Ayetoro Market: The Day Waste Found a New Life

The Zero Waste Ambassadors had arrived. They did not come with uniforms or trucks. They came with warm smiles, a small public-address system, and a message that would soon stop many traders in their tracks. As the first words echoed through the market in Yoruba and Pidgin English, people turned their heads. Before long, more than fifty traders—mostly women, who made up about 70% of the crowd had gathered around, listening without having to leave their stalls.

Temitope, one of the ambassadors, held up a handful of spoiling vegetables. “Una see this?” he asked, waving them lightly. “E no be waste o. If una separate am from plastic and bottles, this thing fit turn to compost, and compost fit bring money.”

A few traders laughed, thinking he was joking. Money? From things they swept away every day? But as he explained how mixed waste becomes dirty and useless, and how separated organic waste can actually be transformed into something farmers want, the laughter turned into murmurs of interest.

“So, we go get paid if we bring our market waste?” one woman asked boldly.

Simbiat, the ZeWA secretary, quickly stepped forward. “No be say dem go buy the waste as e be like this,” she said gently. “But if una turn am to compost, farmers go buy the compost. That one get value.”

More traders nodded. It suddenly made sense. Compost was not a strange idea—it was something their parents used, something their farms knew well.

Then Oshineye, another ambassador, pointed toward the direction of the Oke Osho dumpsite. “All the fruit and vegetables una dey throw away? When e reach dumpsite, e dey produce methane a gas wey dey heat the environment fast-fast. Na the reason why heat dey increase, flooding dey happen, even farming don dey hard.”

A few traders looked down at their baskets, realizing the impact of what they tossed out each day.

And when Adebowale warned them about the dangers of burning plastic—how it releases toxic smoke that hurts their lungs, causes asthma, and even cancer—the crowd grew even more attentive. They had all seen smoke rising from behind the market. Many had coughed through it.

By the time the campaign ended, something had changed.

Traders who once saw waste as a problem began to see it as an opportunity. They asked questions. They shared their concerns. And many openly requested practical training on how to produce compost themselves.

The ambassadors could feel it this market was ready for a transformation. It was not just about climate change anymore; it was about cleaner stalls, better health, and maybe even a small new income on the side. It was about dignity. About taking control of their environment.

And perhaps most importantly, it was about knowing that the waste they once ignored could help feed farms across Lagos.

Recommendations woven into the story

For this new awareness to grow into lasting change, Lagos State has a role to play. Markets like Ayetoro need support, not just encouragement. Simple steps like providing colour-coded bins, giving traders training on composting, and ensuring LAWMA collects organic waste separately can make all the difference.

If the State promotes waste segregation at source and diverts organic waste to composting facilities instead of dumpsites, the mountains of rotting waste that fuel heat, flooding, and sickness can be turned into a source of life—soil food—rather than a source of pollution.

Ayetoro Market has shown it is ready. With the right support, Lagos can turn many more markets into cleaner, healthier, zero-waste communities.