The Dignity of the Hustle: Why Remi Tinubu’s Call to Action is the Wake-Up Call Nigeria Needs

By Ishaya Babagana

​IN the cacophony of modern Nigerian political discourse, it has become fashionable to mistake cynicism for wisdom and outrage for political engagement. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the recent, orchestrated pile-on against First Lady Oluremi Tinubu.

When she dared to speak a hard, unvarnished truth that there is dignity in small-scale enterprise, that the frying of akara, the roasting of corn, and the production of kuli-kuli are valid, honourable, and time-tested paths to economic survival the usual chorus of critics descended. They labeled the advice “out-of-touch.” They called it “insensitive.”

​They were wrong. To attack these suggestions is not to defend the poor; it is to engage in a form of intellectual snobbery that ignores the very foundation of the Nigerian survival story. It took a man of substance, Sunday Dare, the Special Adviser to the President on Media and Public Communication, to step into the fray and remind a forgetful nation of its own history.

His defense of the First Lady was not merely a political maneuver; it was a necessary reassertion of the dignity of labor, a call for national introspection, and a firm rebuke of the culture of entitlement that threatens to paralyze our grassroots economy.

​The Myth of the “Easy Path”

​The backlash against the First Lady stems from a toxic paradox: a society that claims to want economic prosperity while simultaneously looking down its nose at the very micro-economic activities that build it. The critics, often safe in their air-conditioned offices and protected by the anonymity of social media, argue that a government should provide, not suggest.

They want a handout; the First Lady offered a ladder. Senator Oluremi Tinubu’s initiative is not an insult to the intelligence of the Nigerian woman; it is an acknowledgment of her resilience.

By providing grants to women in rural communities and cities to catalyze small-scale businesses, she is doing something far more radical than writing a check—she is empowering the “informal sector” that has, for decades, functioned as the true, unheralded bedrock of our national economy. This is a targeted intervention designed to place capital directly into the hands of those who possess the grit to multiply it.

​The Sunday Dare Testament: A Mirror to Reality

​Sunday Dare’s intervention in this debate was searing in its authenticity. He did not speak from a script written by a PR firm; he spoke from the scars and the sweat of his own upbringing. When he recounted his mother in Jos, selling akara, bananas, and oranges to put him through school, he was not describing a tragedy he was describing a victory.
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How many of us have forgotten? In the early 1980s, from the bustling markets of Benin City to the dusty, vibrant roadsides of Kano, thousands of Nigerian women held this country together with nothing but a frying pan, a sack of beans, and an indomitable spirit. They did not wait for government white papers or complex fiscal policy shifts to put food on the table. They turned the groundnuts of their labour into the education of their children.

To look at that history now and call it “sordid” or “beneath us” is a profound betrayal of the very mothers who built the generation that currently leads this nation. If it was the honourable path to excellence in the 80s—a path that produced leaders, professionals, and nation-builders—why is it suddenly a “slur” in 2026? The truth is that the dignity of the hustle has not changed; only the collective ego of our public discourse has.

​From Small Beginnings to Global Heights: The Dangote Lesson

​Those who scoff at the idea of starting a business with limited capital—selling akara or corn—betray a profound ignorance of the trajectory of wealth. They seem to believe that titans of industry are born in boardrooms, not built in markets. They forget that the richest man in Africa, Alhaji Aliko Dangote, did not begin his journey with a massive, pre-existing conglomerate handed down by fate. He started with a relatively small amount of capital and, more importantly, a trader’s mindset.

​When the Presidency highlights the necessity of these micro-businesses, it is echoing the fundamental, proven principle of the “Nigerian Dream”: that every empire, no matter how vast, begins with the first bag of cement, the first crate of goods, or, indeed, the first batch of akara.

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To demean the small grant is to demean the very seed of future enterprise. If the path to becoming a billionaire starts with trade, why do the critics insist that akara and kuli-kuli are beneath the dignity of the Nigerian woman? It is a hypocritical, stingy outlook that seeks to limit the aspirations of the common woman by shaming the very tools she needs to climb the economic ladder.

​The “Nay-Sayer” Fallacy

​The critics, including figures who demand that the First Lady “lead by example” by setting up these businesses for her own associates, miss the point entirely. This is the classic argument of those who wish to trap the poor in a cycle of dependency.

They suggest that unless the elite are themselves frying akara, the act itself is somehow invalid.
This is a patronizing, elitist narrative that denies the economic reality of the millions of women who do fry akara—not because they want to, but because it works.

​Senator Tinubu is not suggesting that every Nigerian should be a street trader forever; she is identifying the entry point for millions who have been left behind. When a woman receives a grant to expand her kuli-kuli business, she is not being relegated to poverty; she is being given the seed capital to feed her family, pay school fees, and eventually scale her operations.

​An Unrelenting Liberator

​We must call things by their right names. In a climate where many public figures offer only empty promises or theoretical solutions, Oluremi Tinubu is offering tangible, immediate support.

She is an unrelenting liberator for those who do not have the luxury of time to wait for macro-economic theories to trickle down. She is tapping into the most potent, underutilized force in the Nigerian economy: the female entrepreneur. Those who suggest that the First Lady’s comments are “insensitive” are the ones who are truly detached.

They are detached from the reality of the Nigerian mother who finds joy, pride, and success in the sweat of her brow. They are detached from the grit that defines the true Nigerian spirit—a spirit that refuses to stay down even when the economy is tough.

​A Call for Economic Realism

​It is time to end the performative outrage. Let us applaud the First Lady for having the courage to speak plainly. Let us support the policy of granting capital to the grassroots, where it will have the most immediate and profound impact.

The akara seller, the corn roaster, and the kuli-kuli producer are the true, solid heroes of the Nigerian story. They are not waiting for an apology; they are waiting for the resources to keep building.
​Sunday Dare has provided the context; the First Lady has provided the action.

It is time for the rest of us to provide the support. Nigeria does not need more critics to tell us why we shouldn’t work. We need more leaders who understand that the only way forward is to start where we are, with what we have, and to do it with the unyielding, dignified, and unequivocal resolve of a mother determined to see her children succeed. This is our story, whether the detractors like it or not. And it is a story of which we should all be proud.

– Babagana, an essayist lives in Gombe.