Oral Traditions Tv

29/06/2026

'AKARALIZATION': THE NEW INDUSTRIALIZATION IN 21ST CENTURY NIGERIA?
A conversation the Office of the First Lady should hear.

Dear First Lady,

With the greatest respect, the office you occupy is too important to be remembered for encouraging Nigerian women to sell akara, agbado, and kuli-kuli.

Nigerian women do not need to be reminded that they are hardworking. They have proved that for generations.

The real question is:

Who is removing the obstacles standing between their hard work and prosperity?

A woman farmer cannot harvest her crops because of insecurity.

A market woman is harassed daily by agberos and multiple illegal levies.

A small business owner watches her goods perish because of bad roads and epileptic electricity.

An entrepreneur cannot import raw materials because of the rising exchange rate and crushing import duties.

A mother struggles to pay school fees that have become unaffordable, while healthcare is increasingly beyond the reach of ordinary families.

These are the battles Nigerian women fight every single day.

The Office of the First Lady should be championing policies that remove these barriers—not merely encouraging people to enter microbusinesses they already understand.

Imagine using that influence to:

Fight for safer farms and markets.

Support grassroots women through ward and local government structures.

Expand access to affordable credit for SMEs.

Advocate for better roads, stable electricity and clean water.

Push for policies that genuinely make doing business easier.

That would create lasting economic empowerment.

Instead, many Nigerians fear that these programmes risk becoming another version of the old "TraderMoni" model—announced with great fanfare but remembered by many more for politics than for lasting economic transformation.

Economic empowerment is not about handing out slogans.

It is about creating an environment where every trader, artisan, farmer and entrepreneur can succeed through hard work.

And to those rushing online to say, "My mother sold akara and trained all of us," no one is insulting honest labour.

Selling akara is a dignified business.

The issue is that today's Nigeria is not the Nigeria of yesterday.

Back then, education was more affordable. Healthcare was cheaper. The cost of living was lower. Government support existed in many sectors.

Today, many parents selling akara could struggle to pay hundreds of thousands of naira in school fees, meet rising medical bills, or cope with inflation that has made survival itself a daily battle.

The dignity of labour has never been in doubt.

The failure of leadership to create an enabling environment is.

Finally, our leaders should beware of political jobbers and professional praise singers. They clap for every policy, however flawed, because they seek personal gain—not national progress.

History has shown that many of the loudest applauders are often the first to abandon and condemn the same leaders once power changes hands.

Nigeria deserves more than applause.

Nigeria deserves solutions.

The conversation should not be about asking women to sell akara. It should be about building a nation where whatever a Nigerian woman chooses to sell can flourish without fear, harassment, or unnecessary hardship.

That is the true measure of economic empowerment.

23/05/2026

Modern Slavery: Teaching Job in Some Private Schools

I remember the day vividly. Full of hope and expectations, I walked into the school premises for a teaching interview. Like many job seekers desperate for an opportunity, I believed this could finally be the breakthrough I had been praying for.

The interview started. One question after another came at me like I was applying for a top government position. I answered patiently, hoping it would all be worth it in the end.

Just when I thought the interview was over, I was handed a test. Not an ordinary test, but pages upon pages of bulky questions. At a point, I wondered silently, “Am I writing for a teaching job or defending a PhD thesis?” Yet, I endured it all because I needed a job.

After the long process, I was finally called to discuss the terms of employment. The school owner looked at me and asked about my salary expectation. Before I could say much, he began outlining the conditions of service.

“You must dress corporately,” he said. “Suit and tie every day.”

“Resumption time is 7:30 a.m. You must arrive before most students.”

“Closing time is around 5:00 p.m.”

Then came another surprise.

“You will also help market the school. Talk to your neighbours, bring in children for admission, and encourage parents to enroll their wards.”

I listened carefully, expecting there would at least be commission for bringing students into the school. But there was none.

Finally, he mentioned the salary.

₦25,000.

For a moment, I thought I had heard wrongly.

A full corporate dress code. Long working hours. Extra unpaid marketing duties. Endless responsibilities. And the reward? ₦25,000.

I forced a smile, but deep inside, disappointment swallowed my hope. Walking away from that meeting, one thought echoed in my mind:

“Is this not modern slavery in the 21st century?”

Sadly, when I searched for other opportunities, reality hit even harder. Many private schools offered almost the same amount—₦25,000 or even less. The few schools paying slightly better had limited vacancies or impossible expectations.

For many passionate teachers, survival has become more important than passion. In some private schools, teaching no longer feels like a profession—it feels like endurance.

Yet, I refused to lose hope. I dropped the offer, picked myself up, and continued searching, believing that somewhere, there had to be an opportunity that respected both my effort and my worth.

This experience taught me one painful lesson: sometimes, desperation in the labour market allows exploitation to wear the clothes of employment.

23/05/2026

MODERN SLAVERY IN NIGERIA- THE BANKING SECTOR

He resumed work at the bank at 7:15 a.m., sharply dressed in a suit, smiling at customers, handling millions in cash daily. Targets to meet. Accounts to open. Customers to satisfy. Pressure from management. Daily reports. Endless calls.

To customers, he looked like a successful banker.

But behind the smile was pain.

He was an outsourced staff — earning barely enough to survive. No proper health insurance. No real career growth. Same targets as permanent staff. Same pressure. Same long hours. But only a fraction of the salary.

For years, he was told: “Work hard, your conversion will come.”

Five years became seven. Seven became ten.

Then one morning, after giving his youth, strength, and loyalty to the system, he received a simple message:

“Your service is no longer required.”

No compensation. No future plan. Just another graduate replaced.

Yet the same banks announce billions and trillions in profit yearly.

Is this employment… or modern slavery in suits?

Nigeria must begin to ask hard questions about the treatment of outsourced staff in commercial banks.

16/01/2026

09/01/2026

This video shows Nigerian Federal troops created a bridge to march towards Ore, (present day Ondo State) attacking Biafra Rebel Forces during the Nigerian Civil war (1967-1970). At the end, Nigerian Army captured Ore and chased Biafra Rebel eastwards.