Overworked and Underpaid: A Graduate Selling Shoes at Post Office Ilorin to Stay Afloat
“People see me and think I’m just a regular hawker. But they don’t know I have a degree.”
In the bustling center of Ilorin, around the ever-busy Post Office area, the afternoon sun glints off the trays, carts, and displays of traders making a living. Among them is 26-year-old Azeezat Yusuf, balancing a basin of shoes and weaving through the crowd — a university graduate surviving through street hustle.
Yusuf earned her degree in Sociology from the University of Ilorin two years ago. Like many graduates, she had dreams of landing a stable job after completing her national service. But life after NYSC proved more difficult than she expected.
“After service, I applied to so many places,” she said. “I even worked as an intern at a private firm, but there was no salary. Everywhere I went, it was always ‘We’ll get back to you.’”
With no job offers and no source of income, Yusuf turned to something more practical — shoe selling. She learned the trade from an aunt who once sold footwear in Lagos. Every day, she travels to Oja-Oba market to restock and then heads to Post Office, where she either sets up a small roadside display or sells on foot, going from shop to shop, bus to bus.
Her main stock includes women’s sandals and slippers — colorful, affordable, and popular among students, market women, and civil servants. But profits remain slim. On a good day, she makes about ₦2,000. On slower days, it drops to ₦500 or less.
“It’s not easy,” Yusuf admitted. “The walking, the sun, even the insults. Some people laugh when they find out I’m a graduate. One man even asked, ‘So after all the schooling, it’s shoes you’re selling?’ I just smiled. They don’t understand.”
She says it’s especially painful when old classmates pass her by without recognition or offer polite nods from car windows.
“I’m not ashamed of my hustle, but it’s hard when people look down on you — as if you failed. I’m doing what I have to do.”
Her typical day starts before sunrise. She’s out by 7:30 a.m. and often doesn’t return home until nightfall. Market days are even longer.
Despite the exhaustion, Yusuf saves a little from each sale, working toward her dream of opening a small shoe boutique — a permanent place where she won’t have to hawk under the sun.
“I want stability,” she said. “Even if it’s a small shop, at least I’ll have peace of mind.”
Like many Nigerian graduates, Yusuf finds herself caught between limited opportunities and daily survival. She believes graduates doing small businesses deserve more respect and support, not pity or mockery.
“People think we’re lazy or unserious. They don’t see the struggle. The government needs to do better. Even small loans or grants could change someone’s life.”
For now, she keeps pushing, holding onto the belief that her current hustle is only temporary.
“I believe my breakthrough will come. I just need to keep showing up.”
In today’s Nigeria, where unemployment among graduates remains high, Yusuf’s story echoes far and wide — a reminder that behind every roadside hustle is a story of resilience, dignity, and quiet determination.
And under the hot Ilorin sun, at Post Office junction, a graduate sells shoes with the strength of someone who refuses to give up.
