From worsening food insecurity to increasing school fees to reducing access to sexual and reproductive healthcare, the debt crisis affects every aspect of a girl's life. Education advocate, Funom Yakubu, reflects on issues girls face when accessing education in Nigeria.
Since mid-2023, Nigeria has implemented economic reforms backed by the International Monetary Fund (IMF), aimed at fiscal consolidation, removing fuel subsidies, floating the currency and raising the value-added tax to 7.5%. One of the most notable effects has been on petrol prices. After subsidies were removed, prices surged by about 77%, following a record high in July 2023.
The spike in fuel costs rippled throughout the economy, resulting in widespread inflation. Transportation has become more expensive, and food prices have soared ( food inflation topped 40% in 2024 alone). Many households — especially low-income and rural households — are struggling to keep up.
At the same time, Nigeria’s ability to spend on public services is being squeezed by debt servicing, eating into fiscal space. Interest payments on government debt have consumed around 80% of federal revenue in recent years. That leaves very little room for investing in social services. In 2024, Nigeria’s federal budget allocated just 15.7% to education, healthcare and social protection combined, below the global benchmark of 20%.
These numbers have real-life implications for girls and their ability to afford and complete school. Funom Yakubu, 29, illustrates how girls' and women’s daily lives are affected by debt — from worsening food insecurity to increasing school fees to reducing access to sexual and reproductive healthcare.
“Aunty, I will be like you when I grow up.”
This simple statement from a girl, not more than 9 years old, still sticks with me almost 8 years later. I was in my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) uniform, going for my Community Development Service (CDS) one morning, when this young, bright-eyed girl said this to me. She showed me how symbolic my position in life was for millions of girls who cannot afford to reach it.
My uniform was a symbol. A symbol that I had completed primary school, graduated from high school and acquired a freshly printed university degree. As embarrassing as it was to wear that uniform while random strangers yelled “Corper Wee”, it meant something very different for this young girl.
For her, the uniform meant one day she would be able to go to primary school, her parents would be able to sponsor her through secondary school and soon enough, she would spend four to five years in a university.
It changes everything.
As a 29-year-old feminist researcher and advocate from Abuja, I know firsthand that the crisis of access to education and sexual and reproductive health and rights (SRHR) in Nigeria is not just a result of bad policies. It is a consequence of debt.
Yes, debt.
Nigeria’s rising public debt continues to drain resources from social sectors. While billions go toward debt servicing — or, sadly, acquiring even more debts — education and health systems starve. The funding needed to create inclusive and equitable opportunities disappears into repaying the national debt. This trickles down viciously: underfunded schools, teachers always on strike and girls forced to trade safety and dignity for basic necessities like tuition, sanitary products or one hot meal in school.
I have lived this too. I had to spend over three years getting a master’s degree in one of Nigeria's state-owned schools. The degree should have taken me only a year and a half. What was the issue? The school had gone on strike for several months, almost spanning a year. And with the onset of COVID-19, the government had no plan to transition to digital education.
The ability for girls to enjoy quality education and access to sexual and reproductive health and rights is directly linked. Through We Lead — a project hosted by Malala Fund partner Education as a Vaccine — I advocate for policies that are gender-responsive and youth-centred. We support community-based organisations that are training peer educators, distributing menstrual products for young deaf girls and demanding budget transparency through advocacy to relevant government agencies. But we need more. We need debt justice.
My dream is simple: that no girl in Nigeria ever misses school because of her period. That no girl trades sex for school fees or a hot meal. That our budget reflects our values, and that the loudest voices in the room are those of girls themselves.
Because when a nation invests in girls, it doesn’t just grow – it transforms.
