There is a woman in Kano who has been organizing an Adashe group in her
neighborhood for eleven years. Every month without fail, she collects
contributions from fourteen women including traders, teachers, civil
servants, and mothers who trust her with their savings because they have
no better option. She records everything in a notebook, she keeps the cash
in her wardrobe. She sends reminder messages on WhatsApp one by one, every
single month and every year without fail, but she worries.
She worries about what happens if something goes wrong. She worries about
what happens if a member disputes a contribution she did not record
correctly. She worries about what happens to the group’s money if something
happens to her. And she worries, most of all about how much further those
fourteen women could go if someone could just give their trust a better home.
That woman is not alone. Across Nigeria in the markets of Lagos, the cooperatives
of Kano, the community savings circles of Borno, the women’s associations of Kaduna,
and the thrift groups of Abuja, hundreds of millions of people participate daily in
some form of community savings. They save together as Ajo, as Esusu, as rotating
clubs, as contribution groups, as cooperative societies. They save together because
they understand something profound: that people achieve more when they cooperate with
people they trust.
And yet for all their power, these systems have been left behind. No digital record.
No governance structure, no security, no scale, no voice in the formal financial
system that they have for generations quietly sustained from the outside.
KoloSquare was built to change that, and recently at a strategic workshop that brought
KoloSquare’s leadership together for a session of deep deliberate thinking, KoloSquare
articulated perhaps for the first time with full clarity “exactly why?”.



