Fulfilment or Survival?

This is my take on the raging debate between two professionals from my alma mater.

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Consider the physician who also sells fish and vends vegetables. What does their condition tell us? What do these side hustles reveal? We know that they wanted to be doctors when they were younger. They may have told us this themselves, that they were inspired by someone they admired, or perhaps flung towards a career in medicine by a tragic event, or even driven by the promise of the meaningful work of healing people. In their precocity, they then toiled in school towards this noble dream. And in college, they persisted in it. So, why are they now selling fish on Facebook? Why are teachers peddling imported bags on WhatsApp and nurses selling dresses on LinkedIn?

Others may claim that a doctor or a teacher should not demean themselves with such menial tasks as selling fish. Even in this vibrant modern age, the people in my village still prize doctors, teachers, lawyers and engineers above all other professions. And here lies a colonial violence of perception that still categorises labor into noble and ignoble domains. These hierarchies of labor are stubborn illusions that serve systems of human exploitation rather than human flourishing. These are inherited narratives, indoctrinated into us by economic and political structures that commodify human potential, and transform people into mere factors of production. They stem from a deeper insecurity, a fear of acknowledging the diverse brilliance in roles that the society unfairly undervalues. We must resist them, because “Kazi ni kazi!“[Work is work!]. We are not our professions, and no labor is inherently superior; dignity resides not in the task but in the human performing it.

In their side hustles, these professionals show us their potential. Despite their specialised education, their talents and capabilities are unconfined. They are not merely doctors, teachers, lawyers or nurses, but complex persons. Their side hustles are an expansion of their agency. They speak to the human capacity for personal and economic adaptability and resilience. These professionals believe that fulfilment can be found in multiple domains, and so they refuse to be defined by a single role. Perhaps, in honouring the quiet courage of those who traverse unfamiliar vocational roads, we might discover a richer, more compassionate vision of success—one where every form of honest labor is embraced as valuable and deeply human.

However, let us be straight: selling fish does not steady a surgeon’s hand, nor does peddling vegetables improve an engineer’s blueprint. Mastery requires deliberate practice within and around one’s field; every working hour spent elsewhere is an hour poorly spent. For in these engagements, transferable skills are minimal, and professional development almost negligible.

These side hustles, therefore, reveal a dark reality, a painful fight for economic freedom. They reveal that behind their tales of creativity and entrepreneurial adaptability is the silent scream of professional dignity stripped bare. Every fish sold by the surgeon is a testament to a life-long betrayal. Decades of dedicated education, intellectual labor, and societal commitment are rendered meaningless with every dress that they have to market. When specialised professionals undertake roles that society quietly undervalues, it illuminates not personal failure, but the erosion of vocational integrity.

The side hustle is therefore not an enhancement, nor is it a diminishment; it is a symptom of a failed government that has rendered professional dedication insufficient for basic sustenance. In this “Rutovian”, “bottom-up” economic landscape, the side hustle emerges not as a choice, but as an existential negotiation. It proclaims the devaluation of professional potential, and exposes that intellectual labor is no longer rewarded.

One wonders, therefore, whether these professionals can find spiritual sustenance in their newfound vocations. Because, in specialised work, people seek not just financial security but also a sense of meaningful contribution. But the current economic paradigm offers security as mere pacification rather than in recognition of good work. Vocational fulfilment has been subjected to the quiet violence of economic constraints, and this is eroding our need for purposeful engagement.

Hustling is not just about making ends meet; it is an exposure of how incompetent governments cannibalise their most educated, most dedicated professionals, forcing them into economic decisions that diminish their potential. It speaks to the erosion of the social contract that once promised that life-long dedication, higher education and specialised skill would be adequately compensated. The side hustle is not a choice, it is a desperate negotiation with a system that has failed its most invested citizens. Therefore, in their economic performances, we witness the quiet desperation of children whose dreams must make room for survival. And so we are left with a question: What becomes of a society that kills the dreams of its own children?

V.

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