In Nigeria, everyone is an entrepreneur

_{Translation of this article is provided by kompreno, using a combination of machine translation and human correction. More articles from MO* are included in kompreno‘s curation of the finest analysis, opinion & reporting — from all across Europe, translated into your language.}

Backed by the authority of a seemingly homemade uniform, the trio takes their chances. 'Papers, please,' it sounds through the open car window. It is not that they are not friendly. And neither do they look very threatening. But reflected in the spokesman's monkish smile is his country's original sin: corruption.

The trio has taken up post along an exceptionally bumpy stretch of road between Nigeria's largest city, Lagos, and the northern town of Abeokuta. That morning, they filled pits in the road with the red soil that defines the landscape deep into the Sahel. And for that effort, they charge a fee. This company, including a foreigner, might make their day.

While the spokesman discharges his duties, the two adjutants keep watch on either side of the car. Both men wield long sticks into which nails have been knocked. With these, they flatten the tyres of the audacious driver who is attempting an escape. Insofar as that flight would not prematurely run aground in one of the holes in the road, of course.

The identity papers do not suffice. Which documents are then missing is not specified even after insistence. It doesn't really matter, we don't have them anyway. And the price for that offence is set at 30,000 naira (converted to about 20 euros), an amount we can reduce to 2,000 naira after long negotiations. Exuberantly, the trio wish us a safe journey. Judging by the expansive face of my travelling companion, it seems to be business as usual.

Are these men freelance extortionists? Institutionalised beggars? Or are they just service providers? After all, they fill the gaps in the road. It is a question that will continue to arise throughout the journey in varying situations. For from minute one on Nigerian soil, the unsuspecting visitor, usually from uniformed people, is asked to contribute. It starts (and ends) at passport control in the airport, "Anything for the boys?

Digital transformation

In a building on Lekki Phase 1, Farmz2U holds offices. The hip little farming company has fully engaged with booming internet technology. An application provides inland farmers, on the one hand, with information on what is currently in demand on the market. On the other hand, they can purchase seeds and manure tailored to their personal situation. The app also provides micro-loans and puts farmers in touch with buyers. 'This eliminates the many middlemen, allowing farmers to see their profit margins increase,' explain founders Oluwatimilehin Akogun and Princess Ogbechie. Farmz2U already works with companies offering storage space, including Lekki Mills, good for 280 tonnes of cassava a month. By increasing the use of such contacts in the future, farmers will be able to radically boost their production.

Soneye Abolaji embodies the transformation the Nigerian agriculture sector is going through. As a financial expert, he came into contact with Farmz2U, after which it did not take long for him to be convinced by their vision for agriculture. Since then, he has been one of the many farmers connected to the network.

We are at Abolaji's field in Ogun State, near the regional capital Abuekuta. All technology notwithstanding, crops still need to be physically planted, and that is not so evident in Nigeria's interior. Next door is the only plough available in the entire region. Abolaji's seed-planting machine also generates a lot of interest among the other farmers. Like no other, he realises the luxury of such machines. 'I am happy to lend them out,' he says. 'If you have to do the same job by hand, you sweat yourself to death for days.' His farm workers, young, sinewy guys from neighbouring Benin, like to hear it.

Apart from digital innovation, can farmers count on government support? 'The government argues that the south of the country should focus on services, and that agriculture is for the north. Most agricultural investment therefore goes to the north. But Lagos is the biggest outlet and is in the south. That makes the supply chain terribly long. Actually, the government model does not make sense,' Abolaji believes.

This is precisely why he is so happy with the connection with Farmz2U. The connection with the organisation is special because it is based on the very un-Nigerian concept of trust. 'Farmz2U can only grow because of us, farmers,' Abolaji argues. 'But the same applies vice versa. That understanding is the basis of our cooperation.'

Social component

Oludiran Akinleye, professor of economics at the University of Lagos, has his reservations. He applauds Farmz2U's innovation, but still sees bread in an increase in scale. 'Therein lies the real gamechanger for the Nigerian agriculture sector.'

Still, newcomers like Farmz2U want to create precisely a network to compete on a large scale, the founders stress.

The same principle applies Soilless Farm Lab (SFL), another newcomer radically betting on scaling up. And here too, young people with a vision are at the helm. Soilless Farm Lab is demonstrating - again - in Abuekuta how it applies so-called organoponics, with which the company is deliberately betting on non-seasonal cultivation.

In essence, organoponics are raised beds on which, usually in greenhouses, you can grow certain crops all year round, without being tied to seasons or regions.

In addition, SFL also has an important social component. Much more than just a production centre, the company wants to be a training centre. Young people can enter a programme where they learn the ropes of farming. The aim is for them to take the knowledge they gain back to their home region, which should eventually lead to many production centres.

Joy took classes at SFL. 'Since attending the programme, I call myself farmer Joy. Gone are the days when farming was something for old men poking in the ground with a stick. Farming is the future,' she beams.

Joy's enthusiasm earned her a job as SFL's communications consultant. About that achievement, Joy is visibly elated. For as much as these kinds of programmes mean for employment and food production, in this country, paid employment is the holy grail. According to the National Bureau of Statistics, Joy is among the 7.7 per cent of Nigerians with official employment contracts.

Hip birds on Lagos Island

The flea market, the hippest of all trade concepts, has actually found its way to Lagos. In a dead-end street on Lagos Island, a DJ plays records while hip birds browse the wares in abundance. Should these not be displayed under the palm trees, you could imagine yourself at Dageraadplaats in Antwerp.

Hakeem has a stand there with vegan food. Even Lagos' finest do not immediately know what to make of veganism. People wander around the stall, until the rain suddenly pours down and the flea market, including the food stand, is drowned.

We go to Hakeem's office, just down the street, where he explains his vision of growth. 'If you want to convince Nigerians to eat vegan, you have to appeal to their health. Ecological arguments don't win here.'

That doing business in Nigeria is not easy, he is happy to confirm. 'There are many kinds of problems. One is that the tax system does not work efficiently, because the different services are not aligned and nobody knows who paid what. That is why few companies are officially registered.'

He admits that his own small business is not registered either, although that is something for the near future. The introduction of the national registration number with biometric data should deter tax fraud.

They haven't thought about a company name yet. But that doesn't really matter. It's not like the pension department will ever come knocking. And neighbours and market vendors will also find their way to their fish this way.

Business is good, though fish farming in the middle of the metropolis does bring problems. A water connection is something for the happy few. Like many people, the brothers rely on self-drilled wells. 'But the water is actually too acidic. That's why we regularly buy water from a private company that comes and delivers it to their doorstep.' Thus the logistics become very complex, but the brothers do not let their heads hang. A tadpole costs 25 naira (a mere two euro cents), but a full-grown point-and-kill is sold for 3,500 naira in the adjacent market.

Issa and Sonde's short chain excludes profit-margin gnawing middlemen altogether. Tomorrow promises to be a great day.

This report came about in part thanks to the logistical help of Mike and Anthony.

_{Translation of this article is provided by kompreno, using a combination of machine translation and human correction. More articles from MO* are included in kompreno‘s curation of the finest analysis, opinion & reporting — from all across Europe, translated into your language.}