It may have been because night had not yet fallen, or perhaps it was simply a reflection of the economic realities facing many Nigerians today, but a careful look at Abubakar and his suya stand told its own story. The evening rhythm that usually drew customers to roasted meat was missing. Instead, the smoke from his grill rose quietly into the air, unaccompanied by the usual crowd or chatter.

His makeshift stand, neatly arranged and strategically positioned at Evbuomwan Junction, a calm intersection leading into a government residential area in Benin City, Edo State, seemed almost too ready for customers who were slow to come. The neatness of the space and the careful arrangement of his ingredients suggested a man who understood his craft and was prepared for business that simply was not coming.

Unlike some of his kinsmen who are often reluctant to speak to journalists, Abubakar was warm and open when Saturday Tribune approached him. There was no hesitation in his voice, only a readiness to share his journey and the weight of the current economic climate on petty traders like him.

His posture was relaxed, but the worry behind his words showed a man grappling with change. He was determined to tell his story: one shaped by movement, survival, and the hope that tomorrow might be better.

“My name is Abubakar Muhammed Isa. I am in my mid-40s,” he began with calm confidence. “I am from Tangaza Local Government Area in Sokoto State. I am married with two children. I might take another wife as the years go by; that one, I am certain of.”

Abubakar arrived in Benin City five years ago in search of better opportunities. He described it as coming “to hustle”. In Sokoto, he had been in the orange-selling business “for a very long time,” a trade he eventually handed over to his younger brother when rising prices made it impossible to sustain his family.

“When I was selling orange, I used to make between N3,000 and N5,000 daily,” he explained. “But as prices of things kept increasing in the country, that money could not sustain my family.”

With that reality staring him in the face, he left Sokoto, leaving behind his parents, who are still alive, and entrusting the orange business to his younger brother. Benin, to him, represented a new path—one lined with fire, spice, and suya.

“My family lives with me here in Benin,” he added, pointing around the space that had become both workplace and survival hub.

The stand where Abubakar now sells suya costs him N10,000 monthly. It is a modest amount, but in today’s economy, even modest figures can sting. What truly burdens him, however, is the constant rise in the cost of everything, especially meat.

“Meat is so expensive now,” he lamented. “Sometimes you will buy meat and you won’t be able to make profit because of how expensive it is.”

On good days, he makes as much as N10,000 profit. On bad days, he makes nothing. “I can say the market is not stable,” he concluded.

His memories of the past government are tinted with economic relief. Whether others agree or not, he is firm about his experience. “As at when Buhari was in power, we used to sell N200 and N100 suya,” he said. “But now, the least you can get is N500, and that N500 suya is the same quality as the ₦100 one before.”

He continued, “No matter how you look at it, Buhari’s government was favourable to me more than this present government. People had money to eat suya as appetiser, full meal, and dessert.”

Today, the reality is different. According to Abubakar, many customers now prioritise food that can carry them through the day. Suya, once an accessible pleasure, has become a luxury.

“As at when Buhari was in government, I used to make at least N20,000 a day,” he said, insisting that his views were not influenced by regional sentiment. “I’m not saying this because I’m a Northerner but because it is the reality of things on ground.”

As evening deepened around his stand, Abubakar adjusted a slab of meat on the grill, the flames briefly lighting up his face. Despite the challenges, he continues to show up, day after day, hoping for a better turn.

“If anyone wants to help me,” he said thoughtfully, “I would want money to increase and expand my business.”

For Abubakar, the suya stand is more than a business. It is the bridge between survival and hope: a small fire burning in the middle of a harsh economic landscape.

His story mirrors that of countless Nigerians navigating an economy that seems to shift beneath their feet. Yet, like many, he keeps pushing, armed with faith, resilience, and the hope that tomorrow will bring better sales, cheaper meat, and a future worth waking up to.