of power are shared, they are offered crumbs.
“Deputy” titles, “women leader”. The truth? This democracy leans heavily on women’s voices, but rarely lets them speak in council. The Nigerian woman wakes before dawn, kneads resilience into the day, and sleeps only after every other soul in the household is fed, clothed, cared for and comforted. God bless our women.
The nation may forget her in textbooks, but history itself will remember that while men debated Nigeria’s destiny, it was women who held the crumbling walls.
✍🏽 William Z. Bozimo
Veteran Journalist | Columnist | National Memory Keeper
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