Abimbola Adelakun’s The Unexampled Life of Sunday Dare is Apt Example of Elite Contempt | By Maroof Asudemade

When respected columnist Abimbola Adelakun penned her article titled The Unexampled Life of Sunday Dare, I expected a rigorous critique of governance, public policy, and leadership. Instead, what emerged was a familiar strain of intellectual elitism wrapped in elegant prose; a contemptuous dismissal not only of Sunday Dare’s trajectory, but also of the millions of ordinary Nigerians whose daily struggles sustain this country. She was responding to Sunday Dare’s statement in an interview with Seun Okinbaloye that his mother was a petty trader in Jos.

I am quite clear that disagreement with a public official is legitimate. Criticism is the lifeblood of democracy. But when criticism morphs into ridicule of petty traders, roadside entrepreneurs, and informal sector workers, it reveals more about the critic’s social distance from the Nigerian reality than about the subject of the criticism. Therefore, my intervention here is not really a rebuttal on behalf of Sunday Dare, who is eminently, brilliantly able to write a more befitting rebuttal. My intervention is on behalf of the old generation and the new generation of petty operators in informal sector of the Nigerian economy, who are above the ridicule that Abimbola Adelakun subjects them in her cynical column.

Sunday Dare’s story is not unexampled because he is perfect. It is significant because it reflects a path many Nigerians recognize, that is the journey from modest beginnings through education, media, public engagement, and national service. To sneer at such a trajectory is to sneer at the aspirations of countless young Nigerians who believe that hard work and opportunity can still change their circumstances.

More troubling is the underlying suggestion that association with the informal economy is somehow a mark of inferiority. Has the columnist forgotten that the informal sector contributes substantially to Nigeria’s GDP and employs the overwhelming majority of our workforce? The woman selling akara at dawn, the man repairing shoes by the roadside, the trader in Bodija, Dugbe, Oje, or Ojoo are not objects of satire. They are the shock absorbers of a fragile economy. They pay rent, train children, support relatives, and keep commerce alive even when formal institutions fail.

Nigeria’s tragedy is not that petty traders exist; it is that governments have not done enough to provide them with infrastructure, credit access, social protection, and dignified working conditions. Any commentary that mocks them while ignoring the structural failures that produced their condition risks sounding detached from the lived experiences of the majority. This is where Senator Oluremi Tinubu’s reference to akara and kulikuli in her speech, laden with her other multi-billion naira interventions for youth development, healthcare and women empowerment, becomes instructive.

As for Sunday Dare, one may debate his policies, his politics, or his performance in office. Those are fair grounds for public scrutiny. But reducing his life to a metaphor for national failure is intellectually lazy. Public figures should be assessed by evidence, not by the social prejudices of commentators.

The Nigerian public deserves criticism that enlightens, not criticism that entertains the educated class at the expense of the poor. We must resist the growing culture in which the struggles of ordinary people become literary props for elite commentary.

I hold that the dignity of labour is non-negotiable. The roadside hawker, the pepper seller, the vulcanizer, the bus conductor, and the market woman are not embarrassments to Nigeria; they are evidence of a people’s resilience in the face of institutional neglect. What am I even saying? In technologically advanced countries like China, India, Japan and others, there is ubiquity of petty operators in their informal sectors.

If Sunday Dare’s life symbolizes anything, it is that a Nigerian can emerge from humble roots and participate in national affairs. That may not fit the preferred narrative of some columnists, but it remains a story worth respecting. The other day, SAN Niyi Akintola’s story of humble beginning as a son of moinmoin seller went viral. There are many other narrations of humble beginnings from many of today’s members of Nigerian elite yet untold. It’s the reason I advocate reading of memoirs, biographies and autobiographies by Nigerian youths.

The real unexampled phenomenon in Nigeria is not the rise of individuals from modest backgrounds. It is the persistence of a privileged discourse that finds it easier to mock the hustling masses than to confront the deeper failures of governance, economic exclusion, and social inequality that continue to define our national life. What conversation is better than addressing these?