The figures that matter:

When I was in primary school in rural Zimbabwe, my mother suffered from debilitating “migraines.” That’s how she explained the tears she cried as we struggled to raise money for my education. My sixth-grade teacher, who had also taught my mother and watched poverty force her out of school, was determined that history would not repeat itself: When inspectors came to collect school levies, he sent me to hide in the toilet block.

From an early age, I developed coping mechanisms: waiting to borrow a pen once others finished their notes; stapling scraps of paper to fashion a notebook; washing teachers’ dishes in exchange for supplies. I avoided shared lunches because I had no food. I couldn't play outside because we lacked soap to wash my only dress. I stayed inside and read because I had to manage my own participation within the school system. Often, that was mistaken for diligence. In truth, it was a painful necessity.

My story is tragically replicated across underserved rural communities, and it’s taught me that we can’t invest sustainably without comprehending a child’s reality. Not every child will volunteer that they missed school because their mother is ill; it’s a sensitive issue. Investment in education and development programs starts with nurturing community leaders who understand such nuances and who are committed to supporting children so they can navigate their realities.

The global development finance model will continue to fall short of its potential if it treats community commitment as a subsidy to be utilized, rather than as primary capital that makes development possible. To achieve sustainability, we must shift the framework away from funding for projects and toward investing with communities. Only then will we be able to unlock the extraordinary multiplier of community commitment.

What we measure matters

Sustainable investment in education and development starts by asking the question, “What will make your life better?” Traditional models often skip this question — the answer is assumed or imposed. Impact should be measured in improved lives, including through greater agency and confidence.

A few weeks ago, I spoke with 20-year-old Monica from rural Zambia, who received financial and social support to go to school, then took advantage of peer-led training and a grant from CAMFED, the Campaign for Female Education, to start a retail business. I asked her how her life had changed.

"Now I can buy my own lotion," she told me proudly, "and my siblings no longer have to worry [about their education]." She buys the children books, school uniforms, and pens, ensuring they stay in school. Monica also volunteers as a CAMFED transition guide, supporting peers with the skills they need to lead fulfilling lives after completing school. She’s passionate about biology and chemistry and is planning a career in medicine because it combines scientific knowledge, empathy, and problem-solving to directly improve and save lives.

Monica now has agency over her life and her family's future. By buying supplies for her siblings and guiding her peers, she has become an active investor in her community, not a passive recipient of aid. When young women like Monica succeed, they often become “first responders” in their communities — service providers and philanthropists in their own right.

Nearly every young woman I’ve met in the CAMFED Association, a 350,000-strong network of leaders educated with CAMFED support, emphasizes confidence — the ability to stand up and speak to a large group of people — as a key outcome of education and peer support. This is not a measurement commonly found in financing models, but it’s the foundation for sustainable systems transformation. 

Education is about more than the number of children who receive some level of support to attend school. It’s about who those children become, and the multiplier effect of this change on society. Simply put, education is about the future.

To truly measure the impact of education, we need to recognize and measure the social transformation and commitment that it ignites.

What we do next matters

My experience — first as a child hiding from school inspectors, and now as the CEO of the very organization that supported my education — has shaped my understanding of what effective education financing looks like.  It’s characterized by respect, partnership, youth-led innovation, and scale. It’s about investing in sustainable, locally-led solutions to complex, structural challenges, and in a new cohort of grassroots leaders who know firsthand the physical, emotional, and psychological consequences of exclusion. 

Sustainable change only happens when we put the needs of the most marginalized child at the center: Our primary accountability is to her and her community as the agents of their destiny, not the villains of the story. Yet it can be easier to blame families for holding children back, or girls for getting pregnant or married at a young age, than to acknowledge systemic injustice. These repeated narratives of shaming end up being internalized by the very families they harm.

Graduating can feel like an elusive dream when you are caring for younger siblings while your grandmother works a small plot of land to make sure you have enough to eat. I've met community members driven to resign to their fate. I also know countless parents who dream big for their children — who show up every day, trying to keep their grip on education against the odds. When a child drops out of school, she does not fail us. We should ask how we, as a system, failed her. And when our financial models fail to account for the mother’s sacrifice or the graduate’s reinvestment, we are not just missing data; we are missing the engine of development.

At last count, 37% of the CAMFED Association members — more than 115,000 young women — held leadership positions in education systems and their broader communities. Because they embody the promise of education and the possibility of change, they can help ensure that policy discussions are informed by a nuanced understanding of families’ aspirations for their children and the financial and structural barriers they face. They remind us what's at stake if families' needs and expertise don’t take center stage: a continued cycle of inequality and injustice driven by poverty and all its consequences — hunger, ill health, unemployment, and instability.

The multiplier delivered by businesswomen like Grace and her sisters in the CAMFED Association is the result of an investment in community expertise. Their lived experience of the challenges we are all working to solve makes them more — not less — qualified. 

They are among the pioneers of a new Africa where young people are leaders of change rather than victims of circumstance. Only when we recognize local commitment as primary capital — investing with communities rather than simply providing for them —  will we unlock the brilliance of our children and create a system where they can truly shine. 

This, after all, is justice.