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By Atinuke Adeosun
There is a saying I have heard thrown around when life felt unfair: “Strength is not always loud; sometimes it whispers.”
And if there is any community whose strength has whispered—no, thundered—throughout African history, it is people with disabilities.
For generations, disability in Africa was framed through folklore and fear, wrapped in hushed tones, pity, or outright discrimination. Colonial systems cemented this stigma with institutions that hid disabled people away, while post-independence nations inherited architectures, physical and ideological, built without ramps, without access, and without imagination. Add to that the weight of poverty, conflict, weak healthcare systems, and underfunded schools, and you begin to understand why disability isn’t merely a personal condition on this continent; it is political.
Yet somehow, despite every barrier, African people with disabilities keep rising.
Not quietly. Not apologetically.
But with the kind of courage that forces a continent to look inward and ask, "Who are we leaving behind, and at what cost?"
The International Day of Persons with Disabilities is not a “soft” commemorative day. It is a demand. A reminder. A reckoning. It asks us to look at the stories we center and the voices we ignore. It pushes us to question the cultural scripts that tell us whose dreams are valid and whose are an afterthought.
And so today, in honor of this global day and in honor of every African who refuses to shrink, we celebrate five remarkable individuals whose lives challenge every assumption society has tried to impose on them. These are not tales of pity. They are testimonies of power.
Cobhams Asuquo — Nigeria’s Maestro of Vision Beyond Sight
Cobhams Emmanuel Asuquo, born on January 6, 1981, is one of Nigeria’s most influential music producers and songwriters, a man who redefined African sound without ever seeing a piano key. Though he began his academic journey in law, music claimed him early, and he went on to build a career that has shaped contemporary African music.
He first made his mark as Head of Audio Productions at Questionmark Entertainment before founding Cobhams Asuquo Music Production (CAMP) in 2008. He later expanded into Vintage Gray Media, producing 74 episodes of the Top 12 Countdown, a platform that amplified emerging African artists.
Cobhams is best known for producing Aṣa’s iconic debut album and writing and co-writing classics like “Fire on the Mountain” and “Jailer.” His production credits read like a roll call of modern African music—Omawumi, Banky W, Tiwa Savage, Waje, Simi, Flavour, Korede Bello, Chidinma, Bez, and more. From early 2000s hits to contemporary anthems, his fingerprints are everywhere.
His musical brilliance has taken him to global stages:
– Performances at the World Economic Forum in Davos
– Interviews on CNN Africa Voices
– Collaborations on global campaigns like ONE’s “Poverty Is Sexist” and the UN Global Goals’ “Tell Everyone.”
Cobhams co-produced Strong Girl and its star-studded remix featuring Bono, and he contributed to Coke Studio Africa, Rhythm Unplugged, Hennessy Artistry, and the first One Africa concert in Houston.
Despite blindness from birth, he has become a cornerstone of African pop culture, proving, consistently and unapologetically, that disability does not dim genius. Cobhams simply rearranged the world to sound the way he imagined it.
Lois Auta — The Political Trailblazer Who Refuses to Be Erased (Nigeria)
When Lois Auta rolls into a room, Nigeria’s political class shifts, sometimes uncomfortably.
A wheelchair user, activist, and one of Nigeria’s fiercest disability rights champions, Lois is the Chief Executive Officer of the Cedar Seed Foundation, an organization dedicated to ensuring women with disabilities are fully included in human rights–based development.
Her political journey is as bold as it is necessary.
In 2019, she ran for the AMAC/Bwari seat in Nigeria’s National Assembly.
In 2022, she contested for the Kaduna State House of Assembly to represent the Kaura constituency under the APC. She lost at the primaries, but not before facing discrimination sharpened by both sexism and ableism.
Lois Auta’s life is a direct challenge to Nigeria’s political establishment:
Inclusion is not charity; it is democracy.
Eddie Ndopu — The Pan-African Visionary Taking the Fight Global
Diagnosed with spinal muscular atrophy and not expected to live beyond childhood, Ndopu grew into one of the most globally recognized disability rights champions of our time, not because the world made room for him, but because he forced his brilliance through the cracks of systems built without him in mind.
His rise is continental, global, political, and deeply personal.
Ndopu’s journey vaulted to an international scale when he was invited by the Global Changemakers Programme to attend the World Economic Forum on Africa, where he met with WEF Founder and Executive Chairman Professor Klaus Schwab. Their exchange wasn’t just symbolic; it turned into an assignment that would shape Ndopu’s early career.
During his second year at Carleton University, Professor Schwab commissioned him to produce a white paper on how the private sector could address global youth unemployment. Imagine being a young African student, and the WEF hands you one of the world’s toughest socioeconomic puzzles.
Ndopu did not flinch.
From there, the work expanded.
In 2009, he founded the Global Strategy for Inclusive Education, championing the rights of children with disabilities in developing economies. His message was clear: access to education is not charity—it is a right.
Ndopu’s influence kept rising.
In 2018, he became Humanity and Inclusion’s Global Ambassador, supporting children with disabilities in developing countries. He now serves as Special Adviser for Impact and Corporate Sustainability to the Partners of RTW Investments, bridging activism with high-level corporate strategy.
And then came the global stage.
In 2019, United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres appointed him as one of 17 Eminent Advocates for the Sustainable Development Goals, a position held by some of the world’s most influential thinkers and doers.
From Oxford halls to UN chambers, Ndopu has made one thing unmistakably clear:
Disability is not a footnote. It is a force.
Eddie’s activism is sharp, intellectual, and political. He exposes a world that still thinks “inclusion” is optional, and he calls it out, loudly.
Farida Bedwei — Ghana’s Tech Architect Redefining Innovation
Born in Lagos, Nigeria, Farida Bedwei spent her childhood moving across Dominica, Grenada, and the UK due to her father’s UNDP work. Diagnosed with cerebral palsy at age one, she moved to Ghana at nine, was homeschooled, and later entered government school at 12.
At 15, her parents enrolled her in a one-year computer course at the St. Michael Information Technology Centre, making her one of the youngest in her class and allowing her to skip high school entirely. She later earned a computer science degree from the University of Hertfordshire (2004–2005) and a project management certificate from GIMPA (2009).
Farida began her career at Softtribe before joining Rancard Solutions, rising to senior software architect. There, she developed major systems, including a CMS for the Commission on Human Rights and PayBureau for KPMG Accra. In 2011, she co-founded Logiciel Ltd., where she built gKudi, a cloud-based banking solution now used by 130 microfinance institutions across Ghana.
She authored The Definition of a Miracle in 2015 and has received multiple national honors, including awards from President John Mahama (2012) and President Abdel Fattah El-Sisi (2018). She also served on the Board of Ghana’s National Communications Authority. Farida created Karmzah, a cerebral palsy superhero powered by her crutches.
Today, she is a principal software engineer at Microsoft, working on metaverse technologies. Farida Bedwei’s journey is a clear message: disability is not a limitation; it is simply another path to brilliance.
Samkelo Radebe — The South African Sprinter Who Turned Loss into Gold
Samkelo Mike Radebe was born on May 8, 1989, in Soweto, and his life changed forever at age nine when a kite accident led to electrocution, costing him both arms. With support from the South African NGO Children of Fire, he rebuilt his life and later discovered athletics in high school in 2003.
He competes in the T45 class as a Paralympic sprinter and high jumper, and despite early setbacks, including missing qualification for the 2008 Beijing Paralympics and struggling with shin splints, he rose quickly through the ranks. His breakthrough came in 2010, winning silver in the T46 100m at the Commonwealth Games in Delhi. A year later, he earned gold in the 4×100m relay at the 2011 IPC World Championships.
In London 2012, he made history: gold again with the South African 4×100m team, setting a world record time of 41.78 seconds. Beyond the track, Samkelo studies law at the University of Johannesburg, determined to champion justice with the same tenacity he shows in competition.
He has been honored as Sportsman with a Disability of the Year at both the Ekurhuleni and Gauteng Sports Awards. Samkelo Radebe’s story reminds us that resilience is a muscle, and he has spent a lifetime strengthening his.
Their Stories Matter
Across many African societies, discrimination against persons with disabilities did not appear out of thin air. It was shaped by centuries of inherited fear, silence, and myth, a cultural script that taught families to hide their children with disabilities, communities to whisper, and institutions to look away. Let us tell the truth plainly. Ableism in Africa is systemic…and cultural.
It is nurtured in the way some people recoil at the sight of a wheelchair.
In the pitying glances.
In the stories told behind closed doors.
In the belief that disability is shame, punishment, or bad luck.
These are old beliefs, older than borders, older than colonial maps, yet they persist with frightening power. We grew up hearing harmful myths: A child born blind was “an omen.” A child with cerebral palsy was the result of “witchcraft.”Physical differences were seen as curses to hide rather than identities to honor. Whole communities absorbed these beliefs, passing them down like family heirlooms. And when you teach generations that disability is something to fear, you create a society that fears disabled people themselves.
This fear shows up everywhere. Families hide children with disability out of shame or fear of gossip. Schools refuse admission because “they cannot cope.” Public buildings remain inaccessible, as though disabled people do not exist. Women with disabilities face three times the risk of sexual and gender-based violence, precisely because predators target those society already devalues.
People with disabilities are spoken to like children, regardless of their age, education, or expertise. Employment discrimination becomes normalized, with companies preferring to “avoid the extra work.”. In many places, Africans with disabilities are treated as burdens, charity cases, or spiritual anomalies, anything but full citizens.
This is not culture; it is cruelty baptized as tradition. And when a society believes people with disabilities “should not be seen,” policies follow that logic. They become invisible in budgets, absent in urban planning, forgotten in political representation, and erased from national development agendas. Even today, many Africans still feel uncomfortable around people with disabilities, not because people with disabilities inspire fear, but because culture taught them not to understand disability at all.
Ignorance breeds discomfort, discomfort breeds distance, and distance breeds discrimination. Fear becomes policy. Shame becomes exclusion. Silence becomes violence. And this is why telling these stories matters. When we celebrate Lois Auta challenging political structures, Eddie Ndopu addressing the UN from 55,000 feet above sea level, Farida Bedwei building the software that powers Ghana’s microfinance system, Samkelo Radebe breaking world records on the track, and Cobhams Asuquo composing the soundtrack of a generation, we are not merely applauding achievement.
We are confronting a cultural lie: that disabled Africans should shrink themselves to fit into society’s idea of “normal.” Their lives reject that notion with brilliance and audacity. They remind us that disability is not a moral failure, not a curse, not a cautionary tale, but simply one of the many expressions of human diversity. And if our culture is to evolve, it must start here: with truth, with representation, and with the courage to release the fears we inherited but do not need to pass on.
A Call for a More Inclusive African Future
Today is a reminder that disability rights are human rights. African nations must move beyond symbolic gestures and commit to:
Accessible cities
Inclusive education
Funding for assistive technologies
Strong disability laws and enforcement
Representation in leadership
Ending cultural stigma
Because no continent can grow while leaving its people behind. And no people can rise while their talents are caged by prejudice.
Here is to the Africans, all Shades of Us, who refused to shrink. Here is to the storytellers, innovators, activists, athletes, dreamers, and…people. Here is to those rewriting what is possible.
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