entrepreneur

Two women sell the same jollof rice recipe. One works in a big hotel kitchen, follows the head chef's instructions, and collects her salary on the 25th of every month, rain or sun. The other rents a small space in Yaba, buys her own pots and pepper, prices her own plates, and goes home some nights with ₦40,000 and other nights with nothing because the generator spoilt and half her chickens went bad.

That second woman is the entrepreneur. And not since she cooks better, but because she owns the risk. Nobody guarantees her a salary. If customers stop coming, she does not get paid. If she prices well and serves well, she keeps whatever is left after expenses, and that could be far more than any hotel salary. The chef gets safety. She gets the upside and the downside, both in full.

This is the whole difference between working for a business and being the business. An entrepreneur is someone who spots a gap, an idea, a problem worth solving, and puts their own money, time, or reputation behind it to build something that did not exist before. It could be a woman importing hair extensions from Lagos to sell to Nigerians in Peckham, London, or a young man in Enugu writing an app to help market traders track their stock on their phones.

The word gets thrown around loosely these days, attached to anyone with an Instagram page and a hustle. But the real test is simple. Who carries the risk if this fails? An employee's risk is capped. An entrepreneur's risk is open ended, and so is their possible reward.

It is worth saying too that entrepreneurship is not braver or nobler than employment. Both are legitimate ways to build a life. Some people are wired to want the stability of a salary, others cannot sleep unless they are building something with their own name on it. Nigeria has plenty of both, and needs both.