If you really want to see Africa’s economy at work, don’t bother walking into the skyscrapers. Go to the markets. Go where the air smells like roasted maize and car exhaust, where somebody’s yelling prices in three languages, and where money changes hands faster than you can blink. That’s where the continent truly breathes — in the small-scale businesses that keep everyone moving, one sale at a time.

These aren’t fancy startups or big corporations. They’re the women selling second-hand clothes in Kumasi, the guy fixing tyres in Lagos, the youth roasting chicken in Kampala. For many of them, “entrepreneur” isn’t even a word they use. They just say, “I’m trying.” But that “trying” — that’s what keeps everything alive.

It Starts with Survival

Most people don’t wake up one morning saying, “I want to start a small business.” It’s more like, “I don’t have a choice.” Jobs are scarce, salaries are low, and bills don’t wait. So you sell something. Anything. That’s how it begins.

I once met a woman in Takoradi who sold fried yam by the roadside. She started with a borrowed frying pan and 50 cedis. By the time I met her, she had two assistants and was supplying a local school. No investor, no training, no business plan — just grit. When I asked her how she managed, she smiled and said, “When hunger is behind you, you don’t stop.” That sentence sums up African entrepreneurship better than any book I’ve read.

The Informal Powerhouse

Economists call it “the informal sector,” but that word doesn’t fit. There’s nothing informal about working from dawn till night, every day, rain or shine. These small businesses feed families, pay rent, send kids to school — they are the real employers.

There’s a system in the chaos, too. In some markets, traders take goods on credit each morning, sell through the day, and pay back at night — no paperwork, just trust. It’s rough, but it works.

Still, without proper support, growth is hard. Most small-scale owners can’t access loans or insurance. When disaster strikes — fire, flood, or illness — it wipes out years of effort. There’s no safety net, only the hope to start again.

The Money Wall

Here’s where the story gets tricky: money. Or rather, the lack of it.

Banks want collateral. Microfinance institutions charge high interest. Government grants? You’ll fill a thousand forms and still wait. For many, borrowing means going to friends, family, or — when things get desperate — local moneylenders.

I spoke to a young tailor once who told me, “My business grows by patience, not by loans.” He meant it. He couldn’t get a bank to look at him, so he expanded one customer at a time. That’s the reality for millions.

But change is coming slowly. Mobile banking and fintech are helping bridge the gap. In Kenya, M-Pesa turned mobile phones into bank accounts. In Ghana, small traders now receive digital payments through QR codes. It’s progress — not perfect, but progress.

Women: The Hidden CEOs

Let’s be honest — women hold Africa’s business world together. Go anywhere, and you’ll see it. From market traders in Nigeria to small farmers in Malawi, women are the backbone of small-scale enterprise.

They’re not doing it for recognition or headlines. They’re doing it because they have families to feed and children to send to school. I once asked a woman in Tema how she managed her fish-selling business. She laughed and said, “I don’t manage it, it manages me.” Yet she was earning enough to put her daughter through university.

When women succeed in business, the benefits ripple outwards — better homes, healthier children, stronger communities. It’s not an exaggeration; it’s visible everywhere.

Challenges That Refuse to Go Away

Running a small business here isn’t a fair fight. Power cuts, bad roads, high prices — all constant. One week, your goods are stuck at the border; the next, fuel prices rise overnight. You improvise or you sink.

Corruption also lurks in the shadows. Getting a simple permit can take weeks unless you “know someone.” It’s draining, and many just give up on formal registration altogether. Who can blame them? When form-filling takes food off the table, people stay informal.

Even so, small business owners have a resilience that borders on defiance. I’ve seen traders rebuild stalls after fires, restock after theft, and start over after pandemics. It’s heartbreaking and inspiring at the same time.

Technology: A Ray of Light

If there’s one thing giving small businesses a fighting chance, it’s technology. Mobile money, WhatsApp marketing, online delivery — these tools have opened doors that used to be sealed shut.

During COVID, many street vendors went digital overnight. A fruit seller in Nairobi told me she made more money through WhatsApp orders than she ever did on her stall. It wasn’t easy — data is expensive — but it worked. The phone became her new storefront.

Still, not everyone’s included. Internet coverage is patchy in rural areas, and older traders struggle to adapt. But the direction is right. Africa’s entrepreneurs are learning to use tech not as decoration, but as survival gear.

The Way Forward

If Africa really wants to grow, it has to start where the heartbeat is — the small-scale businesses. Policies should match reality. Simplify taxes. Cut red tape. Give micro-loans without making people mortgage their lives.

But more than that, give them respect. Too often, policymakers talk about “the informal sector” like it’s a nuisance. It’s not. It’s the foundation. Without it, entire economies would crumble.

And maybe that’s the shift we need — from calling these people “informal” to calling them what they are: innovators, providers, builders of futures.

A Last Thought

Sometimes when I pass through a busy market, I stop and watch the traders for a while. The rhythm, the banter, the quiet confidence — it’s better than any business lecture. These people don’t just trade goods; they trade hope. Every sale is a small act of faith that tomorrow will come.

So when economists talk about GDP growth and inflation, I think of those traders. Because while the numbers rise and fall, they never stop moving. That’s Africa — imperfect, beautiful, stubbornly alive.

And if you ever doubt where real strength comes from, just spend an hour in a market. You’ll see it — in every smile, every hustle, every deal sealed with a handshake.