Raising Leaders in a System That Resists Them

A few weeks ago, I was driving around my area when I saw a campaign poster that made me slow down.

It was a woman. Running for AMAC chairmanship.

And I remember thinking, “Oh wow. A woman running for chair? That’s different.”

Because if we’re being honest, most of the time when we see women on political posters, it’s for deputy. Vice. Assistant. Support role. Not the main seat. Not the one with the final authority. Not the one everyone rallies around.

At first, I brushed it off. I’ve seen campaign posters before. But something about that moment lingered. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was hope.

So I decided to look deeper.

The recently concluded FCT Area Council elections were held across six area councils in Abuja. In total, about 65 candidates contested for chairmanship positions.

Only three were women.

Three.

In AMAC specifically, out of 16 chairmanship candidates, just one was a woman.

That’s the poster I saw.

Then I checked the councillor positions across roughly 62 wards in the FCT. Women contested there too, but again, they were clearly the minority. In many wards, the ballot was overwhelmingly male from the nomination stage.

And then, after the elections were concluded, I went back one more time to check the results.

Not one woman won a chairmanship seat.

Not one woman won a councillor seat.

All six area council chairpersons are men.

All the councillor seats went to men.

And I just sat with that reality.

Because this is Abuja. The Federal Capital Territory. The city that houses policymakers, diplomats, development partners, civil society leaders. If representation struggles here, what does that say about the rest of the country?

We often say women should participate more in politics. We say women should step up. We say women should put themselves forward.

But when they do, what kind of political field are they stepping into?

Is it level?

Is it welcoming?

Is it funded?

Is it structurally fair?

Or are we quietly operating within a system that was built by men, for men, and still instinctively trusts male leadership more?

I have heard people say it openly before: “Politics is not for women.”

Or, “She should focus on her home.”

Sometimes it’s said jokingly. Sometimes seriously. But it reveals something deeper.

Bias does not always shout. Sometimes it simply votes.

And this is why conversations like the Special Seats Bill continue to surface. Not because women want handouts. Not because women cannot compete. But because when the numbers repeatedly show near-zero outcomes, we have to ask whether the system itself needs correction.

Representation is not about favour. It is about fairness.

It is about ensuring that governance reflects the people it governs.

But beyond policy debates and election statistics, this hits me somewhere more personal.

I work with girls.

Girls who are confident.

Girls who speak boldly in rooms full of adults.

Girls who organise projects.

Girls who question injustice.

Girls who say, without hesitation, “I want to lead.”

We are raising them to believe leadership is possible.

We are building their confidence.

We are strengthening their voices.

We are telling them that their ideas matter.

But leadership is not only about self-belief. It is also about structural opportunity.

As we approach International Women’s Day 2026, I find myself thinking about what true celebration looks like.

Is it panels and purple outfits?

Is it social media posts?

Is it applause?

Or is it making sure that when women step forward to lead, they are not stepping into a system that quietly resists them?

And honestly, I’m just here thinking and wondering how I got to this point.

How did a simple campaign poster I saw while driving a few weeks ago take me down this path of research, statistics, questions, and even more questions?

I don’t know what the next steps are.

Maybe that’s where change begins.

In being unsettled.

In refusing to brush it off.

In asking, what are we going to do with what we now see?