When Akara Becomes Economic Policy

Words matter. They matter even more when they come from those who occupy the highest offices in the land. In times of economic hardship, citizens do not merely listen to what their leaders say; they interpret those words as a reflection of how deeply their struggles are understood.

That is why the recent remarks by Nigeria’s First Lady, Oluremi Tinubu, encouraging economic empowerment through small businesses such as selling akara, roasted corn and kuli-kuli sparked such widespread debate. On the surface, there is nothing wrong with honest work. Millions of Nigerians earn dignified livelihoods selling food on street corners, operating kiosks, and running countless micro-enterprises. These businesses keep families alive, educate children, and sustain communities. They deserve respect, not ridicule.

But that was never the real issue. The backlash was not directed at akara sellers or roasted corn vendors. It was directed at what many Nigerians perceived as yet another example of political leadership offering survival tactics instead of solutions. Nigeria is currently navigating one of its most difficult economic periods in decades. Inflation has eroded purchasing power. Food prices continue to rise. Transport costs have increased sharply. Electricity remains unreliable for businesses, while fuel costs have fundamentally altered the economics of even the smallest enterprise. Against this backdrop, suggesting that selling snacks represents a pathway to economic empowerment inevitably struck many citizens as disconnected from the scale of the crisis.

The mathematics simply does not add up. Starting even the smallest food business is no longer inexpensive. Cooking oil, beans, maize, groundnuts, charcoal or cooking gas, transportation, and market levies have all become significantly more expensive. The profit margin that once sustained many roadside traders has steadily narrowed. For someone without capital, finding the money to begin is itself a formidable obstacle. For someone already running such a business, staying afloat has become harder than ever. In other words, today’s akara seller is not immune to Nigeria’s economic problems; she is among those suffering from them.

This is where the distinction between entrepreneurship and economic policy becomes crucial. Entrepreneurship has always been part of Nigeria’s story. Nigerians are resilient and innovative. They adapt, improvise, and persevere in circumstances that would overwhelm many societies. Yet resilience should never become an excuse for poor governance. Too often, the resilience of Nigerians is celebrated in ways that inadvertently normalise hardship. Citizens are praised for “hustling” through inflation, insecurity, and unemployment, while the structural reforms needed to reduce those burdens receive less attention. The danger is that resilience becomes a substitute for accountability.

Selling akara is not economic transformation. It is survival. A nation of more than 200 million people cannot build long-term prosperity by encouraging more citizens to compete in the same low-capital informal economy. What Nigeria urgently needs is an environment where small businesses can grow into medium-sized enterprises, where manufacturers can produce competitively, where young graduates can find productive employment, and where entrepreneurs spend more time serving customers than worrying about diesel, exchange rates, or multiple taxation. The informal sector deserves support, but it should not become the ceiling of national ambition.

Leadership is also about symbolism. History shows that during periods of economic difficulty, citizens listen carefully to the language used by those in power. Small remarks can carry enormous political weight because they reveal priorities, empathy, and understanding. When families are struggling to afford basic meals, conversations about roasted corn may sound less like encouragement and more like evidence that government does not fully grasp the depth of public anxiety.

Perhaps that was never the intention. Intentions, however, do not erase perceptions. The First Lady may have sought to inspire self-reliance and encourage beneficiaries of empowerment programmes to invest wisely. There is genuine value in promoting entrepreneurship, financial discipline, and productive enterprise. Those principles are difficult to dispute. But timing and context matter just as much as the message itself.

In today’s Nigeria, citizens want to hear not only how they can survive but how the country intends to prosper. They want to know when inflation will ease, when electricity will become reliable, when small businesses will have easier access to affordable credit, when manufacturers will expand production, and when economic growth will translate into higher living standards. The aspiration of a young Nigerian should not be limited to selling akara because formal opportunities have disappeared. It should be to choose entrepreneurship because opportunity exists, not because necessity leaves no alternative.

There is dignity in every honest occupation, whether one sells akara, roasted corn or kuli-kuli. Those businesses have fed families for generations and will continue to do so. The criticism is not of the traders themselves but of a political conversation that appears content to celebrate coping mechanisms while millions continue waiting for meaningful economic transformation. Nigeria deserves a national conversation that is bigger than survival!

Chigozie Nnuriam is a freelance writer based in Lagos.