Omolola Afolabi
Salamatu Adegoke (Iya Onisu) is 41 years.She walks several kilometres to sell her heavy Abuja yam tubers in Ibadan. On a scorching hot weekday, she walks and occasionally puts her two hands behind her strained neck for some comfort. She is stressed, sweaty, and for all her troubles, she doesn’t have a bank account.
“I see no need to open a bank account for now. Cash is more reliable as I can see and touch it without having to experience frustrations from a poor banking network”, she said.
Another trader, Amope Alawiye counts crumpled naira notes under the shade of her kiosk. She just sold (elubo) yam flour to a customer who insisted on paying via bank transfer. “I gave him my son’s account number,” she said . “I don’t have a bank account.”
She is not alone. From the red-earth farms of Kano to the labyrinthine markets of Ibadan, Southwest Nigeria, countless Nigerian women operate entirely outside the formal banking system. Despite government efforts and the rise of digital financial services, many still transact solely in cash, a reality that has dire implications for financial inclusion, economic equity, and sustainable development in Nigeria.
A Shadow Economy of unbanked Women in Nigeria
Nigeria, Africa’s largest economy, is grappling with a paradox: while digital financial services like Opay, PalmPay, and Moniepoint have made banking more accessible than ever, a vast number of women remain financially invisible.
Women like Alawiye form the invisible scaffolding of Nigeria’s informal economy, estimated to contribute over 50% to the nation’s GDP. They farm, trade, and feed households, but they are shut out from the systems that could help scale their businesses, protect their income, grant them access to loans, and lift them out of poverty.
Many cite a lack of smartphones or digital literacy as key barriers. Others point to cultural and economic dependence on male relatives, whom they rely on to receive wire transfers or access credit. They also tout them as being more digitally savvy than they are.
“If I start asking buyers to pay into my account, how will I pay the farmers who don’t accept transfers?” said Halima, a tomato trader in Kano. “I will lose my suppliers, buyers, and business.”
Banking on the Margins
According to the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS), only 35% of Nigerian women aged 15–49 owned a bank account as of 2021. In some northern states like Kano (5.7%), Katsina (3.8%), and Bauchi (3.2%), the numbers are even more grim. These states are also among Nigeria’s most agriculturally active, making the gendered financial exclusion even more consequential.
Data from Rockefeller Philanthropy Advisors’ Gender Centre of Excellence reveals a stark reality: 98% of Nigerian women are excluded from formal credit markets. This exclusion stems from distrust of formal institutions, lack of identification, collateral issues, and low awareness of financial products.
The Ripple Effects of unbanked rural women on the Economy
Financial exclusion doesn’t just affect individual women — it affects entire value chains.
Without bank accounts, women cannot access formal loans or credit, leaving them unable to scale their businesses, purchase supplies in bulk, or absorb economic shocks. Traders who operate in cash can’t build credit histories, access insurance, or save securely. It also makes them targets for theft or fraud.
“This creates a bottleneck in the agricultural value chain,” explains Chuka Ezeanya, an expert financial analyst. “If a female distributor can’t make cashless purchases from a rural farmer, and both lack bank accounts, they operate entirely outside the traceable economy. It also limits their potential to grow, formalize, or export.”
Why Women Still Resist Banking
Multiple women interviewed expressed hesitation in trusting banks with their money. “Banks will charge you for every small thing,” said one Ibadan trader. “Sometimes, you go there and the network is down, or they ask for documents we don’t have.”
Others cited fears of being scammed, difficulties in operating banking apps, or requiring male family members to co-sign or open accounts on their behalf. For many in Nigeria’s deeply patriarchal society, financial autonomy is not just an economic decision — it’s a social tussle.
“Financial access is power,” says Prof. Fatima Usman, a professor of economics. “When women can control their money, they control their choices. Right now, many are still under the financial guardianship of husbands, sons, or brothers — even when they’re the breadwinners.”
A Cash-Only Risk
Holding large sums of cash not only increases the risk of theft but also limits economic mobility. With inflation devaluing the naira, unbanked savings lose value rapidly. Many of the women interviewed admit they stash money in secret compartments in their stalls or homes — a dangerous practice, especially amid rising insecurity.
Additionally, cash-based businesses are harder to track and tax, depriving local and national governments of much-needed revenue and weakening the visibility of women’s contributions to the economy.
What’s Next?
Experts argue that closing the financial inclusion gap among Nigerian women is central to achieving the UN Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) — especially goals around gender equality, poverty reduction, and decent work. Financial inclusion is a known enabler for seven of the 17 SDGs.
But bridging the gap will require more than digital banking apps. It demands a rethinking of financial literacy programs, mobile banking outreach, women-centric loan products, and cultural interventions that address patriarchal norms.
“We need banks in the markets,” says Bisi. “Not far from places with big buildings. If they come to us and show us why it helps us, we will use them.”
Conclusion
The ongoing exclusion of millions of Nigerian women from the formal banking system is not just a gender issue — it’s an economic and developmental emergency. Until women are financially visible, Nigeria’s progress remains incomplete.
#Omolola Afolabi is a Journalist and fellow of Africa Foundation for Young Professionals’ 2025 Women in Journalism, Gender reporting fellow
