By Oluwaseyi Ige

They don’t trend on social media. They don’t speak at conferences. They’re not the faces in campaign posters or corporate profiles. But without them, Africa’s cities would stall, public offices would freeze, and homes would fall apart.

From cleaners in Marrakesh restrooms to transporters in Maputo weaving through chaotic traffic, millions of Africans are working jobs they never dreamed of. Not by passion, but by necessity. And yet, they show up—day after day—to keep the continent moving.

According to the International Labour Organization (ILO), over 85% of sub-Saharan Africa’s workforce is informal or employed in low-income, low-productivity jobs. These are positions often dismissed as “ordinary”—yet include indispensable roles such as lab technicians running blood tests in under-resourced hospitals, security guards patrolling school gates, cooks in roadside restaurants, and taxi drivers navigating cities with little protection or pay.

In Nigeria alone, the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) reports that more than 20 million people are engaged in “elementary occupations.” These include office assistants, cleaners, market porters, and Okada riders. The country’s education sector is no exception—public and private school teachers often earn below-average wages while shouldering the nation’s hope for an educated future. And in the sports industry, behind every celebrated athlete is a team of groundskeepers, local coaches, jersey washers, and trainers, these workers who ensure whatever is needed is done so that our stadiums function and games go on, yet rarely get a mention.

Their contributions are immense, but society treats them as invisible.

The common narrative often celebrates tech entrepreneurs, reformist politicians, and elite professionals. But what of the woman who prepares 200 plates of rice daily at her roadside buka? What of the young man who teaches 60 pupils in an overcrowded classroom with no electricity? Or the lab assistant in a rural clinic working overtime with outdated equipment?

Many ended up in these roles not by choice, but because life gave them few alternatives. Some were derailed by poor or no early education. Others found themselves in bad marriages, had kids too early out of wedlock, or trapped in the consequences of prior decisions. A few are victims of policy gaps and poor governance. “In Africa, opportunity is not just unequal—it is rationed,” said the late Malawian scholar Thandika Mkandawire, whose work on African development highlighted how systemic barriers shape personal destinies.

Aisha, 43, cleans offices in Victoria Island, Lagos. She has done so for over a decade. “I wanted to be a nurse,” she says, “but I had to drop out when my father died. This job is not what I planned, but it keeps my children in school.” Like millions across the continent, Aisha doesn’t live her dream, but she works to keep others’ dreams alive.

According to a 2024 World Economic Forum (WEF) briefing on Africa’s labor future, economies must begin to “recognize the dignity of labor at every level” to foster inclusive development. Without such recognition, we risk building fragile societies propped on invisible suffering.

And the implications extend beyond the workplace. A UNICEF report warns that children from households in low-income and insecure jobs are more likely to suffer poor nutrition, drop out of school, or be forced into child labor themselves, perpetuating the cycle of disadvantage.

Africa’s youth, which is over 70% of the population, is vibrant, aspirational, and talented. But many of them are stuck in what Harvard professor Dani Rodrik calls “premature economic stagnation,” where the formal job market cannot absorb the growing labor force. While tech hubs and innovation clusters are celebrated, the average worker—without access to advanced education or elite networks—remains stranded in survival mode.

Still, they persist. With quiet dignity. With enduring strength. And often, with little thanks.

To quote Nigerian academic and satirist Pius Adesanmi (of blessed memory), “In Africa, to be ordinary is to be heroic.” In that sense, the overlooked workers like the cooks, teachers, cleaners, security men, and Okada riders are some of the most heroic of all.

It’s time we recognized them. Not with pity, but with respect. Not as failures, but as pillars.

Because without them, nothing works.