Half the population stands behind the curtain while a few occupy the spotlight. Women in Nigeria account for almost half of the electorate, yet they remain strangers in the rooms where decisions are made, policies are written, and futures are shaped.
From the clam of campaign drums to the hush of boardroom doors, women in Nigeria are everywhere as voters, teachers, nurses, entrepreneurs, and mothers. But when it comes to power, their presence shrinks. The country that once hailed itself as the giant of Africa now lags in the basic arithmetic of representation. It is still a place where half the population is persistently excluded from full participation in public life.
According to the National Bureau of Statistics, women held barely 6.7 percent of elective and appointive positions in recent years a figure considerably lower than the global average of around 22.5 percent and the African regional average of 23.4 percent. In the federal legislature, the situation is worse, with representation falling well below 5 percent. In the states, women have yet to break the glass ceiling to become governors in any of the 36 states since the return to democracy. These aren’t just numbers they are a mirror held to the soul of a nation. A mirror that shows dissonance, where women’s votes fill ballots but their voices seldom fill cabinets. Where their presence shapes society, but their absence shapes policy. If nearly half the country is female, why are so few seats assigned to them?
The answer lies in a web of culture, money, and institutional design. Political contests in Nigeria are expensive. Bankrolls matter, godfathers matter, name recall matters. Women often start the race with fewer resources, weaker networks, and deeper skepticism from parties that prefer to back the safe male candidate. For many, the nomination fees, the vote-buying culture, the high cost of campaigning, and the ever-present risk of violence are deterrents too many to overcome. Patriarchal norms remain strong. Women who run for office are often judged for being ambitious in ways men are not. They are scrutinized for their family commitments, marital status, even their attire. Such invisible barriers are harder to quantify than fees or electoral rules, but they weigh just as heavily.
Meanwhile, political parties rarely favor women. Candidate selection remains opaque, internal quotas are weak or non-existent and women who dare to seek tickets can be sidelined or discouraged. A society that preaches equality but practices exclusion cannot progress beyond its own hypocrisy.
When women are missing from leadership, decisions are made with half the data and half the imagination. Policies on health, maternal welfare, education, and economic opportunity often miss the nuance that women bring. A boardroom without women is a voice-track without harmony. A legislature without women is a play missing its lead actor.
Economically, the cost of under-representation is staggering. When women cannot access the highest tiers of decision-making, their entrepreneurial energy and lived experience never feed into policy. When they cannot shape budgets or reforms, growth itself becomes lopsided. Symbolically, the message is clear, leadership is for men. For young girls watching the nightly news, the echo is chilling your views may count at the polls, but they don’t count at the podium.
Nigeria is not alone in this struggle, but it stands among the worst offenders in sub-Saharan Africa. While the continent records averages above 20 percent for women’s parliamentary representation, Nigeria hovers in the single digits. Meanwhile, Rwanda boasts over 60 percent women in its lower house, showing what deliberate policy and structural reform can achieve. It is not that culture cannot change, it is that systems must first be restructured to make fairness possible. Quotas, support networks, and financing mechanisms must change before culture will follow.
The gap is not limited to politics. In Nigeria’s newsrooms, women hold only about a quarter of leadership roles across media organizations,in print and online media, the figure shrinks to less than six percent. Women are featured in only about seven percent of news stories and account for a mere twelve percent of expert voices quoted or featured. When women are underrepresented in the media, their absence extends beyond policy to perception. The society does not just lose women’s voices it loses perspective itself.
The workplace tells a similar story. Many women enter, but few ascend. Entry-level positions might reflect some parity, but at the top, the view is still overwhelmingly male. Boards and C-suites are often designed to exclude, not invite. The higher the ladder, the fewer the women. And for those who do make it, the climb is double battling both competence tests and gendered suspicion.
Representation is not just a gender issue,it’s a fairness issue. Rural women, women from northern regions, women with disabilities, and women from poorer backgrounds face compounded discrimination. The result is an inequality so layered that it becomes invisible to those who benefit from it.
The way forward is clear but demanding. Nigeria must begin to treat representation not as a favor but as a necessity. Legal quotas or reserved seats could provide a practical start. The proposed Women’s Reserved Seats Bill, if passed, would add dedicated seats for women without reducing existing ones. Political parties must reform themselves by lowering nomination fees, mentoring female candidates, and dismantling the old-boy networks that guard their tickets. Financing barriers must fall. Media organizations must open space for women’s leadership and give visibility to female experts and thinkers. The conversation must shift from tokenism to transformation.
At every level, from the classroom to the corporate room, the story must change. The little girl in Makurdi, Maiduguri, or Mushin must grow up believing that leadership is not an exception to her gender. Representation is not charity. It is smart policy. When women lead, society benefits. When leadership mirrors its people, trust strengthens and progress accelerates.
Half the nation votes, too few are heard. Women in Nigeria are not spectators in democracy they are its backbone. They deliver ballots, sustain households, run businesses, and educate generations. Yet, they sit at the back of decision-making rooms. That cannot and should not stand.
Let us imagine a Nigeria where leadership is no longer a man’s birthright but a national duty open to all. Where a woman’s ambition is not mocked but modeled. Where young girls no longer wonder if they can lead they only ask how their leadership will shape the future.
Until half the nation sits at the table, every decision will remain incomplete.
Until half the nation sits at the table, the decisions belong to someone else.
Stephanie Shaakaa
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