That GST 301P lecture delivered by Remi Tinubu on kuli-kuli and akara felt less like a routine address and more like a national seminar held in the open, with the First Lady standing in as an unexpected course facilitator.
In the university, Entrepreneurship Studies, GST 301, with codes that shift across departments and schools, remains a compulsory gate every student must pass before graduation. Its mandate is to expose undergraduates to practical skills, awaken enterprise, and nurture creativity, innovation and self-reliance. What Senator Oluremi Tinubu offered, then, reads like a post-graduation update, a GST 301P, where “P” stands for a pragmatic re-entry into the reality of survival. She framed the session around a line that traveled fast across the media: “It doesn’t cost a lot of money to start akara, kuli-kuli and roasted corn business.”
In the video that set social media alight, she urged Nigerians to consider micro-enterprises that demand little capital but can still sustain a household. “We are trying to give hope. To start akara business does not take a lot of money. To start roasting corn and kuli kuli does not take much. We did not give them a loan, we gave them a grant. We have encouraged Nigerians as best as we could,” she said. Beyond that, she recounted personal interventions: N2 billion for tuberculosis, N1 billion for breast cancer, N500 million for food-related malnutrition, alongside scholarships, ICT training, and agricultural and social investment support. The tone was hopeful, almost pastoral, yet the reception was split. Many Nigerians debated whether micro-grants and street-level trades can hold up against inflation, job scarcity, and the rising cost of living.
Trust Nigerians to read between the lines. Across campuses and neighborhoods, students have been packaging zobo, baking cakes, learning hair and cosmetics, sewing, soap-making, bread-making, and a host of other trades as viable paths to survival. What surprised many was hearing akara, kuli-kuli, and roasted corn spoken from an official podium. For some, it sounded “unpresidential,” too local, too common. Yet that reaction exposes a deeper orientation. The same students who draft business plans and feasibility studies for micro-enterprises often overlook the very items that dominate daily life. The First Lady’s choice suggests she could not think far outside what countless students also cannot think past when it comes to small and medium enterprises: the cheap, available, natural, local commodities we dismiss even as we depend on them.
This is not an exercise in praise or condemnation, but an attempt to interpret the moment. The first question is simple: do we consume kuli-kuli, akara, and roasted corn? If yes, what exactly is wrong with those who sell them? The answer is uncomfortable. These foods remain among the cheapest, most accessible nutrition for both masses and elites. The contempt attached to the trade has little to do with legitimacy or returns and everything to do with a misplaced hierarchy that values branding over substance. A bowl of kuli-kuli with akamu, or moi-moi with pap, offers a more balanced nutritional profile than many carbonated drinks or packaged juices that, as NAFDAC has warned, suffer high rates of fakes in the market.
Zobo, drawn from Hibiscus sabdariffa, delivers vitamin C, anthocyanins, iron, calcium, magnesium, potassium, citric acid, and flavonoids, with research showing antihypertensive, antioxidant, and lipid-lowering effects when taken moderately. Kuka, made from dried baobab leaves, brings calcium, iron, zinc, magnesium, potassium, vitamins A, C and B, protein, and fiber, with its mucilage supporting digestion and its iron-vitamin C pairing aiding anemia prevention. Soya beans, often called “the meat of the poor,” supply complete protein, unsaturated fats, fiber, isoflavones, and minerals that support heart health, blood sugar control, bone density, and satiety. Scholars of nutrition and public health have long argued that the valorization of processed, branded beverages over indigenous foods distorts consumption and health outcomes. When we measure worth by price tag rather than nutrient density, we underprice our own food system.
Here, theoretical lenses help. Schumpeter’s theory of entrepreneurship insists that innovation is not only about invention but about recombining existing resources in new, valuable ways. Sarasvathy’s effectuation theory adds that expert entrepreneurs start with “what they have” such as identity, knowledge, networks, rather than chasing distant, capital-intensive ideals. Kirzner’s alertness perspective reminds us that opportunity often hides in plain sight, in everyday gaps. Seen this way, akara, kuli-kuli, roasted corn, zobo, kuka, and soya are not relics; they are raw materials for value creation. The problem is orientation. We have not built dignity around these trades, nor have we modernized, preserved, packaged, and rebranded them to command higher patronage. A doctor is not ridiculed for healing, and a teacher is not despised in societies that understand development, yet in our context we often sneer at the very work that is abundant and accessible.
If the GST 301P lecture feels underwhelming to some, it may be because the audience is not monolithic. For the truly vulnerable, a grant to start akara or kuli-kuli can be a lifeline, not a ceiling. Many scholarship schemes, for example, target public-school students precisely because that is how need is signaled. To fault such targeting for “keeping people in public schools” misses the point: it is about eligibility, not aspiration. Similarly, micro-enterprise support is about survival and entry, not the final destination. The missing layer, and where the lecture becomes vulnerable to critique, is mentorship. Survival without a growth roadmap can feel like adaptation to poverty rather than a bridge to prosperity. What would transform the message is a second half of the curriculum: how to modernize production, adopt food-safety standards, package for retail, access markets, digitize sales, and scale from the roadside to supermarkets. It is the difference between granting a grant and cultivating a graduate.
The returns on these “local” items will rise when we realign priorities, needs, and perception. Imagine kuli-kuli fortified with soya for protein, vacuum-sealed for shelf life, and branded with nutrition labels. Imagine zobo with reduced sugar, pasteurized and bottled under NAFDAC guidelines, positioned as a healthier alternative to sugary drinks. Imagine kuka powder standardized for consistent draw, marketed for anemia and bone health, and paired with recipes for urban kitchens.Research already supports the health value; what remains is the entrepreneurial work of reframing, processing, and storytelling. That is where Schumpeterian recombination, effectual action, and Kirznerian alertness meet.
In the end, the First Lady’s lecture may not have been addressed to everyone. If you find yourself despising the recommendation, it may simply mean you are not the intended beneficiary, or that you have outgrown the entry point. The lecture should be read as an invitation, not a verdict. It asks Nigerians to take the local seriously, to stop confusing cheapness with worthlessness, and to build enterprises that are rooted in what we already have but elevated by skill, standards, and imagination. The dignity of work is not imported. It is earned by how we treat the trades at our doorstep, how we modernize them, and how we teach the next cohort to move from survival to scale.
Bagudu can be reached via bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or 07034943575.
