Between Selling Akara and Becoming Like Peller | Ogungbile ’Dotun

Every now and then, I come across those funny skits where someone says, “Life has already defeated you the moment you are born in Nigeria.” Like millions of Nigerians, I laugh. The jokes are hilarious, the delivery is perfect, and the comments are filled with laughing emojis. But after the laughter fades, I often find myself asking a painful question, what if the joke is simply another way of telling the truth? Because surviving in Nigeria is no longer ordinary living. It is warfare.

From the day many Nigerians are born, life becomes a continuous battle. You fight for electricity. You fight for quality education. You fight for healthcare. You fight for decent roads. You fight against inflation. You fight for security. You fight for employment. You fight for opportunities that should ordinarily be basic rights. Unless you are fortunate enough to be born into wealth, influence or political power, life constantly reminds you that survival comes before dreams.

Parents, guardians spend decades making sacrifices because they believe education remains the ladder out of poverty. Some sell family land. Some borrow money. Some deny themselves basic comfort so their children can attend school. Young Nigerians spend five, six or even seven years earning degrees because of strikes, unstable academic calendars and an educational system that seems permanently under pressure. They graduate with hope. They complete NYSC believing their lives are about to begin.

Then reality arrives. The degree that once represented hope suddenly becomes another document inside a brown envelope carried from one office to another. Hundreds of job applications receive no response. Interviews become rare privileges. Months turn into years. Hope slowly transforms into desperation.

I know graduates who leave home every morning wearing neatly ironed shirts, not because they are going to work, but because they cannot bear another neighbour asking why they are still unemployed. I know first-class graduates who have rewritten their CVs countless times without receiving a single invitation for an interview. I know engineers who now drive Bolt, pharmacists who operate POS kiosks, lawyers who sell thrift clothes online, teachers whose monthly salaries cannot comfortably feed a family, and lecturers who dedicate their lives to producing graduates yet struggle to afford the same lifestyle enjoyed by some internet celebrities. This is not fiction. This is modern Nigeria. Perhaps that is why two conversations that recently dominated social media refused to leave my mind.

The first was the controversy surrounding the Nigeria’s First Lady’s suggestion that Nigerians should embrace businesses such as selling akara, kuli-kuli and roasted corn as legitimate means of livelihood. The second was rapper Ycee’s controversial warning about what he described as the “Olodo Uprising,” a conversation that eventually expanded to include one of Nigeria’s biggest online personalities, Peller.

At first, they looked like two completely unrelated conversations. One was about entrepreneurship. The other was about ignorance. However, the more I reflected on both debates, the more I realised they were actually telling the same Nigerian story. The First Lady’s comments generated outrage, not because Nigerians believe selling akara is shameful. There has never been anything dishonourable about honest labour. Some of the wealthiest entrepreneurs in Nigeria started with little more than determination and resilience. Every economy depends on traders, artisans and small business owners.

That was never the issue. The issue was expectation. Government exists to create an environment where businesses flourish, investments grow and jobs are created. Citizens expect those in leadership to expand opportunities, not merely redefine survival. Parents did not spend millions sending their children to universities because they dreamed of hearing that selling akara might become the reward for years of academic sacrifice. They invested because they believed education would open doors.

So when many Nigerians heard the First Lady’s remarks, they interpreted them differently. They heard a government that appeared to be adjusting citizens’ ambitions instead of expanding their opportunities. The anger, therefore, was not directed at akara. It was directed at lowered expectations. Almost simultaneously came another debate.

Ycee lamented what he called the “Olodo Uprising,” arguing that Nigerian society increasingly celebrates ignorance, superficiality and virality more than education, intellectual excellence and critical thinking. His comments quickly sparked controversy, especially because many people felt they indirectly targeted popular streamer and content creator Peller. Whether Ycee intended it or not, Peller soon became the face of the conversation.And perhaps that was inevitable.

Today, Peller represents something much bigger than himself. Before reaching his twenties, he had already built one of Nigeria’s biggest online audiences. Through livestreaming, digital entertainment, brand partnerships and content creation, he reportedly acquired luxury vehicles, expensive jewellery, endorsements and a level of financial success that many graduates may never attain after decades in conventional careers. His success is real. His “hard work” is perhaps undeniable. And no one should apologise for legitimately making money. In fact, that is exactly why thousands of young Nigerians now admire him.

To many young people, Peller represents proof that the internet can provide opportunities where the traditional economy has failed. Can anyone honestly blame them? If one young Nigerian spends seven years studying engineering only to remain unemployed or eventually secures a job paying barely enough to cover transportation and rent while another earns millions every month through livestreams and digital content, what lesson is society teaching?

Young people rarely imitate speeches. They imitate results. Perhaps that is why more children now dream of becoming influencers than professors. More teenagers aspire to become streamers than scientists. More young people spend hours studying algorithms than textbooks. Not because education has suddenly become useless. But because survival has become urgent. This is where I think many people misunderstood the debate. The real problem is not Peller. Just as the real problem is not the akara seller. Both are responding to the same economic reality.

One survives through entrepreneurship. The other survives through the creator economy.

Neither created unemployment. Neither destroyed the educational system. Neither weakened the economy. They simply found ways to survive inside it. The real problem is the system that keeps forcing Nigerians to negotiate between potential and survival. It is a country where graduates increasingly abandon the professions they spent years preparing for because those professions no longer guarantee dignity.

It is a country where many doctors are preparing documents to leave. Where nurses dream of relocation more than promotion. Where lecturers teach future leaders while struggling to pay school fees for their own children. Where software developers celebrate foreign remote jobs because local opportunities are scarce. Where “Japa” has become more than a trend. It has become a national development strategy for individuals.

Nigeria is gradually exporting some of its brightest minds while simultaneously lowering the expectations of those who remain. That contradiction should disturb all of us. Perhaps Jarvis, Peller’s partner made one of the most important observations during the debate when she argued that if the country created enough opportunities, many young people would not feel compelled to rely on social media for survival.

Whether one agrees entirely or not, the point deserves reflection. A nation that creates opportunities gives its young people the freedom to choose their future. A nation that fails to do so leaves survival as the only curriculum. And that is exactly where Nigeria finds itself today. We are witnessing something more dangerous than an economic crisis. We are witnessing a psychological one. Dreams are quietly being renegotiated. Young Nigerians are no longer asking, “What do I want to become?” They are asking, “What will put food on my table?”

There is an enormous difference between those two questions. One is driven by purpose. The other is driven by desperation.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy is not that some graduates now sell akara. Neither is it that Peller became wealthy through content creation. The real tragedy is that a nation blessed with extraordinary talent has gradually reduced the dreams of its young people to a single desperate question, “How do I survive?” Once survival becomes a country’s highest ambition, excellence quietly becomes its greatest casualty. Hunger is a terrible negotiator.

It convinces brilliant people to settle for less than their potential, not because they lack ambition, but because they cannot afford to dream on empty stomachs. I refuse to believe that the Nigerian dream should end with choosing between selling akara and becoming the next Peller. A healthy nation should produce room for both.

There should be room for the entrepreneur who chooses to sell akara because they love business. There should also be room for the content creator who entertains millions and builds legitimate wealth. However, there must also be room for doctors to remain doctors. For engineers to build. For teachers to teach. For researchers to innovate. For lawyers to practise.For graduates to find dignity in the professions they spent years preparing for. That is what a functional country looks like.

Until then, every new controversy, whether it is about akara, Peller or the next viral sensation will merely expose the same uncomfortable truth. We have built a country where resilience is celebrated because opportunity is scarce. Where hustling receives more applause than planning. Where surviving has become more important than succeeding. Where excellence increasingly negotiates with hunger before it leaves home every morning.

The battle facing young Nigerians today is no longer simply about choosing a career.It is about choosing a means of survival. And perhaps the saddest thing about modern Nigeria is not that young people are choosing differently. It is that the country is leaving them with so few choices.

Ogungbile Emmanuel Oludotun