Every time you look at a price tag and think, “Why is this thing so expensive?”, there’s usually a story behind it. One that includes juggling rising costs, unpredictable dollar rates, demanding customers, and the heartbreak of underpricing your own labour just to make a sale.
We asked four Nigerian business owners across different industries to show us exactly how they set their prices, what affects those prices, and how they make sure they’re not running at a loss. They give us a behind-the-scenes look at the balancing act of staying affordable, competitive, and profitable in an economy that makes no promises.
“I balance ingredient costs and customer expectations to keep my prices fair and my business running” — Zalim, Small Chops Vendor
I started my small chops business in 2021 and handle everything myself. I currently sell three sizes: small packs for ₦5,000, medium for ₦10,000, and large for ₦20,000.
Pricing isn’t straightforward because the cost of ingredients like flour, oil, chicken, and plantains changes with the seasons. Sometimes, I pay less, and sometimes much more. So, I don’t break down the cost of each item to figure out my profit. That would be impossible.
What I do is look at how much money I spend every month on ingredients, usually about ₦200,000, and then how much I make when I sell everything, which is around double that. From the money I make, I set aside 40% as my take-home and profit combined. Half of that 40% is my salary, and the other half is the profit I keep to grow the business. The rest goes right back into buying ingredients and running things.
Customers expect certain prices, so I don’t just increase mine whenever costs rise. I check what other vendors charge in my city at least twice yearly to ensure I’m not too high or too low. I’ve only raised my prices twice since I started. Before the last increase, inflation had pushed up flour and oil prices so much that I had to either reduce the size of the portions or raise my prices. I tried shrinking the portions first, but that didn’t work, so I finally raised the prices.
I also bought a barbecue stand to switch from fried to grilled chicken to save costs. That one-time investment helped me cut down on oil expenses.
So, while I can’t say the exact cost of one pack of small chops, this is how I keep the business running and still ensure I’m earning something fair for all the work I put in.
“I price based on all incurred costs, then add a fair profit that keeps my business afloat” — Halima, Adire Fabric Business Owner
First, I calculate exactly what it costs to get the fabric in my hands: transport, material price, paying the artisans, and packaging. Then I add the “hidden” costs: my monthly data for online sales, delivery fees, and ads on Instagram or TikTok.
Next, I decide on a profit margin. I don’t do crazy markups, but I also can’t just break even. Usually, I aim for 30% to 50% profit, depending on the fabric.
Adire fabrics are everywhere, so sometimes I lower my prices to stay competitive. But I never underprice just to match others who don’t include all their costs; I focus on my value as a business.
My prices also depend on my customers. If I’m selling to working-class women who want quality and fast delivery, they’ll pay a bit more. But for students, I try to offer smaller, affordable packages.
The biggest headache is the dollar rate. Today, a fabric costs ₦12,000; tomorrow, it will cost ₦20,000. Suppliers don’t care; they just increase prices, and we have to follow. Because of this, some prices aren’t fixed; customers have to ask for the latest price.
Delivery costs from suppliers also fluctuate with fuel prices. Sometimes, my delivery guy will call and say, “Aunty, it’s not the same price again.” Once, I even had to pick up my goods because he took my fuel money and didn’t deliver.
So I adjust prices when necessary to stay profitable without shortchanging customers.
For example, crepe fabric wholesale costs ₦12,000, and I sell it for ₦15,000, making about ₦3,000 profit per piece. I buy batik wholesale at ₦15,000 and sell it for ₦20,000, earning ₦5,000 profit per fabric. Cotton is pricier: wholesale costs ₦25,000, and I sell it for ₦30,000.
Delivery from my suppliers in Abeokuta to Oshodi costs about ₦3,000, plus another ₦4,000 to get it home. I usually don’t add delivery fees to my prices, but sometimes I include an extra ₦500 per item.
That’s why my prices aren’t fixed. I constantly review them based on what’s going on around me. But I always ensure I don’t run at a loss, customers feel it’s worth it, and the business keeps going.
Ultimately, pricing is a balancing act: covering costs, considering customers, and keeping my business afloat in a constantly changing market.
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“With dollar rates spiking, I have to balance quality beads with prices my customers can still afford”— Deni, beaded jewellery business owner
I’m a fifth-year medical student running a bead jewellery business I started in 2022. It began simply; I wanted to make jewellery for myself. I taught myself through Pinterest and TikTok, ordered some beads and charms online, and just kept going.
Pricing is both straightforward and frustrating. When I use expensive or limited materials, it’s easy; I add my workmanship fee to the cost. But with smaller, cheaper beads, it gets tricky. Imagine counting out beads that cost ₦30 or ₦50 each, from the tiniest to the largest. It’s tedious. And the smaller the bead, the more effort it takes to work with.
I always try to use authentic materials. It breaks my heart when someone says, “Oh, this broke,” or “It faded.” But many customers don’t want to pay for quality, so I often give them two price options and let them choose.
Right now, I undercharge for my time because most of my customers are students. I want them to afford what I make. But someday, I want to reach an audience that sees the value in art. When that happens, I’ll split my products into affordable pieces and premium, collection-worthy ones.
Sourcing materials is one of my favourite parts. It feels like walking into a candy store. I want everything, but I leave with only what I can afford. I usually order online from AliExpress or Temu, or shop when I’m home in Lagos.
But the dollar rate has made it tough. First, Nigerian banks banned the use of naira cards for foreign online transactions, so I switched to a USD card. Then, the dollar spiked, and everything changed. I used to get a decent haul with ₦20k. Now I can’t do much with less than ₦50k or ₦60k. My workmanship took the hit for a while until I just stopped ordering online. I’ve only made two orders this year.
Sometimes I wonder if my pricing model is naïve. A proper businessperson might call me unserious. But I started this out of love. It was never about profit. What keeps me going is seeing people light up when they wear something I made.
Here’s an example of how I price:
A charm bracelet I sell for ₦4k costs me ₦2,500 in materials and ₦300 for packaging, so I earn about ₦1,200 for my time.
A more complex necklace might cost ₦2k for the pendant, ₦500 for the hook, and ₦4k for the beads and chain. I sell it for ₦8,500. It’s not fair compensation for the creativity and labour, but I want people to be able to afford it. And even then, some still say it’s too expensive.
I rarely profit from the beads themselves; it is just my workmanship. I price materials at precisely what I paid, including transport. At the end of the month, I take out 10%–30% of the profit, depending on sales and whether I did a pop-up. Some months, I don’t take anything at all.
That’s why I know I’ll eventually split my products between affordable designs for everyday wear and premium collections for those who understand the value.
But my biggest fear is pouring in time and effort, everyone saying, “Wow, so pretty,” but no one is actually buying.
Since I started, I’ve invested over ₦200k in capital. On a good month, if I sell 30+ pieces, I might make ₦50k.
The dream is to focus on custom, one-of-one pieces, exclusive collection drops, and, one day, a cosy walk-in store for my designer jewellery brand.
“My pricing starts with materials and time, but it changes depending on who’s buying and the story behind the art” — Ayo, Artist
Art is priceless, but when you’re trying to make a living off it, you must put numbers to it. For me, pricing is a mix of calculation and gut feeling. I always start by factoring in the basics: the cost of paint, canvas, and materials, and then I add a workmanship fee. That’s non-negotiable; it covers the time, effort, and energy I pour into each piece.
For mid-sized canvas, I charge a minimum of ₦70,000. That covers materials and workmanship and leaves me a small profit margin for the business. I start from ₦150,000 for larger paintings but can go higher depending on the client, the concept, or the time it takes to complete.
A single painting can take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks, so pricing also depends on how complex the work is and sometimes on who’s asking. If a buyer clearly understands the value of art or has the means, I price accordingly. I trust the right buyer will always see the value beyond just paint on canvas.
For exhibitions, it’s a different ball game. There’s more visibility, and the audience is typically collectors or buyers with deep pockets and a deeper appreciation for art.
I can price as high as ₦300,000 to ₦500,000 in those spaces, especially if the piece is part of a themed collection. I’ve learned that context and presentation matter; people value art more when they understand its story, which often justifies a higher price.
