Living and working in the UK on a Skilled Worker visa is like sleeping with one eye open. In a blink, migrants can lose access to their livelihoods and face a 60-day ultimatum to find another job or be deported back to their home countries.

A Skilled Worker visa can only be sponsored by an authorised company in the UK, few as they are. Things can quickly unravel once an employment is terminated. What follows is a frantic race against time where every rejection, delay or dead-end carries the risk of being forced to leave the country.

I spoke with a UK-based tech worker who experienced this distress firsthand. After leaving college in 2021, he worked as a tech creative in Rwanda but soon landed an opportunity to work at a global tech firm. He worked briefly as an intern and then, after becoming a full-time staff, came to the UK through the Skilled Worker visa program. But just as he was settling into his new life and career, a company-wide layoff left him in the lurch.

This is the story of the tech worker, who asked to remain anonymous for job security reasons, as told to TechCabal.

Welcome to the UK

I attended a session early in 2021 where volunteers were invited to get feedback on their portfolios. I signed up immediately. During that session, I met one of the panel reviewers, a recruiter working at a global tech company. She liked my drive. So, we connected on LinkedIn and kept in touch casually.

By the summer of 2021, she reached out again. There was an internship opportunity at the company—ideal for new graduates. I didn’t need convincing. I applied, went through interviews, and got the position. It was a remote role with the tech company, during a time when the world was still recovering from the 2020 global pandemic. I was based in Rwanda at the time and worked with a team spread across Europe.

I joined a team focused on onboarding experiences for work account users. At the company, I met experienced creatives like myself, widened my network, and committed to a singular goal: to get a full-time offer. I networked, refined my portfolio, and ensured my performance was strong enough and visible to my employer.

When the internship ended, there was a performance evaluation. Fortunately, the company did a headcount and found out that it needed new employees in one of its creative departments. With help from the recruiter, I went through the internal hiring process and secured a full-time offer. Once I got the offer, the company started discussions to relocate me to the UK.

It partnered with an accounting firm to handle everything about my visa paperwork to a temporary accommodation in the UK. When I arrived, they advised me on neighbourhoods to live in, sorting taxes, healthcare, and more.

The process [to get my visa] took over two months. Despite corporate support, I still had to undergo health screenings, a tuberculosis test, and provide documents such as a police report and affidavits explaining discrepancies in my surname. But it was the waiting part that was the hardest: I went weeks without updates, unsure if I should plan or panic. It took a while.

But by 2022, I finally relocated to the UK on the Skilled Worker visa, sponsored by the tech company I worked for.

Fast forward to 2025, after working across various teams in the company, a sudden company-wide layoff came. My name was on the list of employees to be let go.

Find a new sponsor or go home 

Within hours of being laid off, the UK Home Office emailed. My visa and stay in the UK was tied to my job, and with the layoff, the sponsorship from my employer had been terminated. I now had 60 days to find a new sponsor or leave the UK. This is called the curtailment period.

I panicked when the email came in. I was already grieving the job loss, and now immigration uncertainty loomed.

I began planning for three futures: find a new UK sponsor, relocate to another country, or return to Rwanda. I started browsing flats in Kigali and Lagos while sending out applications to UK companies. I interviewed at seven companies. Six rejected me outright—they didn’t offer to continue my visa sponsorship. Only one was open to discussing it.

Eventually, I applied to a fintech company I admired. I connected with a recruiter and rushed through the interview process. Fortunately, the company agreed to sponsor me. Due to the fact that it was a visa transfer, and not a fresh application, the process was quicker.

That was how I survived the 60-day countdown. But it took a toll on me.

Curtailment comes with a heavy emotional burden

There is no soft landing when a curtailment notice arrives. The message from the UK Home Office is coldly detached; for them, it’s business as usual. But for the migrant on the receiving end, the emotional weight is heavy. 

Curtailment periods bring a sense of unadulterated dread—of losing a place to live, of disrupting fragile progress, of being told that years of effort might soon amount to nothing. 

There is crippling uncertainty, too. Migrants know what comes next, but not how to get through it.

Faced with the curtailment notice, only three paths typically lie ahead for African migrants.

The first option is to find a new sponsor. That means finding a company that is not only hiring, but also licensed and ready to take on the responsibility of sponsoring a Skilled Worker visa. In the UK, only 134,901 companies—about 3% of the nearly 5.5 million registered companies in the country—are authorised to sponsor foreign workers on temporary work, Skilled Worker, or Global Mobility visas. 

For a migrant looking for sponsorship, this drastically reduces the pool of employers they’re even willing to consider. Even when a migrant is making headway on a job application with one of the few authorised employers, these companies could lose interest the moment visa sponsorship is mentioned, according to another digital nomad who spoke to TechCabal. It simply means more paperwork.

Employers must prove why the role is essential, confirm that it cannot easily be filled by local talent, and then formally request permission to sponsor. Some companies find the process for getting approval for Certificate of Sponsorship (COS) issuance tedious. Not many are willing to take that on.

Beyond the paperwork, the problem could be that the employer has already filled the number of sponsorship slots it is authorised to offer for the year. Or it could be that the employer simply cannot afford to pay the new salary threshold required for visa sponsorship: £41,700 ($49,000) for most Skilled Worker roles (up from £38,700 as of July 22), while health and care jobs remain at £25,600 ($30,000). These thresholds mean that after tax deductions, those are the least amounts skilled workers must take home. It is also possible that the company has simply exhausted its budget for sponsoring new visa applicants. 

As a result, even the most qualified candidates are often overlooked, not because they lack skill, but because of the cost and complexity of sponsorship. 

The second option is to switch to a different visa route. But that comes with its own set of challenges. Some migrants who work in tech may qualify for a Global Talent visa if they can prove exceptional ability. Others might consider a Graduate visa or a Spouse visa, if their partner has British citizenship or a stable immigration status in the UK. Each of these options comes with its own requirements, restrictions, and timelines. 

These paths demand careful preparation, eligibility, and often a bit of luck. In reality, they are out of reach for most people caught in the 60-day countdown, due to the length of the processing times.

The third and most painful option is to leave the country. Not just the UK, but the life that has been built there. Migrants on Skilled Worker visas often invest time and resources to reach that point. They leave families to adjust to new systems and settle into unfamiliar cities. Being forced to walk away from that progress is a loss that goes beyond employment. It means starting again, often in a place they thought they had left behind.

It currently takes five years on a Skilled Worker or Health and Care Worker visa to qualify for Indefinite Leave to Remain (ILR) in the UK. ILR is the legal right to live and work in the UK without needing a visa. It represents security, residency permanence, and a future that does not hinge on employer decisions. But that future is fragile.

For example, a migrant could lose their job in year 4 of their UK stay. If they cannot find a new sponsor, all that progress is erased. They return home with nothing to show for the years they spent building a life abroad.

Worse, that five-year path may grow longer. The UK government is considering a proposal to extend the ILR timeline to ten years. If that happens, the stakes get even higher.

What it means to stay, and what it takes to plan

Skilled Worker visa holders are vulnerable to disruptions. After years of work, system integration, and tax contributions, their future could be undone by a single corporate decision.

The precarity makes it difficult to plan a future. The idea of settling down, building a future, or even staying put starts to feel risky. Many African professionals left developing economies for the UK. But a curtailment notice could throw everything off-balance.

Migrants on Skilled Worker visas, skilled as they come, remain some of the most precariously placed residents in the UK. Their competence on the job typically carries them through the five-year period to ILR. But as an added layer of caution, it pays for migrants to be on their best behaviour, according to one digital nomad who asked to remain anonymous.

Some sponsoring companies are starting to recognise the emotional toll that comes with sudden layoffs. In a few cases, especially in industries hit hard by economic downturns, migrants are being given advance notice when workforce reductions are on the horizon. 

While that warning does not soften the emotional blow, it gives migrants a sliver of time to plan, offering them a chance to prepare for what comes next.

* The names of the individuals featured in this story and where they work have been kept anonymous to maintain privacy.

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Cross-border payment is the most bankable buzzword in finance right now and pretty much the side of tech that deals with heft money. Globally, monies that crossed borders in 2024 reached $194.8 trillion.

It’s becoming important in how we work. Freelancers need to get paid from global employers. Digital nomads need their money to cross borders with them. Businesses of all sizes make payments to bring shipments into their home countries. Students studying abroad want to withdraw the money sent to them from home, and diasporan Africans want to send the same back home.

This demand is driving fintechs to build rails that allow money flow smoothly across borders. There is a joke that if you shake a tree, any tree, a remittance fintech will fall. But these startups are overlooking one critical aspect of cross-border payments: intra-African payments.

The problem with intra-African payments

Nnenna Nkata, a Nigerian who went to college in Ghana, and completed her master’s in the UK, has seen both worlds and witnessed the difficulty firsthand. Monirates was her solution to what she describes as “the harder problem.”

“The idea [for Monirates] came when we realised that we could see different fintech startups out there and the various means of sending money from the diaspora to Africa,” said Nkata. “But as a student in Ghana, it was almost difficult to send money from Ghana to Nigeria.” Both countries are about a one-hour flight apart. 

It wasn’t just difficult. At one point, she had to move across borders with ₦150,000 ($750)* in her handbag—tuition fees in cash—because digital options were limited, unreliable, or inaccessible. The lack of alternatives wasn’t a bug in the system; it was the system.

“As an undergraduate, I didn’t really realise the effect of this,” she said. “I took it as a norm.”

That changed when she moved to the UK for graduate school. There, sending money back home meant opening five apps, comparing rates, and completing transactions in minutes.

The arguments for why the problem with intra-African payments persists are familiar: there are 42 different currencies in Africa, and regulations, like payments, are fragmented. Where Europe has the Euro and North America spans only three main currencies, Africa is a patchwork quilt.

Finding workarounds

Back in 2013, when Nkata schooled at Accra Institute of Technology in Ghana, she and her peers relied on Ecobank automated teller machines (ATMs) to withdraw cash. If you had a Nigerian-issued Ecobank card, you could withdraw cash in cedis from ATMs in Ghana and other countries where Ecobank operated. For a time, it worked.

Then came Central Bank regulations in Nigeria that placed limits on international ATM withdrawals. First $300 per day. Then $100 per month. Eventually, transactions stopped altogether.

“At some point—I think in my final year—I had to move with cash,” Nkata recalled. “There was no way to move the money. You couldn’t even open a bank account as a Nigerian student in Ghana.”

Mobile money, while widely adopted in Ghana, had limits too. It couldn’t handle the large, one-time payments needed for tuition or rent. The fallback was to carry cash across borders, change it at the border unofficially, and hope nothing went wrong.

“It felt like you were smuggling gold when traveling with cash,” she said, laughing. “It came with a lot of risk and stress.”

Her former co-founder—who was a classmate at Accra Institute of Technology—a trader working across Ghana, Guinea, and Nigeria, had to do the same. With both founders living through the complications of everyday payments across borders, Monirates began to take shape.

Building intra-African payments rails from scratch

The product started out as a peer-to-peer tool, something lightweight that allowed users transfer funds directly to one another. But after two months, it pivoted. Escrow wasn’t scalable. What they needed was real infrastructure: rails that could support direct transfers and quick settlements.

“We built our infrastructure from scratch. Every single line of code,” Nkata said. “Eventually, we agreed that there was no point plugging into a system we couldn’t control.”

This decision defined the company’s trajectory. They moved from a consumer payments tool to an infrastructure provider—an “infrastructure-as-a-service” company for tech-enabled businesses moving money within Africa.

But the hurdles kept coming. Intra-African payment is complex not only because of the number of currencies, but because of how disconnected the regulatory frameworks are across regions.

“If you want to support even a quarter of Africa, you’re looking at 20 different currencies. That means 20 different regulations, 20 different central banks, and 20 different infrastructures,” said Nkata.

Expansion wasn’t just a matter of plugging into a new market. It often meant starting over.

“In Ghana, for example, you need to register your business there, and one of your board members has to be Ghanaian,” she said. “It’s like launching a new startup every time.”

The more she looked at the problem, the more she realised most players in the ecosystem were only doing the easy parts.

“What we saw were businesses out there who told customers, ‘We can help you collect payment and pay outright,’ which is fine. But two downsides to that was you could collect, but how do you convert?,” she asked. “If you find a way to convert, settlements become an issue. T+2, T+3. Some can go as far as T+5 days,” she said, referring to how long it can take for a business to receive its money.

“Then the cost is way too high. You are charged 2%, 3% to collect payment from a customer in Uganda, for example. Add that to the cost of FX and the settlement delay, and the business case falls apart,” Nkata added.

That’s why Monirates chose to build a full stack: collection, conversion, and payout. Its rails are designed to move money across corridors with low latency and low cost, making intra-African trade financially viable again.

A new quest to power Africa’s SME economy

While Monirates continues to serve individuals, the company is leaning heavily into B2B. Their partners are procurement platforms, logistics firms, and commerce networks—businesses with recurring, high-value transactions.

“Businesses move more money,” Nkata said. “And when they trust you with their payment needs, it forces you to build more reliable systems.”

One such client is Brydge, a pan-African trade company. Monirates powers its cross-border payment flows, allowing them to focus on the rest of the supply chain without worrying about delayed settlements or unofficial agents.

The future of Monirates also includes stablecoins. The company is building capacity to allow customers to send funds in digital currencies such as USDC and USDT. These payments then settle in local African currencies.

“Stablecoin is the quickest and easiest way right now,” she said. “It helps us bridge corridors where we don’t yet have local liquidity.”

Underneath it all, Monirates is also investing in fraud prevention. Their internal system tracks patterns like repeated transfers, irregular intervals, and matching behavior that suggests abuse or circumvention. With over 15 fraud indicators being monitored, the system is constantly evolving.

“Everything is taken care of,” Nkata said. “You can’t scale in this space if you don’t take compliance seriously.”

Doing the hard part

For now, Monirates supports both individuals and businesses—but its energy is behind business infrastructure. Business users currently make up only 10% of their user base but account for significantly higher volume.

“That’s where our head is,” she said. “Building for business clients, because that’s where the impact and growth are.”

The company’s mission is to build Africa’s payment engine; one that supports intra-African trade, scales across regulation, and reflects the economic ties that already exist between countries.

That future isn’t far-fetched. With tools like the Pan-African Payment and Settlement System (PAPSS), the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) frameworks, and stablecoin rails in development, Monirates is stepping into a space that was once neglected. But it’s still hard work. Every corridor is a new language, a new law, a new bottleneck to unravel.

“You can’t build African trade without African payments,” Nkata said. “And you can’t build African payments if you’re not willing to go through the hard part.”

* The exchange rate used in the article is ₦200/$1 in 2015.

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Nelson Ikan, a Nigerian who once trained as a materials engineer and dreamed of joining the oil and gas elite now works in tech. Ikan is a senior project manager focused on digitising healthcare systems in the UK.

Recently, conversations have reignited online over the career pivots Nigerian migrants make in an attempt to attain success in their new countries of residence.

From students juggling multiple jobs to professionals who’ve swapped offices in their home country for factory jobs, the costs are often emotional, physical, and financial.

“I had to survive.”

Nelson Ikan arrived in the UK in November 2021, setting his sights on building his career in a new country.

“I didn’t work immediately when I came in. I was okay for a couple of months, trying to get settled,” he recalled. “But soon, I needed to raise money to stay afloat.”

He began applying for jobs that he qualified and sometimes was overqualified for. Offers came in, including one from an energy company. Ikan turned the offers down. 

“I didn’t take those jobs because I didn’t want to get stuck doing something that didn’t align with what I had planned,” he said. “It wasn’t just about getting a job; for me, it was about getting the right kind of job.”

In the early months that followed, Ikan took up other roles he could find in the UK as he tried to adjust in his new environment. Soon after, he was exploring ways to integrate himself in the UK’s tech scene.

Back in Nigeria, Ikan had studied materials engineering, interned at energy company, had a brief stint in banking, before spending seven years in construction. This, he shared, gave him his first real experience managing big projects.

In the UK, when it was time to transition into project management, he leaned into his construction experience. “I had plans of making a life for myself here,” he said. “But I knew I needed something to validate my experience.”

That clarity pushed him to go back to the books. He enrolled in the Project Management Professional (PMP) exam and passed. The certification is globally recognised and often serves as a minimum requirement for serious project roles in the UK. 

“The PMP gave me more visibility in the corporate world,” he said. “It was what made employers take a second look.”

His breakthrough came shortly after, when he landed a project management role in healthcare. There, he was assigned to a major digital migration project that was modernising how healthcare organisations tracked and shared incident data.

He then moved to another healthcare organisation, where he managed another digital transformation project.

Each project has built on the last, and the common thread has been Ikan’s determination to reinvent himself without losing the technical depth he developed back home. 

“It wasn’t easy, but I had to learn how to sell myself properly,” he said. “That PMP wasn’t just a certificate. It gave me a foot in the door.”

Hard truths of migration and moving forward anyway

Beneath every success story of a migrant who makes it in the UK, there are usually a dozen untold stories of the mental wear, disillusionment, and invisible labor it took to stay afloat. Even when things begin to work on the outside, with work permits, job titles, and better pay, the emotional residue of starting over is hard to shake.

The hardest part of migration for Ikan was not just the the job rejections or the daily fear of running out of time. It was how unpredictable everything felt. In Nigeria, the systems may be broken, but they are familiar. In the UK, the systems function, but they are cold, rigid, and indifferent to anyone without a plan or a strong network.

What helped him push through in the UK was mentorship, grit, and knowing his strengths so he could prepare for the right opportunities.

Yet, Ikan knows how fragile those breakthroughs can be. Without timely advice or a supportive connection, many skilled migrants never transition out of survival mode. The system may not actively stop people from trying, but it certainly does not make success easy.

Now that he has gained a foothold, he is thinking about how to make the path easier for others.

“I want to build something. Something that helps others push through, just like I did,” he said.

Ikan says he is working on an AI-powered solution to help project managers like himself advance in their careers with more clarity. If he can help others avoid the challenges he faced, that would be a success far beyond his own.

* Editor’s note: A previous version of this article included Ikan’s salary during his early years working in the UK. That detail has been removed. Details about the subject’s workplace have also been removed to maintain anonymity.

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As OkayAfrica marks our 15th anniversary, we're taking a look back at 15 defining African moments of the past 15 years that deserve to be remembered, and the impact they've had. Here's Moment No. 11.

For his first cover as the Editor-in-Chief of British Vogue, Edward Enninful refused to play it safe. Photographed, in a stunning close-up shot with spare but striking make-up, was British-Ghanaian model Adwoa Aboah. And next to Aboah was a list of names of people from diverse disciplines, including politics, music, literature, acting, and of course, fashion. It was revolutionary and striking with its perspective. Like Aboah, Enninful is also of Ghanaian heritage, and as the first African and Black man to ever lead British Vogue, Enninful wanted to make a statement.

Throughout his illustrious and vibrant time as editor-in-chief, that is exactly what he did. Where other major magazines shied away from conversations around diversity or representation, Enninful unabashedly took it on. During his tenure, the covers and pages of British Vogue illustrated the diverse and colorful world in which Enininful lived and wanted to see reflected. Enninful took up the most powerful position at British Vogue when the magazine struggled to find an identity that accurately captured the times. With that in mind, he gave the magazine a vibrant, urban slant and made it culturally aware, even ahead of the zeitgeist.

Enninful's time coincided with the rise of a new generation of boundary-pushing fashion creatives from Africa or of African descent in the global scene. From trailblazing designers like Thebe Magugu, Kenneth Ize, and Virgil Abloh, to models like Mayowa Nicholas, Adut Akech, and Anok Yai, to photographers like Campbell Addy, Trevor Stuurman, and Stephen Tayo, and editors like IB Kamara and Chioma Nnadi, these creatives found their feet and carved their paths in their various careers within the fashion industry. Their work enlivened an industry that desperately needed a fresh sensibility.

Reclaiming our narrative

Within the last decade and half, African creatives have played a central role in some of the most culturally significant fashion moments — from editorials, to campaigns, runway shows, among others. One high-profile example is Beyoncé’s Black Is King visual album which enlisted a constellation of African talent including Daniel Obasi, Conrad Egyir, Sarah Diouf, Emmanuel Adjei, Joshua Kissi, and Loza Malèombho, to reimagine the Lion King mythology through an unapologetically African lens.

Together, they ushered in a shift in the industry, one that went beyond tokenism to real presence and power. Africa has always had a voice in the world of fashion, but it wasn’t always pronounced, and it certainly wasn’t a voice with much agency.

“From an editorial lens, it’s no longer just about spotlighting ‘African prints’ or singular aesthetics — it’s about capturing a dynamic, multifaceted fashion narrative that reflects modern Africa’s cultural complexity,” fashion editor and producer Ekow Barnes tells OkayAfrica.

From Barnes’ perspective, there is also a growing respect for authenticity and unparalleled individuality, which is affirming the place that African creatives occupy. “Publications are realizing that telling African fashion stories requires more than just exotic visuals — it demands context, credit, and collaboration with creatives who understand the cultures behind the clothes,” Barnes says. “We’re seeing more African writers, editors, and photographers being given platforms to speak for themselves, rather than being spoken about.”

The modeling success story

In modelling, the status quo has also seen considerable change in the last decade and half. In the past, a model from the continent would occasionally be discovered and end up being the only African on runways for years, thus limiting the ideas of beauty and the ideal bodies on which clothing can be made. There were, and in some ways, still, issues of exotification that are being addressed. Nonetheless, the 2010s brought a radical change to the treatment of, and the place of African models in the global fashion industry.

This shift prompted Enninful and British Vogue to celebrate the rise of the African model with its February issue in 2022. “The nine models gracing the cover are representative of an ongoing seismic shift that became more pronounced on the SS22 runways; awash with dark-skinned models whose African heritage stretched from Senegal to Rwanda to South Sudan to Nigeria to Ethiopia,” the magazine wrote on Instagram about the cover.

And for Enninful, the rise of the African model on the global scene is more than symbolism or beauty standards. “It is about the elevation of a continent. It is about economics, access, culture, perspective, difference and wonder. And it is here to stay,” he wrote in his editor’s note.

Frontrunners like Nicholas helped democratize the industry for emerging African models, says Dolapo Habeeb, the founder of the modelling agency Inline. Nicholas was discovered in Nigeria by Elite Model Look scouts while on her way to a hair salon in 2013. She went on to win the Nigeria competition the following year. She later became the first Nigerian to star in campaigns for Dolce & Gabbana, Saint Laurent, and Calvin Klein.

There is Somali American model Halima Aden, who first gained prominence after wearing a burkini and hijab at the Miss Minnesota USA pageant in 2016. In 2017, she made history as the first hijabi model hijab-wearing fashion model to walk international runway shows, as well as the first hijabi model on the cover of Vogue (Vogue Arabia).

Yai, who is from South Sudan, became a viral sensation following a photo of her at Howard University’s homecoming in 2017, leading to her runway debut in 2018 where she became the second Black woman to open for Prada, after Naomi Campbell.

Habeeb also cites the success of Eniola Abioro, who transitioned from teaching to modeling, and walked for Prada, and Ama Okolo, who trained in human anatomy, and is forging a new path entirely.

“These are not just modeling success stories, they're examples of how diverse, intelligent, and multidimensional African talent is,” Habeeb tells OkayAfrica.

Trailblazing designers and ecosystem builders

The world of fashion and garment-making has also fared well. Couture brands like Orange Culture, Thebe Magugu, Maki Oh, Kenneth Ize, Lagos Space Programme, Diarra Blu, and many others have broken through hallowed institutions. Their works have been nominated for some of the world’s biggest prizes, and their pieces worn by the world’s biggest stars and dignitaries and featured at major fashion events like, more recently, the 2025 Met Gala, where African designers earned significant red carpet attention.

“Designers are embracing sustainability, heritage, and innovation, while digital platforms are helping local talent reach global audiences,” says Barnes.

But behind the runway moments and international acclaim is the often quieter, steady work of ecosystem builders — those laying the groundwork so this wave of African talent could thrive. Since 2011, Omoyemi Akerele has run the renowned Lagos Fashion Week, a multi-day affair where many of the continent’s biggest fashion brands first found their footing.

Other ecosystems like the Dakar Fashion Week, GTCO Fashion Weekend and Arise Fashion Week have also been instrumental in providing fashion talents with spaces to show their creativity. And pushing the needle even further, streetwear, alt-culture spaces like Street Souk, which hosts streetwear brands from across the globe, are providing dynamic means of expression.

Meanwhile, agencies like Beth Model Management, established in 2004, have played a crucial role in discovering and developing modeling talent. Founded by Elizabeth Elohor Isiorho, the agency runs the Elite Model Look competition in Nigeria. It has helped launch the careers of models like Nicholas, bridging the gap between local promise and international opportunity.

Keeping the momentum going

Still, as the industry levels up, the challenges that African creatives face remain stubbornly present, say Habeeb and Barnes. Visa restrictions, limited access to funding, and the lack of creative infrastructure continue to slow progress. “There’s still a need to deepen the infrastructure that supports creative careers on the continent,” Barnes says.

In response, many creatives are taking matters into their own hands — using social media platforms to reach global audiences, build their own communities, and monetize their work directly, says Habeeb. “Social media played a role, Diversity, Equity and Inclusion conversations put pressure on brands, and more importantly, African-led agencies and managers started taking control of their narratives,” Habeeb adds.

“We are now making sure that our models understand their value from the beginning. We don’t just scout, we equip them with knowledge, strategy, and support systems that allow them to sustain their careers.”