Lagos never truly slept. Even at 2 a.m., the hum of danfos, generators, and street chatter mixed with the salty breeze from the Atlantic. In a small one-room apartment in Yaba, four women sat huddled around a flickering laptop, the glow reflecting determination in their tired eyes.
"Network don die again," muttered Amara, the quiet coder of the group. She smacked the Wi-Fi router gently, as if sympathy might make it work.
"Try your phone hotspot," said Zainab, whose hijab was slightly tilted from hours of work. "We can't afford to lose the pitch submission deadline."
Isioma, the boldest of the group, leaned forward. "Even if NEPA takes light, we'll still finish this tonight. We didn't come this far to stop because of network."
The fourth, Tomi, the youngest and most optimistic, smiled. "That's the spirit. If our app can survive Nigerian Wi-Fi, it can survive anything."
They laughed, exhaustion melting into laughter, the kind that came from shared struggle. Their project, HerConnect, was more than an app. It was a platform that linked young women in Nigeria to mentorship, tech jobs, and digital skills training, a bridge across inequality.
It all began six months ago, when each of them faced a rejection letter that broke something inside, and then built something new.