That first B in economics during my freshman year hit harder than I expected. I remember the unexpected tears I shared with my mother. Perhaps it wasn’t about competition or proving myself, but a dawning realization of my genuine fascination with the subject and a deep desire to excel. While my academic performance might have been uneven, my understanding of economics took root in a much more practical soil.

My early curiosity blossomed during that anxious period every Ethiopian student experiences – awaiting the 12th-grade exit exam results and university assignments. Instead of passively waiting, I convinced my parents to invest in a small fruit and vegetable stand, which eventually grew into a mini-grocery store. This wasn’t just an adventure; it was a foundational education. It taught me how the often-overlooked intricacies of microeconomics profoundly shape the macro trends we so often intellectualize.

Those early mornings, navigating the bustling aisles of Atkilt Tera market – a feat many doubted my supposed meticulousness could handle – to source fresh produce remain vivid. The days spent interacting with customers from every economic stratum were equally formative. I learned firsthand that everything has a price, and skillful negotiation could yield surprising benefits. I fondly recall how customers would mask their interest until they were truly convinced of the quality, a behavior I later chuckled about while reading “Never Split the Difference.”

However, my market experience wasn’t all rosy. I also encountered the darker side of business when fellow shop owners attempted to orchestrate an artificial sugar shortage, pressuring me to hoard my stock and inflate prices. This early exposure to the manipulative tactics often veiled by the rhetoric of capitalism was jarring. As a young entrepreneur, I felt lost. That morning, after stocking up on sugar at Merkato, the narrative shifted. Rumors of widespread shortages and empty wholesaler warehouses spread like wildfire. By the time I reached my shop, smaller retailers had already doubled prices or stopped selling altogether, anticipating further hikes orchestrated by larger players in Merkato. Unaware of this scheme, I continued selling at my usual price. By noon, the pressure mounted, and my helper informed me we had to either stop selling or drastically increase prices. Overwhelmed, I closed shop early that day.

Seeking guidance, I consulted my family. My late father, may Allah grant him peace, was resolute: “Don’t you dare raise the price.” He emphasized that while business might be a game for some, it represented the very sustenance of everyday life for others.

This incident profoundly shaped my understanding of business as a dynamic interplay between actors with diverse and often self-serving intentions. The academic world often frames this as “economics,” complete with its own lexicon, rules, referees, and definitions of success.

Fast forward through years of navigating development work, entrepreneurship, and public service, I’ve come to believe that we haven’t effectively demystified economics for the average citizen who simply wants to live a decent life.

Just as personal growth involves disruption, so does economic growth. The impact isn’t always positive. Like the Merkato sugar distributors creating artificial scarcity for profit, economic growth, driven by consumer spending, can lead to price hikes in essential goods and services.

I understood this because I lived it. But how can the average consumer grasp this? The tangible reality for them is simply the increased cost of living, rendering talk of “economic growth” meaningless.

To grow my own small market, I innovated by taking advance orders for weekly supplies, offering both pickup and delivery. This early foray into customer-centric service, driven by the superior quality of my produce and fair pricing, attracted a discerning clientele in a developing upscale neighborhood. These were individuals who valued quality and convenience. This experience taught me a crucial lesson: product quality and diversity are cornerstones of sustainable business success. Given our nation’s abundant resources, boosting productivity and diversifying our offerings are undeniably critical, and our multifaceted policy interventions suggest we are on the right path.

However, the challenge remains: how do we communicate these complex economic realities to the everyday person whose immediate concerns might seem far removed from these grand narratives?

The truth is, no resource transforms into a product without human involvement, from the initial idea to the final production. Similarly, meaningful diversification requires the active participation of citizens, both as a skilled workforce and as economic actors within the private and public sectors (including self-employment).

Again, this understanding comes easily to me because I’ve lived it. But this isn’t the shared experience of most of our citizens.

Therefore, we urgently need to translate economics into a language and narrative that resonates with the average person. Terms like “economic imbalance,” “GDP growth,” “capital market,” and “stock exchange” need to be contextualized using relatable examples from places like Merkato, made accessible (or “tiff-proofed,” as a dear friend used to say), and disseminated through various channels by trusted voices. Only then can we foster true civic engagement and revolutionize our growth trajectory.

Only then can we achieve citizen-backed execution of our long-term development plans, fostering a collective willingness to prioritize shared progress over immediate individual desires.

Grounding the economic conversation is a critical and humanistic approach that will dismantle the “I want” mentality and build the “we” foundation necessary to realize the prosperous nation our future generations deserve.