By Ms. Adaeze Anah
There is a peculiar dance that ambitious women learn early, usually in rooms where leaders converge. Mrs. Oyinkansola Badejo-Okusanya, SAN, knows this dance well. When her ambition for the presidency of the Nigerian Bar Association first took shape, she adopted what I can only describe as an androgynous strategy. Not in her wardrobe, her style remains impeccably feminine but in her rhetoric. She spoke of her experience, her vision, her capacity. She spoke of the Bar’s challenges and her solutions for them. What she did not speak of, at least not loudly, was the glaring, enormous, unavoidable fact that she is a woman running for an office that has never been won by one. It was as though she was saying: “Let us all look away from this gigantic fact in front of us. Let us pretend it does not matter. Let me prove to you fiercely, tirelessly, relentlessly that I am more than just a ‘first.’” This is a strategy I know intimately. I have been a few “firsts” in my life. You learn to adapt by overcompensating for your existence. You project your capacities so brightly that you hope the people looking will be temporarily blinded to the category you belong to. It is exhausting. It is also, for many of us, the only way through the door. Mrs. Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, the first African and first female Director-General of the WTO, navigated her early career by foregrounding her technocratic credentials, allowing her gender to fade into the background until her competence became undeniable. And Dr. Oby Ezekwesili built her reputation on relentless competence before she allowed the conversation to shift to what her gender meant for her leadership. Mrs. Badejo-Okusanya’s early campaign strategy followed this well-trodden path. It was understandable. It was strategic. But I am glad to see it evolving.
Here is what I know: no woman runs alone. Mrs. Badejo-Okusanya’s candidacy is not an isolated event, a spontaneous eruption of ambition from a vacuum. It is the direct, inevitable result of the resilience, hopes, and journeys of other women who have tried to lead the Bar. Their efforts are like batons passed in a relay race, each runner carrying the hopes of those who came before, each stride making the next runner’s path a little less arduous. Let us trace this lineage.
Dame Priscilla Kuye, the first and to date only woman to occupy the office of NBA President, assumed office not by election but by succession, stepping into a vacancy created when Chief Clement Akpamgbo, SAN, was appointed Attorney-General of the Federation. I do not diminish her achievement by stating this fact. On the contrary, I elevate it. Dame Kuye’s emergence by succession rather than election is instructive. It reveals something profound about the nature of authority and legitimacy. To be chosen by the people, to have them donate their votes freely, bestows a legitimacy that no succession can replicate. It is the difference between a crown placed upon your head and a crown the people place upon your head themselves. The former commands obedience; the latter commands loyalty. Dame Kuye’s presidency was a milestone, but it also stood as a monument to a path not yet taken: the path of democratic election. Her tenure proved that a woman could lead the Bar. What remained to be proven was that the Bar would choose a woman to lead it. That proof would take decades. If Dame Kuye’s presidency was a door opened by circumstance, Mrs. Funke Adekoya SAN’s campaigns were a battering ram against the walls of tradition. She ran in 2006, 2008, and 2014. She lost each time, coming third in her final attempt. But what she achieved was more significant than any electoral victory. She normalised the audacity of a woman seeking the highest office in the Bar. She made it unremarkable or at least, less remarkable for a woman to say: “I am qualified, I am capable, and I will run.” Each of her campaigns was a lesson to the Bar, a forced reckoning with the question of whether gender truly had anything to do with capacity. Each loss, painful as it must have been, made it easier for the next woman to stand for election without the weight of being the first to try. Adekoya’s 2014 concession was gracious. She said: “Our members have spoken and I bow to their will.” But the will of the members, at that time, was not yet ready to speak a woman’s name. That readiness would require more runners in the relay.
Mrs. Joyce Oduah took the baton next in 2024. Her campaign was significant because it was no longer novel to have a female presidential aspirant. The novelty had worn off. She was seen as a serious candidate, not a symbolic one. This was progress, even though she did not win. Had Oduah won, she would have been the first elected female president of the NBA. She did not win, but she made something clear to everyone paying attention: a woman running for NBA President is no longer a spectacle. It is normal. It is expected. And that normalisation is a victory in itself.
And then came Professor Foluke Dada, whose contribution to this relay is perhaps the most selfless of all. She was a serious contender in the 2026 race. She had the qualifications, the experience, the network. And then, in a move that stunned many, she stepped aside. She withdrew in favour of the remaining female aspirant, Mrs. Badejo-Okusanya, SAN. This was not a sign of weakness. It was, quite the opposite, a sign of profound strength and strategic clarity. It was a recognition that the goal the election of the first female president of the NBA was more important than any individual’s ambition. It was a sacrifice rooted in an understanding of the journey and in the unity required from women, and indeed from the entire Bar, to achieve this milestone. Dada’s sacrifice echoes through the legal profession. It is a reminder that the fight for gender parity is not a solo endeavour. It requires solidarity, humility, and sometimes, the courage to pass the baton even when your hands are already gripping it tightly.
Something has shifted in Mrs. Badejo-Okusanya’s campaign in recent weeks. Perhaps it is the proximity of the election, which holds on 18th of July 2026. Perhaps it is the recognition that the androgynous strategy, useful as it was in the early stages, is no longer sufficient. Maybe it supports the blatant denial of the identity and truth of one half of the profession. Perhaps it is simply the natural evolution of a woman in leadership. I have noticed it in her speeches. The conversation is maturing. She no longer speaks only of her capacity; she speaks of her capacity as a woman. She is boldly stepping up to this echelon of leadership not only as a capable person but as a female leader. The androgynous woman in leadership, I have come to believe, is not the finest poise. There is something powerful, even beautiful, about a woman who embodies both capacity and femininity. To deny one is to deny a part of oneself. To embrace both is to lead authentically. It should not be the narrative, that successful female lawyers are “role models” for younger women in the profession. This is true, but it is also a reduction. It implies that our primary value is inspirational, that our achievements are significant primarily because they inspire others, rather than because they are, in themselves, remarkable. I want to see our achievements held in as high regard as those of our male counterparts.
The shift in Badejo-Okunsaya’s rhetoric has caused a conversation. Whilst a conversation about the intersectionality between gender and leadership ought to be one the legal profession is comfortable with for the most part, we have in recent times witnessed statements from some Bar Leaders reinforcing the colonial notion that there are no women in the profession. However well-intentioned, this reflects a worldview that sees women as anomalies in the legal profession rather than as its pillars. The world including The United Kingdom from which we inherited our legal system has moved on. Nigeria must move on and the NBA, through this election, has a chance to lead that movement.
The conversation Mrs. Badejo-Okusanya has catalysed is not about replacing one form of leadership with another. There is nothing wrong with matriarchy. But it is time we expanded our understanding of what matriarchal leadership can be. Too often, matriarchy is coded as supportive, nurturing, complimentary. It is the mothering role, the role of holding things together behind the scenes while the men take the visible positions of authority. The NBA, through this election, has the chance to make a statement: matriarchal leadership can and should manifest in authority. It can be decisive. It can be commanding. It can set the agenda, rather than merely supporting someone else’s agenda. This is the moment for women in this profession to advance, united in the resolution to vote and support Mrs. Badejo-Okusanya. Not because she is a woman, but because she is the right candidate and because her being a woman is part of her qualification, not a distraction from it. Her lived experience, her understanding of the barriers that women face in this profession, her perspective on leadership, these are assets, not liabilities.
Let me be clear: this is not a war against men. There are gentlemen in this Bar who not only understand the significance of Mrs. Badejo-Okusanya’s candidacy but actively support it. Men who recognise that a Bar that reflects the full diversity of its membership is stronger. Men who understand that partnership and mutual respect between both sexes makes for a progressive institution, not only for us but for the next generation of lawyers and indeed for Nigerian society as a whole. Nigeria remains a place where leadership by women is still largely resisted. The NBA has an opportunity to be a shining example in this country. The Bar can show that leadership is truly not gender-specific. That authority is not a male preserve.
So here is my entreaty, colleagues: on the 18th July 2026, vote for Mrs. Oyinkansola Badejo-Okusanya, SAN. Vote for the women who ran before her and the women who will run after her. Vote for the men who stand with her. Vote for the generation of Nigerian lawyers, women and men who deserve a Bar that looks like them, that represents them, that leads with both strength and empathy. Vote not because she is a woman. Vote because she is the most qualified person for the job, and the fact that she is a woman is no longer something to apologise for. It is something to celebrate. And then, after the results are announced, let us all, together, build a Bar that is more inclusive, more just, and more representative of the people it serves. That is the victory we are all working towards. Dear Sisters in the profession, you have carried this profession in ways that are often unseen. Now, cast your ballot for Mrs. Badejo-Okusanya, SAN. Let us finally, at long last, elect a woman to lead the Nigerian Bar Association. Let us not just be first. Let us be the new normal.
Ms. Adaeze Anah, is an Abuja based legal practitioner, social entrepreneur and writer.
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