Every so often, an AfricAspire submission comes in that stays with me. Not because it’s perfectly formed, but because it is full of intent — full of hope, effort and the desire to build something meaningful.

There’s a proverb many of us grew up hearing:

A Stark Reminder

Recently, I was struck by a post from Stephene Chikozho that highlighted the hidden costs of the second-hand clothing trade in Africa. His words laid bare not just an economic issue, but a human, cultural, and environmental one.

At AfricAspire™, we believe it is vital to keep such conversations alive — not only to expose what is broken, but to chart a way forward.

When people talk about Africa’s future, the story is often told along two familiar lines. On one side is the narrative of aid: billions poured into projects to tackle poverty, disease, and humanitarian need. On the other side is the narrative of GDP: the rise of Africa as a “frontier market” with high growth potential, attractive to foreign investors and policymakers alike.

Both stories contain truths. Aid has saved lives and built schools, while GDP growth has signalled dynamism in certain sectors. Yet neither story fully captures the lived reality of African communities — nor do they offer a sustainable path for the continent’s entrepreneurs.

It is time for a new story, one that looks beyond dependency and beyond statistics. At AfricAspire, we call it The ThirdLane™.

The Big Picture: Growth Without Certainty

Africa’s economic story is often told in bold numbers. Forecasts highlight the continent’s rapid growth potential: in 2025, the International Monetary Fund projects average growth of around 3.8% for Sub-Saharan Africa. Yet the picture is uneven. Some countries are surging ahead with double-digit gains — others are mired in contraction. Libya is forecast to grow by more than 14%, while Sudan faces contraction of nearly 28%.

These numbers grab headlines, but they obscure as much as they reveal. GDP tells us what is happening, not why. More importantly, it does not show whether growth translates into real opportunity for people — especially young people who now make up the majority of Africa’s population.

In Africa today, millions of adolescent girls miss school every month — not because they lack ambition, but because they lack access to something as basic as menstrual products and facilities.

In Nigeria alone, 23% of adolescent girls miss school due to menstruation. In some areas, girls lose up to five days every month, falling behind peers and, in too many cases, leaving education altogether.

This loss of opportunity sets off a chain reaction: limited education, reduced job prospects, restricted economic freedom, and fewer women stepping into entrepreneurship.

That’s why Nigeria’s decision, on 15th August 2025, to adopt its first-ever National Policy on Menstrual Health and Hygiene Management (MHHM) is so significant — not just for Nigeria, but for Africa.

The Bigger Picture

Africa’s economic story is often reduced to numbers.

Charts, growth tables, and colour-coded maps attempt to define an entire continent with statistics. A few countries soar ahead — growing at +14.4% — while others struggle, recording contractions of -28%.

But numbers only take us so far.

Behind every percentage point lies a story:

• A young entrepreneur brimming with ideas.
• A community solving its own challenges.
• Untapped opportunities waiting patiently to be unlocked.

The headlines rarely capture these realities. They overlook the millions whose daily lives are not reflected in GDP charts — and yet, it’s at this human level that Africa’s future will be shaped.

There are moments — quiet, unassuming ones — when I realise just how vast the world truly is.

Earlier today, I read more about James Manyika, Google’s Senior Vice President for Technology & Society. A Zimbabwean by birth, a Rhodes Scholar, an AI researcher, a McKinsey global thinker, a public policy advisor to U.S. presidents. The sheer weight of what he has done — and what he is now doing — staggered me.

Not with envy. But with something else.

A kind of emotional vertigo.

Because I too am trying to build something that matters.

Not on Google’s scale. Not with corporate backing. Just a social enterprise and charity and the echo of an idea — called AfricAspire™. A project seeded through years of travel, long-standing relationships, heartache, and humble hope.

It’s a strange kind of tension — to be profoundly moved by another man’s journey while knowing you don’t have the credentials, the platform, or the access to even begin a conversation. But I still believe in speaking. Not to draw attention. Not to gain favour. Just to say something true.