I’ve always had this deep desire to strengthen health systems in Africa, but truthfully, I didn’t know exactly how I was going to do it. I just knew I had to start somewhere. So I did what I could. I volunteered, I joined charities, I worked wherever I could be of use. That led to something in me saying, “You can build your own.” And so I did.
I started laying the groundwork for what would become Fionita’s Project when I was just 11 years old. By 16, I was fully committed. My first focus was on education, because I realised that in parts of Nigeria, and in so many other places, students don’t get the luxury of studying in safe, supportive environments. The very first project was to knock down and rebuild a school that had no real structure. The aim was to improve environmental standards in schools. I wanted children to not just learn, but to learn in dignity.
But even then, my heart still held this unshakable need to do something about health systems. I just didn’t know how I was going to bridge the two. That was until 2013, when everything changed.
My grandmother, Mrs Cordalia, died suddenly of a cardiac arrest. Her death was entirely preventable. She didn’t receive CPR. No one around her knew what to do. I was already volunteering with St John Ambulance at the time, so I understood the importance of first aid, but her passing made me see the urgency in a completely new light.
This wasn’t just about lack of resources. It was about lack of knowledge. It was about people not knowing how to save someone’s life because no one ever taught them. And it wasn’t just a problem in Nigeria – even in the UK, people are unsure of what to do in a crisis. That loss changed everything. It became clear to me that life-saving skills needed to be at the heart of everything I did.
That’s when Fionita’s Project truly began.
At its core, Fionita’s Project is about equipping people with the knowledge and tools to survive, to care, and to thrive. We’ve worked across communities to teach first aid, promote HIV awareness, improve mental health literacy, and most recently, to tackle digital exclusion, because health isn’t just physical, it’s also about opportunity.
I’ve worked with incredible individuals and communities across the UK and Sub-Saharan Africa, building centres, training volunteers, and running outreach campaigns. But the real impact has always been about people, not numbers. People forget that impact isn’t always visible on spreadsheets.
I’ll never forget a woman we supported during the height of COVID-19. She was a teacher, a single mother, abandoned by her husband who left and never returned. Her salary had stopped, and she was on the verge of ending her life. No one knew. Not her neighbours, not her friends. It was a community leader we worked with who saw her on her way out and told her about the emergency food packs we had fundraised for, food packs that would last her and her children three months.
That one moment changed everything. She lived. Her children had their mother. She found strength again. And she told us later that she was literally on her way to end her life when she was stopped.
That is the impact people don’t always talk about. When you help one life, you don’t just save one life. You change a whole community. We helped her, and that helped her children. Then when her neighbour passed away, she took in three more children. That one act of help spread further than we could’ve imagined.
We’ve seen this ripple effect time and time again. Another mother. Another family. Another story. And each one is a reminder that we aren’t just doing projects, we are restoring dignity, humanity, and possibility.
It hasn’t been easy. Running a non-profit for almost 12 years without consistent funding is no small thing. We’ve mostly been self-funded, sustained by the generosity of individuals, a few donated resources, and a lot of faith. There have been more “no’s” than I can count, especially in trying to secure support within countries like Nigeria, where systemic challenges make it even harder for small organisations to thrive. But we’ve kept going. That’s what resilience looks like. That’s what purpose demands.
Now, my work also expands into consulting – supporting governments, INGOs, and social enterprises to improve maternal and adolescent health, chronic disease prevention, digital health, and equity in health systems. But no matter how big or complex the projects get, I never forget why I started.
The aim was never just to fix a system. It was to reimagine it. To build one where Black women are not ignored. Where every child, every mother, every patient is treated with the respect and care they deserve. Where we don’t wait for someone else to save lives, we teach people how to save each other.
This work chose me. And I’m still showing up for it and I believe in what tech can do.
That’s why I’m so excited to be working with UK Black Tech. We want to co-create a digital solution that promotes life-saving skills. It’s not just about innovation. It’s about inclusion. It’s about equity. We want to work with developers, designers, creatives, engineers and anyone passionate about saving lives and closing the gap.
Technology has the power to expand our reach, to bring us closer to stakeholders in hard-to-reach areas. Whether it’s interactive learning tools, virtual health consultations, or AI-led triage. We are open to building something bold and meaningful, together.
If you’re reading this and wondering if your small idea can make a big difference, I’m telling you now, it can. Start where you are. Do what you can. Lead with heart. And never forget that behind every policy, every programme, every campaign, there are real people. People who need you to care enough to act.
By Dr Fiona Igwe