By Ogbonna Amarachi Onyeyirichi, Chinedu Emmanuel Odah, and Tajuddeen Garba Muhammed

Every year on March 8, the world pauses to celebrate women. Songs are sung, speeches are made, and social media is filled with tributes. But what is the use of this yearly celebration if it is neither backed by actions nor women-centred? This year’s theme, “Give to Gain,” is not merely a rallying cry. It is a challenge to every individual, institution, and government: what are you willing to give, so that women can gain equal opportunities across all sectors, including the home? We should not just mark the day. We should ask the harder question: what are we giving, and what are women gaining?

While global efforts to empower women are laudable, one cannot help but notice that these efforts do not fully centre women. Whenever individuals, development practitioners, governments, and relevant stakeholders evaluate the profitability of investing in women, they often speak in terms of the benefits accruing to others as a result of women’s empowerment. For example, development practitioners posit that economically empowering women improves household food security and nutrition, especially for children, which is a great outcome. But how does investing in women’s economic empowerment undo the patriarchy of family meals to accommodate women’s dietary needs over the course of their lives?

According to medical professionals, women and men have the same recommended dietary allowance (RDA) for protein at the baseline. As women age, their protein needs increase due to hormonal changes. However, men are culturally entitled to having more protein than women and children across cultures. In the Nigerian context, for instance, the majority of households are multidimensionally poor and can barely afford meat. Yet, even in this scarcity, men’s access to protein sources is prioritised over women’s, although the RDA is the same. But when we measure the impact of investing in women’s economic empowerment on nutrition, we centre the nutrition of children and the entire household, and ignore women’s nutrition. Although the effort to empower women is a step forward, it seems like baptizing patriarchy to mimic gender equality.

Therefore, the theme for the 2026 International Women’s Day (IWD) is a call to action for the world to redirect the focus of women’s empowerment efforts towards women themselves. It simply asks: what will you give to gain gender equality in all aspects of women’s lives? In Nigeria, as in many parts of the world, women continue to navigate spaces that diminish rather than develop them. Even in homes, the spaces that should be the safest, many women endure abuse that rarely makes headlines. Do you remember the tragic story of gospel singer Osinachi Nwachukwu, a case that became a national moment of grief and outrage? Yet for every Osinachi whose story reached the public, there are thousands more whose pain is absorbed in silence, covered by long sleeves, masked by forced smiles, and buried under the weight of social expectation.

Abuse does not always arrive as a blow. Sometimes it comes as words. As control. As isolation. The message is always the same: you are not enough, and you are lucky to be here. When a woman is raised to believe that marriage is a privilege rather than a partnership, that lie becomes her cage. This is not just a personal crisis. It is a social one. Because children are always watching. A boy who grows up watching his father dominate may grow up believing control is love. A girl who watches her mother endure may grow up believing pain is normal. Trauma becomes culture. Silence becomes inheritance. So, what can we give to gain women’s safety within their homes? The answer lies in equipping society, especially men, with the right knowledge on navigating equality in gendered partnerships, both inside and outside the home.

Let’s take a look at how CODE is approaching this. To mark IWD 2026, Community Park and CODE jointly organised a wellness event that centred on women’s hormonal health, an event well attended by both men and women. Through expert discussions and lived experiences shared during the event, CODE used its resources to give the public knowledge on women’s health, to gain understanding and support for women going through various hormonal issues such as menopause, polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), premenstrual syndrome (PMS), and fibroids. Also, through CODE’s partnership with the Malala Fund, it has worked to keep girls in schools across underserved communities in Nigeria, especially in the Northern region, through positive mentorship. Education is the single most transformative investment in a girl’s life. It creates the kind of woman who knows her value not because someone told her, but because she has built the evidence herself.

At CODE, we advocate for gender balance. Our organisational structures, hiring frameworks, and leadership pathways are intentionally designed to promote equality and equity. Women at CODE are not just beneficiaries of our work; they lead it. We engage men and boys as partners, not bystanders, because true gender equality can only be achieved by including men in these conversations, enabling them to unlearn harmful patriarchal beliefs and relearn values that allow them to view women with respect and as equal partners. When communities understand that empowered women have more agency, economic independence, and self-reliance, enabling them to raise healthier families and build stronger economies, the conversation shifts from concession to conviction. Therefore, the question must shift: not “what is the world giving women so that the world can gain,” but “what is the world giving women so that women can gain.”

Welcome!

The Digital Mobilization Lab (DML) Fellowship 2026 – Cohort 2 is a 12-week youth-focused civic engagement program by Connected Development (CODE). The fellowship runs from March to May 2026 and is designed for young Nigerians ready to engage in governance, digital advocacy, and community mobilization.

Applicants must be 18–30 years old and available throughout the fellowship period. Priority will be given to women, persons with disabilities (PWD), and applicants from underserved communities.

Please complete this form honestly. Only shortlisted applicants will be contacted.

Click Apply Here

By Abdulmalik Yahya

I used to describe education as a pathway to development. It sounded measured, policy-friendly, and safe. But in communities where girls disappear from classrooms before they turn sixteen, development feels too small a word for what is at stake. Education, especially for girls, is about power. It is about who is seen, who is heard, and who is allowed to imagine a future without apology.

Governments across the world have endorsed frameworks such as Sustainable Development Goal 4 on quality education, SDG 5 on gender equality, and SDG 10 on reduced inequality. Progress on paper appears encouraging. Gender gaps in primary enrolment have narrowed in many regions and more girls are in school today than two decades ago.

But it is common knowledge that statistics do not reveal the full reality.

Women still account for the majority of the world’s illiterate adults. In fragile and conflict-affected settings, progress remains uncertain because millions of girls still fail to complete secondary education. The COVID-19 pandemic exposed this weakness when schools closed, and girls carried heavier domestic responsibilities. Many were pushed into early marriage or early motherhood and when schools reopened, not all of them returned.

It is not out of place to say that the crisis in girls’ education is not due to a lack of solutions. We know what improves access and retention. It is a power issue. Poverty, harmful norms, weak accountability, and political neglect determine whose education is treated as urgent and whose can wait. Cultural attitudes toward gender roles shape educational decisions in ways that policy alone cannot reverse. Girls’ education in some parts of the country is still weighed against expectations of early marriage, domestic responsibility, or concerns about safety and reputation. Families may value schooling in principle, yet prioritise sons when resources are limited. Changing these patterns requires sustained dialogue with traditional and religious leaders, engagement with parents, and visible examples of educated women contributing meaningfully to their communities.

This reality is clear in Nigeria. I remember going on an outreach to a secondary school in Yola, Adamawa State, where the headteacher quietly told me that about half of the girls who enrolled three years earlier were no longer there. One had been married at fifteen, another had stopped coming because her family could no longer afford basic supplies, and a few had simply “stopped coming,” as the teacher put it, absorbed into domestic work and responsibilities that leave little room for ambition.

I stood at the back of that classroom to count the girls who remained, and they were fewer than a dozen. I kept wondering not only where the others were, but who had decided that their education could wait. The country has one of the largest populations of out-of-school children in the world, estimated at more than 18.3 million by UNICEF Nigeria on the Out Of School Children (OOSC) fact sheet in 2022, with girls accounting for over 50 per cent of those not attending school at the basic education level. 

Girls carry the heavier burden of exclusion in many northern and rural communities. In parts of the North East and North West, fewer than half of school-age girls attend primary school, and many drop out before moving to secondary school because of cost, insecurity, domestic labour, or early marriage.

Schools have become places of fear in some conflict-affected communities. Improving access to education in such places requires coordinated security arrangements, safe school initiatives, and community-based protection mechanisms that allow parents to trust the journey to and from school. Flexible learning models such as temporary learning centres and accelerated education programmes can help girls who have missed years of schooling reintegrate. Recruiting and training female teachers and mentors with access to safe toilets, or basic learning materials even where classrooms exist will also reassure families and strengthen retention. Policy commitments without these layered protections cannot translate into real attendance, which makes parents hesitate before sending their daughters out each morning. 

Nigeria has established the right to free basic education in law and allocates annual budgets for it, but the challenge is implementation and oversight. The perception at the grassroots level is not that government has done nothing, but that promises rarely reach the classroom, parents often speak of projects announced but never completed, teachers posted but never arriving, and budgets approved but never visible. The gap between policy declarations and lived reality fuels skepticism because the question for many families is not whether education is important, but whether the system can be trusted to deliver it, whether communities can track and question those decisions, and whether gender responsive realities shape planning or remain an afterthought.

When we examine girls’ education from a social justice perspective, the questions we ask shift. Instead of simply inquiring about how many girls are enrolled, we begin to consider which girls remain excluded. We also ask who determines how educational resources are distributed and who ultimately benefits from public spending.

Girls from poor and marginalised communities are too often excluded not only by circumstance but by structure. Budgets are prepared without meaningful community input. Projects are implemented without transparency. Gender needs are treated as secondary. Classrooms may be constructed without considering distance, safety, or sanitation. Yet these are the very factors that determine whether a girl can attend and remain in school.

Justice requires participation, accountability, and that those most affected by decisions have real influence over them.

This understanding shapes how I see the work we do at Connected Development through the Girls’ Education Project supported by the Malala Fund. We work to shift power closer to communities and approach girls’ education as citizenship, not charity. The principle is simple. When citizens understand education budgets, track spending, and engage decision makers with evidence, systems become more responsive to girls’ needs.

Parents in one of the communities in Bauchi State where we worked discovered that funds had been allocated for school improvements that never reached the classroom. Using the Follow The Money model and sustained community engagement, the project was revisited and basic facilities, including a girls’ toilet, were completed. Attendance improved because the school environment became safer and more dignified for girls. 

In Bauchi, Ningi, Alkaleri, and Zaki Local Government area where GEP operates, parents, traditional leaders, youth, and civil society actors monitor allocations and follow up on implementation. Budget figures become real commitments tied to classrooms, teachers, and facilities. Dialogue challenges harmful norms and reinforces the value of girls’ education as a shared responsibility. Girls are recognised as rights holders with agency.

This is corrective justice in practice. It redistributes civic power, strengthens transparency, and embeds accountability at the community level, turning education governance into a partnership between citizens and the state.

If we are serious about justice, then three shifts are necessary. Education budgets must be transparent and publicly accessible; gender-responsive planning must be standard practice, not an afterthought; and communities must be empowered to monitor and question how resources are used. Without these shifts, policy promises will continue to fall short.

The global consensus on girls’ education is strong, and the economic case is clear, but justice does not happen because policies are signed. It happens when public commitments translate into safe, functional, and inclusive classrooms.

Girls’ schooling remains the frontline of equality because it sits at the intersection of rights, resources, and representation. When a girl receives a quality education, she gains agency, and her family gains resilience. Her community gains leadership, and her society gains a more equitable future.

Girls’ education sits at the intersection of how resources are allocated, whose dignity is affirmed, and who shapes decisions. Investing in that is not simply a development strategy, but a deliberate intervention in how power is distributed and a statement about whose future matters.

The question is no longer whether girls’ education matters. The question is whether we are willing to confront the structures that keep girls at the margins. Until we do, equality remains a promise on paper, and education remains the clearest way to make social justice visible.

By Gbemi Oluyemi

In a world where health crises do not respect borders, the difference between a resilient society and a collapsing one often comes down to a single word: accountability. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), effective outbreak response depends not only on medical tools, but on systems that ensure resources reach where they are needed most. When a pandemic strikes or a local outbreak begins to spread, the world needs more than doctors, vaccines, and hospitals. It needs systems that work. It needs confidence that money set aside for health security actually reaches the frontline, where lives are saved or lost. This is the quiet battleground of global health, and Nigeria’s experience makes this reality impossible to ignore.

The COVID-19 pandemic made this painfully clear. Reports by the WHO and the World Bank documented how hospitals ran out of oxygen, laboratories struggled to confirm cases, and surveillance systems failed to detect outbreaks early in many countries. Communities were left exposed not because solutions did not exist, but because systems were not prepared to deploy them. One of the most overlooked reasons for this failure was not science or technology, but accountability. Health funds were announced, allocated, and celebrated, yet their journey from budget documents to real protection for people often remained invisible.

To understand why this matters, it helps to simplify the language of global health. Terms like health security or epidemic preparedness can sound distant or technical, but they describe something deeply human. The WHO and the Global Health Security Agenda describe health security as the collective ability to prevent, detect, and respond to disease threats before they spiral into crises. Epidemic preparedness means having functioning laboratories, trained health workers, early warning systems, and emergency funds ready before an outbreak begins, not after it is already out of control.

The problem is that across the world, including in Nigeria, there is a silent leak. Global health financing analyses by the World Bank and the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) have shown that while billions of dollars are pledged to health every year, significant portions are lost to delayed disbursement, inefficiency, or weak oversight. When money meant for laboratories, surveillance, or emergency response is not fully utilised, the consequence is not abstract. People die because systems are too weak to catch threats in time.

Nigeria’s experience brings this reality into sharp focus. As Africa’s most populous country and a major regional hub, Nigeria’s health security is inseparable from global health security. According to Nigeria’s federal budget documents and the Nigeria Centre for Disease Control (NCDC), the country has made important commitments to domestic health financing, including funds earmarked for epidemic preparedness and response. In 2023, Nigeria allocated tens of millions of dollars to the NCDC Gateway Fund, a domestic resource designed to strengthen disease detection, laboratory capacity, and rapid response.

Yet allocation alone does not equal protection. Civil society budget reviews and NCDC situation reports have shown that without timely and publicly accessible information on how and when funds are disbursed, frontline health workers and communities are left guessing. In practice, this has meant delayed procurement of laboratory equipment, unpaid surveillance staff, and community alerts ignored because diagnostic systems were under-resourced. During the 2022 Lassa fever surge, NCDC reports highlighted how delays in confirming cases linked to overstretched laboratories contributed to higher fatality rates in affected states. The lesson is stark: when health funding lacks transparency, outbreaks spread faster, containment fails earlier, and the risks do not remain local.

This is why health funding accountability is not a technical issue reserved for policy experts. Global health bodies, including the WHO, have consistently emphasised that accountability is central to preparedness and response. It is a matter of survival and the foundation of trust between governments and the people they serve.

This reality is what gave rise to the Global Health Advocacy Indicator (GHAI). According to its concept framework, GHAI asks a simple but powerful question: Can citizens see where health security funds go, and can they demand answers when those funds fail to deliver results? This question matters far beyond Nigeria. It speaks to every country where opaque budgets weaken preparedness and erode public trust. GHAI shifts attention from promises made to actions taken, from announcements to outcomes.

In Nigeria, Connected Development (CODE) has translated this principle into action. Through its #TrackBHCPF (Basic Health Care Provision Fund) initiative, CODE tracks health funds linked to epidemic preparedness, maps disbursements, and compares spending against stated objectives, as documented in its public reports and field findings. Just as importantly, the initiative equips citizens, journalists, and community advocates with the tools to understand budgets, ask informed questions, and engage decision-makers directly.

This work goes beyond monitoring. As shown in CODE’s project briefs, it builds bridges between village clinics and national finance institutions, between grassroots advocates and global health partners. It treats accountability not as paperwork, but as infrastructure, something that must be built, maintained, and defended. The capstone project tracking BHCPF–NCDC Gateway Funds reflects this approach, strengthening transparency so existing resources work harder and faster.

What makes this work especially relevant is its reach beyond Nigeria. Evidence from transparency and accountability initiatives across the Global South, including studies cited by the World Bank, shows that when citizens can follow the money, systems respond better. Transparency reduces waste, improves service delivery, and saves lives, not because more money suddenly appears, but because leakage is reduced and priorities become clearer.

The broader implication is unavoidable. Health funding accountability is not a Nigerian problem; it is one of the most critical bottlenecks in global health security. Global preparedness reviews have repeatedly warned that when accountability is weak, early warning systems fail, supply chains break down, and emergency responses come too late. Accountability does not weaken governments; it strengthens them by ensuring that investments deliver real protection.

The next outbreak is not a question of if, but when. As global health experts continue to warn, the world cannot afford to face it with the same blind spots. Health funding must be visible. Decisions must be explainable. Systems must answer to the people whose lives depend on them.

Health funding accountability is not just about money. It is about preparedness, trust, and justice. In Nigeria, as everywhere else, the path to a safer world begins with making every health naira count.

By CHINEDU EMMANUEL ODAH

A few days ago, I discussed tax compliance with a friend who runs a display shop in Mararaba Market, Karu Local Government Area of Nasarawa State, in Nigeria’s North-Central region. As we talked, other shop owners joined the conversation, phone sellers, tailors, and traders hustling to survive one day at a time. Different businesses, same worry.

People are not just afraid of paying taxes; they are afraid of being forgotten after paying. For many small business owners, taxes feel like another demand from a system that rarely shows up when it matters most. This shared concern explains why many Nigerians are anxious about the new tax system that took effect on January 1, 2026.

For many Nigerians, taxation is not just about deductions from income; it is about memory. Roads that were never repaired. Hospitals that never improved. Budgets that never translated into better lives. Emergency services are meant for everyone, but are accessed by only a few. Basic amenities meant to be shared, yet unevenly distributed. For many, scepticism is not rebellion; it is lived experience speaking.

From our work at Connected Development (CODE), one thing is clear here, that Nigeria’s challenge is rarely the absence of laws or reforms. The real problem is the weak link between public contribution and public accountability.

For me, this issue is personal. In my professional journey, I have seen how access to information and citizen participation can change outcomes. When people understand systems, budgets, contracts, or public funds, they move from frustration to engagement. The same lesson applies to taxation.

One of the biggest fears is that the new tax system simply means taking more money from people who are already struggling. But from my professional view as an accountant, the intention of this reform is different. It is designed to reduce pressure on low-income earners while ensuring that those who earn more contribute their fair share. For many average Nigerians, deductions are meant to be gradual, not punitive.

Still, one hard truth remains: good policy intentions alone do not rebuild trust. Trust grows when people can see results.

So, why does Compliance matter, even when trust is low? From our experience with the Follow The Money initiative, one lesson stands out: what cannot be traced cannot be challenged.

Let me explain it simply. When businesses and individuals operate completely outside the tax system, public money becomes harder to track. Records are weak, oversight is limited, and misuse becomes easier to hide. In simple put, compliance creates visibility, visibility creates data, and data strengthens our ability to ask informed questions.

Paying tax is not an endorsement of government performance. It is a claim to citizenship, documentation, and voice. You cannot meaningfully ask, “Where is our money?” if, on paper, you are not part of the system funding it.

Truth be told, public scepticism is rooted in real experiences. In many states in Nigeria, for example, education budgets existed on paper while classrooms lacked basic learning conditions, and pupils quietly dropped out of school. Many communities did not know what funds were approved, when they were released, or who was responsible for implementation. Similar patterns appear across sectors, health, water, and social services, where citizens are meant to benefit but lack the information needed to ask questions.

Distrust does not come from a refusal to contribute. It comes from watching public systems operate without explanation. Yet, these same experiences show that when spending becomes visible, when communities are informed, and when government is pushed to explain how money is used, engagement changes. Compliance moves from blind obligation to a conscious expectation of value.

At CODE, we have tracked public funds meant for schools, health centres, water projects, and livelihoods. Time and again, we have seen how citizen engagement helps close the gap between allocation and real impact.

Tax compliance should not stop at payment. It should continue with civic engagement, asking how funds are allocated, tracking implementation, and demanding transparency from those in power. A tax system without accountability deepens frustration, and accountability cannot survive without citizen participation. This is why movements like #FollowTheMoney matter.

Taxes are part of a social contract. Like many reforms before it, the new tax system will only matter if Nigerians stay engaged beyond compliance. Paying tax should strengthen our collective voice and not silence it. When we contribute, stay informed, and organise together, taxation becomes a pathway to justice, not just a revenue tool.

At the end, the real question is not whether Nigerians should pay taxes. The question is whether we will finally use our collective contributions to demand better.

Organization: Connected Development (CODE)
Location: Abuja, Nigeria
Employment Type: Full-time
Application Deadline: January 27th, 2025.

About Connected Development (CODE)

Connected Development (CODE) is a leading African civil society organization, founded in 2012, that empowers marginalized communities through technology, open data, and social accountability to demand transparency and better governance from their governments

As part of our growth and expanding program portfolio, CODE is seeking a highly motivated and detail-oriented programs officer to support the design, implementation, monitoring, and reporting of our projects and initiatives.

Role Summary

The Programs Officer will support the effective delivery of CODE’s programs by providing programmatic, administrative, research, and financial support across multiple projects. The role requires strong coordination skills, analytical thinking, reporting ability, and a deep interest in governance, development, and accountability work.

Key Responsibilities

The Programs Officer will:

• Research contextual and operational factors that may impact the success of CODE’s projects
  
• Work closely with the programs and research teams to document project requirements and provide informed input
  
• Monitor project objectives, activities, and milestones, and prepare regular progress reports
  
• Develop work plans and action plans, and track progress toward project goals
  
• Support the development of promotional and program-related materials
  
• Manage project documentation, relational databases, and reporting systems
  
• Monitor project expenditures and assist in budget tracking and financial reporting
  
• Support fundraising efforts by identifying funding opportunities and contributing to proposal development
  
• Prepare operational, narrative, and statistical reports to support decision-making
  
• Support or lead the planning and coordination of program-related meetings, trainings, conferences, and convenings
  
• Represent CODE at meetings, trainings, and conferences when required
  
• Draft reports, briefs, speeches, grants, and other written materials related to CODE projects
  
• Provide programmatic, administrative, and financial support to additional CODE projects as assigned
  
• Perform other related duties necessary to support CODE’s mission
  

Required Qualifications & Skills

• Bachelor’s degree in Social Sciences, Development Studies, Public Policy, Project Management, or a related field (Master’s degree is an advantage)
  
• At least 2–4 years experience supporting development or civic programs
  
• Strong research, monitoring, and reporting skills
  
• Experience with budgeting, expenditure tracking, and donor reporting is an advantage
  
• Excellent written and verbal communication skills
  
• Strong organizational and multitasking abilities
  
• Ability to work independently and collaboratively in a fast-paced environment
  
• Commitment to CODE’s mission of transparency, accountability, and citizen engagement
  

Why Join CODE

• Opportunity to work on impactful governance and accountability projects
  
• Exposure to national and international development partners
  
• Professional growth in program management, research, and advocacy
  
• A mission-driven, collaborative work environment
  

How to Apply

Interested candidates should complete the online application form and upload the required documents.

👉 Apply here:

About the Role:

Follow the Money (FTM) is inviting applications from dedicated and values-driven individuals to serve as State Leads. This voluntary leadership role is critical to advancing transparency, accountability, and citizen-led monitoring of public funds at the state, local government, and ward levels.

State Leads will support grassroots engagement, coordinate monitoring efforts, and serve as a bridge between communities and the national Follow the Money structure.

Who We Are Looking For

1. Alignment with Mission & Values

Applicants must demonstrate:

• A strong commitment to transparency, accountability, and integrity
• Understanding of local governance structures, including LGAs and wards
• A voluntary service mindset, driven by impact rather than compensation
• Willingness to collaborate with communities, stakeholders, and the national team

2. Local Network & Grounded Presence

Ideal candidates should have:

• Residence in, or strong ties to, the state they seek to represent
• Established networks across LGAs, wards, civil society, and community groups
• Ability to navigate diverse communities and stakeholders within the state

3. Operational & Organisational Capacity

Applicants should demonstrate:

• Basic project coordination or management skills
• Awareness of data collection, monitoring, and reporting
• Strong communication skills (written and verbal)
• Problem-solving ability, initiative, and adaptability in dynamic environments

4. Reputation & Integrity

Candidates must:

• Be trusted and respected within their communities or networks
• Have no significant conflicts of interest
• Demonstrate a track record of ethical conduct, reliability, and accountability

5. Strategic & Analytical Thinking

State Leads should be able to:

• Balance big-picture national objectives with local realities
• Prioritise LGAs or wards based on impact and need
• Learn, reflect, and improve processes based on feedback and evidence

6. Commitment & Availability

This role requires:

• Realistic time commitment despite being voluntary
• Willingness to travel across LGAs and wards when necessary
• Availability for remote coordination, reporting, and meetings with the national team

7. Diversity & Inclusion

Follow the Money strongly encourages:

• Gender balance in State Lead representation
• Inclusion across ethnic, geographic, and social groups
• Youth participation and leadership
• Sensitivity to and engagement with marginalised and underserved communities

Important Note

This is a voluntary leadership role. Selected State Leads will be expected to uphold the highest standards of integrity and represent Follow the Money with professionalism and credibility.

Serving as an FTM State Lead offers volunteers a unique opportunity to build leadership capacity while contributing to meaningful civic impact. State Leads gain hands-on experience in transparency, accountability, community monitoring, and project coordination, supported by training, toolkits, and guidance from the national team. The role provides access to a strong national network of civic actors, civil society organizations, journalists, and development partners, alongside opportunities for visibility, recognition, and representation on Follow the Money platforms. Volunteers benefit from professional growth through verifiable leadership experience, certificates of service, and performance-based references, while playing a critical role in amplifying community voices, strengthening local governance, and driving accountability across states, LGAs, and wards.

How to Apply

Interested applicants should:

1. Complete the online application form
2. Provide accurate personal and state-level information
3. Demonstrate motivation, experience, and alignment with FTM values

Apply here: Click here
Application Deadline: 30th January 2026

By Peace Ita

My first trip to Bauchi State was under the Girl-Child Education Project (GEP) at Connected Development (CODE). The Girl-Child Education Project supports more girls in Bauchi to enroll and stay in school by strengthening community involvement, improving government responsiveness, and ensuring that education funds are properly spent. It also works to address the cultural and social norms that often stand in the way of girls’ access to quality education.

As a Communication Media Content Creator, I remember how excited I felt the moment I arrived. Bauchi greeted me with its wide landscapes, green fields, and a calm beauty that stayed with me. But behind this beauty, I quickly encountered a reality that reshaped the way I see education, especially for young girls in rural communities.

During my visits to Alkaleri, Bauchi, Ningi, and Zaki LGAs, I hoped to see learning spaces full of energy. Instead, I found deep challenges that many girls face before they can even dream of completing school. In several classrooms, girls sat on bare floors because there were no desks or chairs. Some came to school without uniforms, without shoes, and without school bags—holding their books tightly in their hands as though afraid the wind could take away their only chance to learn.

The school structures told their own stories: cracked walls, leaking roofs, overcrowded classrooms, and in many cases, no toilets at all. The issue of menstrual hygiene was one of the most painful realities I witnessed. Many girls told me they stayed home during their periods because they could not afford sanitary pads or because using cloth often left them stained. Others avoided school entirely on their period days because the school had no proper toilets or required them to share the same facilities with boys. Something as natural as menstruation had become a barrier to education.

As a visual communicator, my mission was to document these realities, to make their voices visible even when they felt unheard. Through photos and videos, I tried to capture not just the challenges, but the hope: the bright eyes, the shy smiles, the determination that refused to fade. In every frame, I saw girls who were curious, eager to learn, and full of dreams. They want to become doctors, teachers, and innovators. They understand the obstacles, but they still choose hope.

One of my favorite moments was when several girls gathered around, asking to hold my camera. They wanted to know how it worked. Some even asked to take photos of me. In those moments, I realized that my work wasn’t just documentation, it was inspiration. Visual storytelling shows them the possibility.

Through visual communication, we have the power to reveal both the harsh realities and the incredible potential of girls in Bauchi. By capturing their daily experiences, the broken classrooms, the lack of learning materials, the determination in their eyes, we can spark the kind of action that drives real change. These images can push government authorities to renovate schools and create safe, conducive learning spaces. They can encourage the recruitment and training of more qualified teachers who will serve as mentors and role models. They can inspire traditional and religious leaders to influence positive cultural shifts in support of girls’ education. And they can strengthen calls for transparent tracking of education funds, ensuring that resources truly reach the girls who need them most. Visual storytelling not only informs, it mobilizes, persuades, and shines a light on what is possible when we give every girl the chance to learn and thrive.

Because when girls have safe classrooms, toilet facilities, school materials, and supportive communities, they thrive. And when a girl thrives, her entire community grows.

My experience on the Girl-Child Education Project reminded me that a single photograph can shift perception more than a paragraph of statistics. A picture of a girl studying on the floor tells the world that we must do better. A video of her smiling, learning, and dreaming tells the world what is possible when we act.

These girls are not just faces in a frame; they are the future of their communities and this country. Every girl deserves the chance to learn, to dream, and to lead. And through storytelling, advocacy, and collective action, we can make that a reality, not just in Bauchi but for girls everywhere.

By Uchenna Kingsley Agu

When I walked through an oil-producing community in the Niger Delta earlier this year, a local youth leader pointed to a broken classroom block and said, “We have plenty of laws but little change.” His words stayed with me because they captured a painful truth: while the Petroleum Industry Act (PIA 2021) promised a new dawn for host communities through the creation of Host Community Development Trust Funds (HCDTFs), the change has been slow, opaque, and often misunderstood.

As a governance and public policy practitioner working with Connected Development (CODE) (FollowThe Money), I have seen firsthand how communities can reclaim power when transparency meets participation. Our recent report, Connected Development’s research on the implementation of Host Community Development Trust Funds in Nigeria’s oil-producing regions, examined how these trust funds are unfolding and what must be done to make them work.

The Petroleum Industry Act (PIA 2021) requires oil companies to contribute 3 percent of their annual operating expenditure (OPEX) to a Host Community Development Trust Fund. The goal is noble: to create a sustainable financial mechanism that communities themselves manage to implement projects improving local livelihoods, like schools, clinics, roads, and small enterprises. 

But noble intentions do not automatically translate into impact. What we have seen is that, nearly four years after the PIA’s passage, many oil companies are yet to fully operationalise their Trusts. Some have established foundations in name only. Others operate without clear disclosure of their annual OPEX, leaving communities in the dark about what 3 percent actually means in Naira terms. When a company fails to disclose its OPEX, it erases the community’s right to plan. How can a host community design an annual development plan if it doesn’t know the size of the fund? How can local committees prioritise projects or monitor expenditures without that baseline? This lack of transparency undermines trust, fuels suspicion, and sometimes sparks the same conflicts the PIA was meant to prevent.

“Transparency is not charity; it is the currency of trust.”

Oil companies must realise that community development via the HCDT is not a corporate social responsibility gesture; it is a legal and moral obligation under the PIA. Publishing annual OPEX data should be standard practice, displayed in community halls and online dashboards so that residents can track their 3 percent entitlement in real time. Equally important is helping communities themselves to develop the governance skills to manage these funds. Many host communities are new to concepts like project design, procurement oversight, or impact evaluation. Without capacity support, the Trusts risk becoming tokenistic.

The PIA defines oil companies as “settlors” obligated to establish a Trust before operations commence. Yet, CODE’s field findings in Rivers, Bayelsa, and Delta reveal that several companies continue operations without compliant Trust structures. CODE’s research shows that on this issue of the punishment of offenders, the Peer-learning context also covered challenges associated with failure to sanction Settlors for failing to incorporate an HDCT within the prescribed time by the PIA. Sections 9 (1) and (2) of the PIA 2021 clearly provide for a penalty on Settlors for failing to incorporate an HCDT within set timelines. Such penalty accrues to 2,500 USD monthly (or Naira equivalent) within the first 30 days and an additional sanction from regulators (i.e. NUPRC- The Nigerian Upstream Petroleum Regulatory Commission) by way of recommendation of the revocation of Settlor’s license 45 days after the expiration of the initial 30 days. However, the peer-learning context showed that no Settlor has been sanctioned by this provision. 

“The NUPRC must do more than issue reminders; it must enforce compliance”. 

Our work at CODE has shown what is possible when people are empowered. In partnership with local civil society groups, we have trained community representatives across the Niger Delta on transparency tools, how to read budgets, track contracts, and publish community scorecards using NOMtrac. These are small steps, but they have begun to build a culture of local accountability. To scale this, I recommend that the Nigerian Upstream Petroleum Regulatory Commission (NUPRC) develop a national framework for community governance capacity building, funded through a small percentage of the HCDTF contributions. They should also update and enhance the functionality of the Hostcomply HCDT portal of the commission. This will ensure that every Trust is managed by people who understand fiduciary responsibility, not political patronage.

Regulation should be proactive, not reactive, just like the public HCDTF Compliance Dashboard, Hostcomply of NUPRC, showing which companies have established Trusts; it should be enhanced to show settlors who have not set up theirs, as this would create a competitive incentive for transparency. Civil-society organisations and the media could then amplify compliance data, rewarding responsible settlors and spotlighting defaulters.

At the heart of all this is the idea of rebuilding the social contract between extractive companies and the people whose lands they occupy. The PIA’s 3 percent is not just money; it represents acknowledgement that development must be co-created, not imposed. When communities can see, plan, and participate, they shift from passive beneficiaries to active partners, creating a collective voice that changes the communities’ development outcomes.

Standing on the stage at the 2025 OGP Global Summit in Vitoria-Gasteiz, Spain, I shared Nigeria’s story of community resilience. I argued that sustainable development cannot exist without transparency and participation. The applause that followed was not for me but for the thousands of Nigerians who still believe that accountability can build peace. The Host Community Development Trust Funds are not just another bureaucratic mechanism; they are a chance to correct decades of exploitation. If we get this right, the Niger Delta could become a case study in how inclusive governance transforms natural-resource economies.

We owe it to the children of those oil communities who still walk past abandoned classrooms to prove that a law on paper can become hope in practice.

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Uchenna Kingsley Agu is a Public Policy and Governance Expert and currently the Director of Programs and Community Engagement at Connected Development (CODE).

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It is a popular opinion that quality education goes beyond the physical walls of a classroom. It’s more about nurturing minds, unlocking potential, and equipping generations with the tools to shape a better future. It is not just about building schools as a common practice by some political class to win cheap popularity, it’s about what happens inside them. This includes the teachers who inspire, the curriculum that empowers, and the values that guide learning to build the future and lay the foundation for the prosperity of our great nation, Nigeria. This resonates deeply with the work that I do on the Adolescent Girls Initiative for Learning and Empowerment (AGILE) project.

AGILE is a federal government project under the National Project Coordinating Unit (NPCU) of the Federal Ministry of Education (FME), supported by a loan from the World Bank. It offers a comprehensive approach to enhancing equitable access to quality education for adolescent girls by improving school infrastructure, providing conditional cash transfers to low-income households, addressing social norms that hinder girls’ attendance at school, and equipping girls with life, digital, and economic skills. The project is currently implemented across a total of 18 states: seven parent states (Borno, Ekiti, Kaduna, Kano, Katsina, Kebbi, Plateau) and eleven additional states (Adamawa, Bauchi, Gombe, Kogi, Jigawa, Kwara, Yobe, Niger, Nassarawa, Zamfara and Sokoto) under new financing. 

As a Third Party Monitor (TPM) through my organisation Connected Development (CODE), commissioned by the NPCU, I have had the opportunity to independently observe AGILE’s implementation. Since 2022, my team and I have conducted monthly monitoring and quarterly verification exercises across project schools and communities in the seven parent states. We managed a team of 18 dedicated support staff, comprising civil engineers who assessed construction quality under the sub-component 1.1 (construction of new school buildings) and 1.2 (renovations of school buildings, toilets, halls, staff rooms, etc.).  While the monitoring and evaluation officers track project performance, ensure accountability, and carry out Focus Group Discussions, monitor the implementation of sub-component 2.2a (life skills) and 2.2b (digital skills), and also sub-component 2.3 (Conditional Cash Transfers).

The experience has been an incredible learning curve, particularly in understanding stakeholder management and the critical importance of proper documentation, whether via emails or formal letters. Our monitoring starts with an inception meeting with NPCU to outline our plans, gather feedback, and ensure alignment on deliverables and the sample size for the project phase.  Following this, we train our selected staff on data collection, probing techniques, and data confidentiality. Next, we reach out to the State Project Coordinating Units (SPCUs) in the seven states to access data and get the names of schools where each sub-component is being implemented. With this information, we calculate our sample sizes and determine the number of schools to visit per state. After doing this, the SSO goes to these communities and schools utilizing the Kobo Toolbox.

After data collection, it is then cleaned up by our expert data analyst, who ensures the data collected is accurate and analyzed per state and sub-component. This leads to a harmonized report, which provides detailed information on challenges, successes, and recommendations for each sub-component. Additionally, in instances of life-threatening issues, we immediately escalate it 

to the NPCU and the World Bank via email and a Management Information System (MIS)  platform that hosts reports, photos, and real-time updates on the AGILE project. 

Despite the progress made on the project, I have observed some key challenges. A  major gap is the limited capacity of local staff managing these projects. Many have not received adequate training, which affects their ability to manage projects effectively and deliver meaningful, high-quality results from the investments made.  Another concern is the poor performance of some contractors. When school buildings are not properly built, it raises safety concerns. I often ask myself, when I have my children, would I feel safe knowing that the schools they are attending were not properly built? This is a critical issue that must be addressed. Our recommendations have consistently focused on improving construction quality and overall project delivery.  

Since June 2022, CODE has conducted monthly TPM and annual verification exercises across over 2,500 AGILE project schools and communities. Moving forward, it is our collective responsibility to ensure that we have quality and safe education for children in Nigeria. For the government, the path is clear:

● The need to prioritize continuous capacity building for staff responsible for implementing government projects, ensuring that they are well-equipped with the skills to manage large-scale initiatives, enforce standards, and identify deficiencies.

● Proper vetting of contractors by experienced consultants ensures adherence to specifications while critically establishing a robust monitoring mechanism to guarantee that the work is conducted properly on the project.

● To integrate the recommendations from (CODE) TPM, as the feedbacks are not criticisms, but blueprints for improvement.

For the Nigerian people, we have a key role to play in education. Citizens need to move beyond being passive observers and choose to become active participants in demanding good governance from the government. We need to demand accountability and transparency, and start supporting initiatives that champion quality education. 

The progress of Nigeria depends on all of us, not just civil society organizations. Our collective voice and commitment to quality improvement are key to making lasting change. The AGILE project has great potential to transform the lives of adolescent girls across the country. But to realize that promise, we must close capacity gaps, strengthen implementation, and take ownership of the outcomes. Remember, this project is not a grant but a loan that we would all pay back. That makes it even more important to ensure the funds are used effectively and the project is properly implemented.