In February 2026, I sat in the Old Market of Kontagora, Niger State, watching Mariam Jubril tap the cracked screen of her Nokia 130.
“When I feel the cash in my hand, I know it is real,” she told me.
For Mariam, digital money was invisible, unreliable, and dangerous. Her hesitation reflected a challenge I encountered reporting the story I published in March, “How Tradition Shapes Nigeria’s Digital Divide”. For many rural Nigerians, the challenges of going online were not just about poor network coverage or smartphones or lack of electricity. They are rooted in trust, or more aptly, distrust of the Digital Public Infrastructure (DPI) the government was trying to build.
Many parents, community elders, and religious leaders also worry that unrestricted internet access on smartphones could expose young people and women to explicit content, potentially eroding traditional or religious values.
In my earlier report, I wrote about a world where the digital rails of identity and payments designed to connect Nigerians to services and economic opportunities felt like a threat to the communal way of life.
I did not expect the story to become the starting point for what happened next.
Closing the Gap Between Tradition and Technology
My findings caught the attention of a community-based organisation, Youth Initiative for Justice, Health, and Social Security Issues (YIJHSSI), to take action to address some of the challenges I had documented.
Using the findings of my reports as a guide, they launched the Digital Literacy Initiative for 20 women, with a goal that went beyond simply putting smartphones in their hands.
YIJHSSI realised distributing smartphones would not be enough. Before women could confidently use digital payments, access online services, or share data safely, they first needed to trust the systems behind those tools.
This meant addressing the cultural concerns surrounding technology.
My report had shown that when religious and ethnic leaders express doubts about digital technology, it can be perceived as something imposed from outside the community. YIJHSSI therefore began with the people who could help make digital adoption culturally acceptable.
The organisation held advocacy meetings with these gatekeepers, including community and religious leaders, using findings from my report to show that digital exclusion was affecting some residents economically.
By reframing the smartphone as a tool for health and economic survival, rather than a gateway to unwanted content, YIJHSSI pulled apart the cultural permission barrier that kept women in digital silence.
From Cultural Fear to Financial Freedom
When the training began, the divide was even deeper than expected. YIJHSSI’s baseline data showed that only 15% of the targeted women had ever owned a smartphone, and 80% had no idea how to navigate the internet. Most importantly, 70% believed they were not allowed to use digital tools. To make the digital payment layer feel familiar, the organization used local metaphors in Hausa.
“We didn’t talk about encrypted messaging or things of that nature. These women would not have understood such concepts. Instead, we compared digital privacy to the traditional modesty the women already valued. This helped the women see technology as an extension of their culture rather than an attack on it,” said Adekunle Omolabi, Program Manager at YIJHSSI.
The economic impact was the first sign of success. In my report, an elder named Bako Abu compared a safe digital service to a river whose depth is unknown. To make the “digital river” safe, the initiative taught women how to get and use mobile apps for real-time payments, giving them the same visible certainty they once found only in cash. Zuwaira, a petty trader who participated in the training, told me, “Before, I was afraid my money would vanish into the air. Now, I see the alert on my phone, and I know my profit is safe. I don’t have to wait for my husband to help me with every small sale.”
Defending the Data Exchange
Safety was another major pillar of the initiative. Given the rise of predatory loan apps that target the digitally illiterate, YIJHSSI taught participants how to protect their personal data, which falls under the data exchange (or data sharing/consent management) pillar of DPI. The training ensured every participant completed a digital safety session to spot scams and set secure passwords. According to Omolabi, “Today, the training participants know the steps to take or who to talk to when they need to identify a digital predator. Since the program ended, not one woman in our cohort has fallen victim to the invisible scammers we warned them about.
The initiative also addressed the traditional Nigerian preference for face-to-face trust over digital screens. My report noted that Mariam’s grandmother believed if you cannot see the hand that gives you, you cannot be sure the money is yours. YIJHSSI tackled this by holding a session where women validated each other’s digital experience, turning a solitary act into a shared reality.
Halima, a participant, explained that this built her confidence. “We are a people of stories and experiences. When we learned together during the training, the fear of digital transactions left me. I realized that the phone connects us and our business to the world.”
Lessons for a Partnership-First Strategy
Looking back, my original story ultimately served as a call for a partnership-first approach to DPI, one that recognises that infrastructure alone cannot close Nigeria’s digital divide.
YIJHSSI’s experience suggests that trust can be built when communities are not treated simply as recipients of technology but as partners in deciding how technology fits into their lives.
The lesson from Kontagora shows that technology has a better chance of taking root when it speaks to the values, relationships and realities that already hold a community together.
While the project officially trained 20 women, its potential multiplier effect has seen those skills passed down to their families and compounds.
For YIJHSSI, the next step is expansion.
“Our goal is to take this success to Bida, Lapai, and Suleja in Niger State, ensuring that no one is left watching from the sidelines of Nigeria’s digital future”, Omolabi said.
In February, Mariam held her cash tightly because it was something she could see and touch. The challenge now is to make the digital alternative feel just as real by building digital systems they can trust, understand, and make their own.
This report is produced under the DPI Africa Journalism Fellowship Programme of the Media Foundation for West Africa and Co-Develop.
