Keitra Bates Is Centering Dignity, Culture, and Neurodivergent Leadership Through the Makoko Campaign

Hi Keitra, to start, can you share what first drew you to the situation in Makoko and what compelled you to create the Makoko Campaign in response to the ongoing demolition crisis?
Visiting Makoko was honestly a dream of mine. I first learned about the Makoko community while I was recovering from a concussion and spending a lot of time in my bedroom with very low lighting. I was preparing for my first trip to Lagos, and I ended up spending hours watching everything I could find about this unique floating city.

At first, I couldn’t even pronounce Makoko correctly, but I was immediately drawn to the people and the way the community lives on the water. What stood out to me was the independence—families fishing, preparing food, and trading. Because Marddy’s mission is to preserve and promote culinary culture, that connection through food and livelihood really resonated with me.

When I later learned that parts of Makoko were actively being demolished, that curiosity and admiration turned into responsibility. The Makoko Campaign grew out of that moment. Through Marddy’s Foundation, we’re working with a Nigerian-based charity called SEED to support Makoko Children Development Orphanage & School, ensuring our response is grounded in local partnership.

In addition to the online awareness and fundraising campaign, we also hosted a fundraising brunch to invite grassroots community support. Individual donors are incredibly important to this work. While major donors are still few and far between, we’re undeterred. We truly believe that many hands make light work.

Makoko is often described through dehumanizing or oversimplified narratives. How did you approach building an awareness and fundraising campaign that centers dignity, ethics, and the voices of residents themselves?
I was very intentional about what I chose to show. Instead of leading with destruction or shock, I focused on culture keepers and everyday life—videos and photos of a woman sharing her fish-smoking process, young children smiling and laughing as they climb ladders to get to school, women paddling fully stocked canoes.

I wanted people to see Makoko as a place where people are working, caring for one another, raising families, and sustaining culture—not just surviving crisis. Centering dignity meant showing skill, joy, labor, and community alongside hardship. When people can clearly see humanity, support becomes more thoughtful and more responsible.

You openly frame this work as autistic-led advocacy. In what ways has your lived experience as an autistic person shaped how you research, organize, and lead social justice initiatives like this one?
Social justice has always felt very natural to me. Many autistic people have a strong sense of justice and a deep level of compassion. We tend to notice when something isn’t right, and it’s hard for us to ignore harm.

I actually think many nonprofit leaders are probably autistic, even if they don’t identify that way publicly. There’s something about our unique approach to problem-solving—pattern recognition, persistence, and a willingness to sit with complexity. I research deeply, move deliberately, and try to respond responsibly rather than react emotionally.

I also relate deeply to underdogs. Being autistic means knowing what it feels like to be misunderstood or underestimated, and that experience shapes how I show up in this work.

Beyond Makoko, your work spans art, global engagement, community spaces, and The Marddy’s Foundation. How do these different efforts connect to your broader mission of reframing neurodivergent leadership and impact?
I don’t see these as separate efforts. They’re all connected extensions of my interests and values. People need community, they need space, and they need connection—and I’m passionate about bringing people together, locally and globally.

Being autistic has challenges, but it also has major benefits. I’m deeply drawn to social justice, I care about making people feel accepted, and I have an intense, laser-focused way of problem-solving. The word “no” doesn’t really register for me—it usually just means the next opportunity. Where someone else might quit, if I care about something, I’ll keep going until I find a solution.

Everything I’ve built has come through connection and support, which is why Marddy’s Event exists—to create space for people to gather around what they care about. The Marddy’s Foundation extends that mission by supporting creatives in monetizing their passion through funding, skills acquisition, continued education, community activations, and scholarships that help people stay ready and sustainable.

This work gives my life meaning. I want to live as an example of what’s possible for an autistic person with the right support. Life can be challenging, but it’s also deeply beautiful—and we’re all connected.

Looking ahead, what does sustainable, long-term support for Makoko and similar communities look like to you, and how do you hope partnerships, media, and institutions will show up differently in this work?
For me, sustainable support starts with consistency and humility. Communities like Makoko don’t need momentary attention or one-time gestures—they need people and institutions willing to stay engaged beyond a headline or news cycle.

Long-term support looks like investing in education, safety, and stability while respecting local leadership and existing systems. It means listening first, supporting organizations on the ground, and understanding that real change takes time. It also means valuing everyday needs—not just crisis moments—but the things that allow a community to continue living and caring for one another with dignity.

I also hope media and institutions show up more responsibly—by telling stories with context, following up after the spotlight fades, and resisting narratives that reduce communities to tragedy. Ethical storytelling matters because it shapes how resources move and how people are treated.

Ultimately, I hope partnerships are built on accountability and shared humanity. When support is rooted in respect and long-term commitment, it becomes possible to move from awareness to real, lasting impact.

I invite readers who feel moved by this story to join the Makoko Campaign in whatever way feels accessible—by learning more, sharing the story, making a donation, or purchasing merchandise that directly supports the work. Collective care matters. When many people contribute what they can, real and lasting impact becomes possible.

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