If there is one thing Nigerians are known for, it is street food. Every corner has someone selling food, and people buying and eating without a care. For many Nigerians, mama put is more than just food. It is accessible, filling, and often a case of quantity over quality.

Compared to restaurants, Mama Put allows you to buy food in your own measure. Some call it “Iya Basira”, but deep down, it could be a silent threat to your health.

Studies show that over 70 percent of Nigerians eat from street food vendors daily or weekly, according to data from the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) and the World Health Organisation. The street food economy is estimated to contribute over ₦1 trillion annually, employing hundreds of thousands of Nigerians across cities and rural communities. It is not just a food culture; it is a vital part of the informal economy.

A few days ago, some friends shared how they suffered food poisoning after eating at a popular mama put. Denrele said that after eating to his fill, he was almost making the toilet his new bedroom, vomiting and defecating all at the same time. Tolani complained of a severe stomachache that landed her in the hospital. These are just a few examples of how quickly things can go wrong.

When good food turns risky

For Denrele and Tolani, it was just an experiment, trying something new. But for many Nigerians who eat at mama put daily, their bodies may have built some resistance. The danger, however, is not in the short term; it is a slow, silent one.

Every bite of rice or swallow from a roadside stall carries a story, and sometimes, a hidden risk. Health inspectors say many stalls reuse cooking oil until it turns black, breaking down into chemicals that can damage the heart and liver.
The water used to rinse dishes or vegetables often comes straight from untreated wells or streams. And the same sponge that washes spoons might have washed several other plates before the water is changed.

The air around most stalls is no better. Smoke from exhaust pipes, generators, and open drains mixes with the aroma of stew and fried plantain. That familiar aroma may remind us of home, but it also carries bacteria and microplastics that the eyes cannot see.

Dr Helen Ogundipe, a Lagos-based public health expert, said the problem is rarely about laziness. “Most vendors are just doing what they can with what they have,” she explained. “They work in places without clean water or proper waste disposal. So, even when they try, the environment works against them.”

The result? Typhoid, food poisoning, stomach upsets, and long-term health damage that most people never trace back to that delicious plate of amala.

A hustle built on survival

Still, nobody can talk about banning mama put. It feeds millions every day and keeps just as many people employed, especially women who run these stalls from dawn till dusk. In a country where life is hard, mama put is one of the easiest way to eat and to earn.

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Mama Joy, a popular vendor in Lagos, understands this life well. “If I do not sell, my children do not eat,” she said, stirring a pot of stew so hot the oil danced. “People come to me because they cannot afford restaurant food. We are all just trying to survive.”

Her words speak for thousands. Behind every plate of rice is a story of a woman hustling to make ends meet, of students pooling coins for lunch, of workers finding comfort in familiar taste after a long day. That is why Nigerians defend mama put so fiercely. It is not just food, it is family, culture, and survival.

Keeping the culture, fixing the danger

The truth is, Nigeria does not need to kill its street food culture. It only needs to clean it up. Access to clean water, basic hygiene training, and regular health inspections could go a long way. In some parts of Lagos and Abuja, health officers are already training vendors on food storage and contamination prevention. The change is slow, barely visible, but it is happening.

Consumers also have a role to play. Choosing stalls that look clean, serve freshly cooked food, and use clear washing water matters more than most realise. As nutritionist Grace Olayemi puts it, “Paying a little more at a cleaner stall is cheaper than paying hospital bills later.”

Mama put is not going anywhere. It has become an integral part of who we are, too sweet to forget and great for the economy. But if we want to keep enjoying that taste of home without fear, both vendors and buyers must play their part. Because good food should fill the stomach, not the hospital bed.

Cynthia Nwanonyiri