There’s an old saying: no king reigns forever. In Lagos, Aswani Tuesday Market was once king. More than a market, it was a lifeline. Families survived on it. Fortunes were made there. Entire communities grew because of it.
But today, Aswani is struggling.
Like Balogun Market on Lagos Island and Ogba Sunday Market, it now wobbles under rising costs, years of neglect, and tough competition from shopping malls and online stores.
What went wrong? And what lessons are there for today’s booming markets in Sangotedo and Lekki?
When Aswani Was King
In the 1980s, Aswani Tuesday Market was where everyone wanted to be. Every Tuesday, traders and buyers from across Lagos and as far as Benin Republic flooded the area. It wasn’t just about buying and selling; it was an event.
At its peak, major Nigerian textile companies like Aswani Textile Mills, Afprint, and United Nigerian Textiles used the Aswani Market as a key distribution point.
These companies brought their goods lace fabrics, guinea brocade, and other textiles straight to the traders, often at discounted prices. Trucks lined the streets from Five-Star Junction to Guardian Newspapers’ gate along Airport Road, offloading goods in bulk.
Mama Bisi was one of the market queens. She started selling lace fabrics in 1982. “Those days,” she says, “if you come late to Aswani, you go cry. Before you price one wrapper, another customer don carry am.”
The energy was electric. Traders lined the roads, shouting, “Customer! Come buy! Today na today!” Buyers bargained with smiles. Cash changed hands fast. By day’s end, traders counted their profits until their fingers ached.
“I built two flats from this market,” Mama Bisi says with pride. “From selling lace and guinea brocade, I sent my son to school abroad.”
Abbey, an engineer, who now lives in Olambe-Akute, remembers helping his mother sell clothes at Aswani in 1983 and 1984. Back then, they lived in Mushin and made the journey every Tuesday.
“From Five-Star to Guardian on Airport Road, everywhere was full,” he recalls. “The market was too crowded, so traders spilled onto the nearby streets.
But everything was organized. Security was tight because it was a cash market. And the big companies came with their trucks and cleared stock at giveaway prices.”
Those were days when Lagos’ textile industry was the second-largest employer after the government. The Aswani market thrived because the factories were booming. But trouble wasn’t far off.
The 1990s: Business was still good, but trouble was coming
By the 1990s, Aswani was still booming. Alhaja Idayat, now 74, sold first-hand shoes during those years.
“People dey buy well,” she says. “But wahala don dey small small. Area boys dey come collect money. Sometimes rain go fall, spoil goods. And the roads no good again.”
Rents were rising. The streets became more crowded, harder to navigate. Still, traders endured because customers kept coming. Buses arrived from Kano, Ibadan, and Cotonou. Traders came with cash and left with goods.
But by then, the local textile companies that once supplied Aswani were struggling. Cheap imports flooded the market. Smuggling and inconsistent government policies hit the industry hard. Many of those big textile mills shut down by the late 1990s, removing a major pillar of Aswani’s success.
The fall came fast
By the early 2000s, Aswani’s troubles deepened. Shopping malls like The Palms in Lekki and Ikeja City Mall opened. Online shopping followed. Suddenly, people could buy clothes and shoes from the comfort of their homes. They no longer had to hustle through Aswani’s tight alleys.
But it wasn’t just competition that hurt Aswani. The roads deteriorated. The stretch from Five-Star to Guardian became notorious for deep potholes and flooding. Delivery trucks and buyers struggled to get in, and many gave up.
“It got so bad that even Emzor Pharmaceuticals wanted to fix the road,” recalls Engr. Abbey. “But the local officials blocked it with unnecessary levies.”
Meanwhile, traders faced rising costs. Levy rates skyrocketed. Some were told to pay between ₦500,000 and ₦600,000 for market renovations money many couldn’t afford.
“We pay for parking, security, sanitation, loading space,” says Mr. Chike, a former jeans trader. “After paying all that, wetin remain for pocket?”
By the time the government finally repaired the roads, it was too late. The customers had moved on.
Today: A market hanging on
Aswani Tuesday Market still stands. The roads are better now. But the crowds are gone. The energy is quieter. Many old traders have retired, and their children want no part of the business.
Alhaja Idayat’s daughter, Aminat, now runs their family stall. “We use POS now,” she says. “Some customers order on WhatsApp. But it’s not like before. We wait hours sometimes before we see one person buy anything.”
Many traders stay because they have nowhere else to go. “We dey here because where we wan go?” Aminat asks.
Lessons for today’s booming markets
Sangotedo, Ajah, and Lekki markets are thriving today. But Aswani once was too. The warning is clear: no market stays on top without leadership and maintenance.
Traders and government officials need to work together to ensure clean surroundings, affordable rent, good roads, and fair levies. ‘If you don’t take care of traders,’ warns Lukmon, PA to the Iya Oloja of Aswani, ‘the market will fall.’
Neglect killed Aswani’s glory days as much as competition from malls and online stores did. Malls and technology aren’t the only threats—bad roads, insecurity, and government greed are just as dangerous.
Aswani’s story is Lagos’ story
Mama Bisi still opens her shop every Tuesday. She sees fewer faces these days. But she refuses to quit. “This market built me,” she says. “I owe it.”
But her warning rings loud: “Any market wey no take care of traders, that market go die.”
For Lagos, a city built on trade, the lesson is simple: protect the markets, and they will protect the people. Let them fall, and everyone loses. (BusinessDay)
