Early in September, a popular Nigerian news site made a post on Twitter that had an exhaustive list of all the tribes in Nigeria. Like every excited Twitter user, I went on the thread to find my tribe on the list and then quote for my friends to see, but it wasn’t there.
In what was meant to be a well-researched representative curation of all the tribes in Nigeria, my people got no mention.
I am not ignorant of the fact that we represent less than 0.1 percent of Nigeria’s population, I just didn’t think we had disappeared. I didn’t think while minority tribes were mentioned, we still will not be found. We were lost in words and lost in the numbers.
This occurrence made me recall the words of Nigerian media entrepreneur, Chude Jideonwo who said: “When there is no Data, the people perish.”
To complement that, I’d say, when there is no data, anything and anyone can disappear. When there’s no data, people disappear, cultures disappear, minorities become non-existent. A Google search of my tribe reveals nothing but a blogpost my late uncle made in December 2010, and a few other blogs who copied that post without acknowledging him.
This is why the Data Editor position at Minority Africa remains one of the most important roles I have ever taken. It gives me the opportunity to effectively use data to understand and report marginalized populations, identify their needs and answer the most relevant questions about them. My task involves harnessing data to give perspective to the solutions stories of African minority communities and persons.
But data extends beyond just numbers. Data is the soul of the world as it is. Every person and event is a data point; every death, every birth, every migration, every marginalized or neglected individual. This is even more relevant in Africa at this time as a lack of accurate data makes it difficult for policymakers to make sound decisions.
With data, we are not only able to identify minorities in Africa but we equally provide insight and context into who they are and what they represent thus making them visible. People see the numbers, people recognize them and regardless of the ways in which visibility has been trivialized on the continent, I do think that there are fewer greater forms of resistance than being seen.
This is what Minority Africa intends to do, to ensure that you see us, whether it is my minority tribe or the estimated 19 million disabled persons in Nigeria, we want you to see us.
And not to stop at seeing us, because besides telling factual stories, shaping narratives, and enhancing visibility, data remains one of the most effective tools in advocating for the rights of marginalized minority groups and speaking truth to power.
In Nigeria, civil society organizations like BudgIT and FollowThe Money have used data to hold government leaders accountable for funds meant to serve marginalized communities. Their impact has seen abandoned projects completed and platforms were given to communities that were otherwise not recognized.
In the blog post my uncle wrote, he attempts to tell a story of where we came from. He is not quite sure how many we are, he just knows we aren’t so many, and he calls us Lilliputian. In his mini research, we migrated from the far east and came to Africa through Egypt. He says we are beautiful, enthralling and industrious; he says our culture is rich and colorful and vibrant, he says we are friendly. But that is not all we are.
And so, who better to complete the story than the ones who come from there? The ones who embody the data?
Farida Adamu is the Data Editor at Minority Africa. Read about our mission here.
