by Olaitan Babatunde
The argument was never really about akara, that is perhaps the most important detail lost in the political noise that followed the remarks of First Lady Oluremi Tinubu and the fiery response from members of the Obidient movement. Selling akara, roasted corn, kuli kuli, tomatoes, or vegetables has fed families, sponsored university education, built houses, and preserved dignity across generations of Nigerians. Entire communities have been sustained by informal enterprise. The woman frying akara at dawn in Ibadan deserves respect, not pity. The problem begins when a nation that produces millions of graduates starts presenting survival as the highest possible ambition for its educated youth.
The outrage from Yunusa Tanko and other Obi supporters did not emerge in a vacuum. Nigeria’s unemployment challenge remains one of the most pressing questions confronting the state. According to the National Bureau of Statistics, youth underemployment and informal work continue to dominate the labour market, forcing many graduates into occupations unrelated to their training. This reality has created a generation that no longer asks whether there is dignity in labour. They already know there is. The deeper question is whether years spent in lecture halls, laboratories, engineering workshops, medical schools, and law faculties should ultimately lead to economic mobility or merely to more sophisticated forms of struggle.
An investigative look at the politics of economic messaging reveals an enduring pattern. During periods of hardship, governments often promote resilience narratives. Citizens are encouraged to innovate, hustle, adapt, and create opportunities from limited resources. There is wisdom in that philosophy. Nigeria’s entrepreneurial culture is arguably one of the strongest on the continent. Yet resilience can become politically dangerous when it begins to substitute for structural reform. A country cannot continuously celebrate the ingenuity of people surviving difficult conditions while postponing conversations about why those conditions persist in the first place. At some point, citizens stop asking how to survive and begin asking why survival has become national policy.
There is also an uncomfortable class dimension to the debate. Advice sounds different depending on who gives it and from what position of privilege. When market women encourage one another to start small businesses, the message carries communal authenticity. When political leaders speak similarly during periods of economic distress, citizens sometimes interpret it as evidence of disconnection from everyday realities. The criticism directed at the First Lady reflects this perception gap. It is not an attack on petty trading. It is a protest against lowered expectations. Young Nigerians are increasingly unwilling to accept a future where educational attainment and economic opportunity travel on separate roads.
