Election season has arrived, and with it comes the familiar spectacle of politicians distributing cash at public gatherings. They dress it up as empowerment, their media allies trumpet their generosity, and ordinary citizens are expected to respond with gratitude.
Those of us who've watched this cycle before know how the story ends.
The money vanishes once the votes are counted.
First Lady Oluremi Tinubu's recent decision to hand out N50,000 grants to small traders and party workers has ignited debate, though not always for the right reasons. Her suggestion that starting an akara or kulikuli business doesn't require substantial capital drew particular attention and somewhat overshadowed the deeper questions about what such gestures actually achieve for the economy and society.
"We are trying to give hope, and to start the akara business doesn't take a lot of money. To start roasting corn, or somebody even said kulikuli, doesn't take much," Mrs Tinubu said during the event.
She was partly correct and partly mistaken in this sweeping claim about what occasional, politically-timed grants can accomplish for broader economic growth. History shows that countless major multinational corporations began with minimal resources.
Colonel Sanders built Kentucky Fried Chicken from a neighbourhood catering operation into a worldwide phenomenon.
Carlsberg started when a man named Carl began brewing on a hilltop—"berg" meaning hill in German—selling to a handful of local customers before becoming a global brand. Food and beverage companies across the world followed similar trajectories from humble beginnings.
In this respect, the First Lady made a valid point.
She was equally right to emphasise the dignity inherent in honest work, regardless of how humble it appears. Idleness breeds both crime and social decay.
Every developed nation was built on the backs of workers performing tasks others scorned and earning their wages honestly.
Even today, despite technological advancement, millions work as dishwashers, groundskeepers, and seasonal farm labourers. These workers form the backbone of the global food chain and supply chain.
For countless people worldwide, their livelihood depends entirely on these jobs, however unglamorous.
But her argument crumbles in three critical ways.
First, exceptions don't establish rules. Shortly after her remarks sparked controversy, a handful of women came forward—one selling moinmoin, another cooking beans and rice—all earning slightly better incomes than akara sellers.
The pattern reveals the flaw in the First Lady's logic.
