The Days I Chose to Show Up — Day Three: Who Wrote the Script?

Who Wrote the Script?

By Olayide Juliana

A young advocate reflects on Nigeria’s Reserved Seats Bill and the power of fragile hope.

I thought my activism side had died.

I thought my passion for change had burned out somewhere between the reality of adulthood and the chaos of trying to survive it. I started Lead for Change Africa Initiative at a very young age — full of fire, full of dreams. I believed in the possibility of a perfect Nigeria, a world where young people could rise like giants, inspired by icons like Kofi Annan, Nelson Mandela, and Malala.

Then life hit.

I transitioned from teenage idealism into adult disillusionment.

I struggled. I withdrew.

I told myself I’d just let things be.

But three years later — unplanned, unsolicited — I found myself right back in the middle of advocacy and social impact. This time, as a job. The job that pays my bills. I currently serve as the Communications Officer on a project called Advancing Women's Political Participation, implemented in Kwara and Borno States by the organization I work for (Royal Heritage Health Foundation) in partnership with UN Women and the Government of Canada.

In this role, I’ve watched us push the Gender and Equal Opportunities Bill, host town halls and stakeholder meetings, meet with political parties and grassroots women, and drive real conversations on inclusion. And now, we’re pushing for the Reserved Seats Bill — a bill proposing that 37 new Senate seats, 74 new House of Representative seats, and 108 State Assembly seats — a total of 219 additional seats be reserved for women across Nigeria’s federal and state legislatures.

These seats will be exclusively contested by women. A bold move. A controversial one. A necessary one.

To support the bill, we’re collecting names through a public memorandum — proof to the National Assembly that real Nigerians support this cause.

But let’s be honest:

This is Nigeria.

And here, change meets resistance.

And I get it.

We live in a country where promises are often masks, and policies — no matter how noble they sound — come with baggage.

The cashless policy? It was sold as “for the good of the people.” But was it really?

Was it about progress or political war?

Was it justice or just another script written for applause?

So yes — I get why people are asking:

Who wrote the script?

Who stands to gain?

Who will bleed?

These are not bitter questions.

They are wise, necessary, even healing.

We must ask them — because we’ve seen what happens when we don’t.

So... who wrote the script?

Maybe it’s lawmakers trying to fix a problem they’ve ignored for too long.

Maybe it’s NGOs and activists like UN Women, RHHF, and others pushing for a gender-balanced future.

Maybe it’s global pressure.

Maybe it’s optics.

Maybe it’s all of the above.

But who’s actually holding the pen?

Is it women from the grassroots?

Or is it just the usual players reshuffling power among themselves?

Who stands to gain?

Yes — women.

But which women?

Will this open doors for true public servants? Or for political daughters, wives, and cronies?

Will political parties use this to tick a box, boost image, and still hold the real power behind the scenes?

Will Nigeria finally start building a representative democracy that listens — really listens — to all its people?

Maybe. But let’s not lie to ourselves:

Not everyone wants more women in power.

Even this small gain will not come without resistance.

And who will bleed?

Maybe it’ll be women tokenized and thrown into powerless seats.

Maybe it’ll be the qualified ones who are left out because they don’t have a godfather or the “right” connections.

Maybe it’ll be the women who get in, only to discover the system still doesn't listen to them.

Maybe it’ll be men who feel threatened — and blame women for their own failures.

Or maybe... it’ll be citizens like you and me — the ones who dared to hope.

The ones who will feel that old sting of betrayal if this turns out to be just another performance.

Still, I choose to believe.

Even if it’s just with an ounce of faith — no bigger than a mustard seed.

I choose to believe in the possibility that this bill, watered with accountability, could grow into something real.

That we can stand together — not for perfection, but for progress.

Because I have a choice:

• To walk away and wait for the script to be perfect,
• Or to stay in the room, even when the script feels shaky — and fight to rewrite the parts that don’t sit well with me.

And I’ve chosen to stay.

I don’t have all the answers.

I don’t pretend to.

But I know this: showing up for this bill is better than doing nothing.

Supporting the Reserved Seats Bill doesn’t mean blind loyalty.

It means:

“I support this idea — but I’m watching who gets cast, who gets paid, and who gets erased.”

That is the posture of a real citizen.

So if you’re tired, skeptical, but still carrying a sliver of belief somewhere deep inside you...

Come with me.

Let’s hold the questions together.

Let’s sign. Let’s speak. Let’s hope.

And maybe, just maybe — we’ll rewrite the story.

Show Your Support Here: PUBLIC MEMO: Support the Reserved Seats for Women Bill

This is an official Google Form created by our team for the Reserved Seats advocacy campaign. Your information is safe and will only be used to show public support for the bill.

My name is Olayide Juliana, a steward. I believe light shed, knowledge shared, and beliefs reviewed can make both me and the world better.