Beyond Akara and Kuli-Kuli: Why First Lady deserves fair hearing

By Sola Adeola

The First Lady, Oluremi Tinubu’s recent remarks about empowering women through businesses such as selling akara, kuli-kuli, roasted corn, and other small-scale enterprises have generated intense criticism. Social media erupted with jokes, memes, and sarcastic comments. Many dismissed the idea outright, while others questioned whether this was the level of ambition the government had for Nigerians.

But I think much of the criticism has missed the essence of her message.

To begin with, the First Lady was not telling every Nigerian to abandon their education or professional careers to become akara sellers. Neither was she suggesting that selling akara is the solution to Nigeria’s economic challenges. Her remarks were directed at a specific category of Nigerians—women at the grassroots who already depend on petty trading and food vending to survive.
Unfortunately, this is becoming a pattern in our public discourse. Too often, Nigerians react to headlines instead of the complete message. We isolate one sentence, strip it of its context, and build an entire argument around it. Before long, social media is flooded with outrage over something that was never actually said or meant. That is exactly what happened here.

The moment people heard “akara” and “kuli-kuli,” many immediately concluded that the First Lady was advising graduates, engineers, doctors, lawyers, and other professionals to become roadside traders. That was never the message. Whether one agrees with her approach or not, criticism should be based on what was actually said—not on an exaggerated or strained interpretation.

Public officials should be held accountable, and citizens have every right to question government policies. That is how democracy works. But fairness also requires us to listen carefully, understand the context, and criticize based on facts rather than manipulated assumptions.

There is a world of difference between telling people to start selling akara instead of doing nothing at all and helping those who are already making a living from it to grow their businesses.
Across Nigeria, millions of women wake up before dawn every single day. They prepare pap, fry akara, roast corn, sell kuli-kuli, cook food, or engage in other small businesses. They may never trend on social media, but they are quietly sustaining families and communities. Many of them are widows. Some are single mothers. Some are caring for elderly parents. Others are supporting unemployed children or paying school fees for their grandchildren.

These women are part of the invisible engine that keeps many Nigerian homes running.

Imagine a woman who fries akara using a small stove outside her house. She can only produce enough to make a modest daily income. Now imagine she receives support to buy a larger fryer, a better stove, a canopy to protect her customers from the weather, more ingredients, and perhaps enough capital to employ one assistant. Has her life improved? Absolutely. Has another person gained employment? Surely. Has the local economy benefited? Certainly.

That is what grassroots economic empowerment looks like.

One aspect of this debate that troubles me is how quickly many people ridiculed the idea of selling akara and kuli-kuli. It makes one wonder whether we have unconsciously begun to despise honest labour. There is absolutely nothing shameful about frying akara or selling kuli-kuli. There is dignity in labour. The woman selling akara honestly deserves respect. The roadside mechanic deserves respect. The tailor deserves respect. The farmer deserves respect. The welder deserves respect. It is not only blue-collar jobs that deserve respect.

One of the most painful aspects of this debate is that many of those mocking akara and kuli-kuli sellers today were probably raised by them. Many Nigerians were trained through secondary school and even university by mothers who woke up before dawn every day to fry akara, roast corn, sell kuli-kuli, or engage in other forms of petty trading. Those humble businesses paid school fees, put food on the table, bought textbooks, and kept many families going. It is therefore unfortunate that some people now look down on the very work that gave them a future. Honest labour should never be a source of ridicule. If anything, those women deserve our gratitude and respect.

Ironically, many of the same people mocking akara buy breakfast from akara sellers every morning. They stop to buy roasted corn on their way home. They purchase kuli-kuli in local and supermarkets. Yet, when these same businesses become the subject of economic empowerment, they suddenly become objects of ridicule.

Political bitterness.

That contradiction deserves reflection. Some critics also argue that selling akara cannot make someone wealthy. Perhaps that is true. But must every empowerment programme produce billionaires? Not every citizen will own multinational companies. Not every Nigerian will become a millionaire. No economy functions that way. Nevertheless, multinational companies and millionaires achieve and sustain that status through the services of graduates, technicians, drivers, cleaners, food vendors, water sellers, hawkers, tailors, and other artisans, to mention just a few.

A healthy economy is made up of people operating at different levels. Some own multinational corporations. Some run medium-sized businesses. Some are artisans. Some are traders. Some are professionals. Some are farmers. Each contributes to national development in his or her own way.

The objective of empowering grassroots traders is not necessarily to create billionaires overnight. It is to reduce poverty, improve household income, create employment opportunities, and enable families to meet their basic needs with dignity.

Yes, dignity of labour.

If an akara seller can expand her business enough to send her children to school, pay rent comfortably, access healthcare, and employ two other women, that is a meaningful economic success. That is not loafing, not begging, not wasteful.

Economic development does not always begin with billion-dollar investments. Sometimes it begins with helping ordinary people become more productive in the businesses they already understand.
This is not unique to Nigeria. Across the world, governments support micro and small enterprises because they create jobs, reduce poverty, and stimulate local economies.

Perhaps the greatest lesson from this debate is that we should stop measuring every economic initiative by whether it produces overnight wealth. Real development is often gradual. It begins by helping ordinary people improve their daily lives. It begins by enabling families to feed themselves. It begins by helping parents educate their children. It begins by creating one additional job at a time.

These may seem like small achievements individually, but when multiplied across thousands or millions of households, they become powerful drivers of national development.
Instead of mocking akara and kuli-kuli, perhaps we should celebrate the dignity of honest labour and encourage initiatives that improve the lives of people at the grassroots. No nation rises by despising the work of its poorest citizens. A nation rises when it creates opportunities for everyone—from the woman frying akara in the early hours of the morning to the entrepreneur building the next great Nigerian company.

That, in my view, is the true spirit behind the First Lady’s message.

We may debate the policy, suggest improvements, or call for broader economic reforms, but we should first understand the message before rushing to condemn it. Sometimes, the problem is not what was said. It is how quickly we choose to twist what we hear to suit other ulterior motives.

God Save Nigeria!