By Shu’aibu Usman Leman
For decades, Nigerians have endured the exhausting reality of an electricity sector that repeatedly promises transformation yet consistently delivers disappointment. Each new administration arrives with confident reform blueprints, and each Minister of Power speaks in assured terms about capacity expansion and system stabilisation, yet the actual experience of citizens remains largely unchanged—defined by darkness, disrupted productivity, and the deafening hum of generators that have effectively become the country’s unofficial power infrastructure.
Electricity, in any serious developmental context, is not a peripheral service but the very foundation of modern economies. It is therefore unsurprising that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, during his 2023 campaign, raised expectations by tying his political legitimacy—at least rhetorically—to the delivery of stable electricity, implying that failure in the sector would amount to a failure of governance itself.
Against this backdrop of heightened expectation, the Minister of Power, Joseph Tegbe’s recent appearance before the Senate introduced a noticeably different tone. Departing from the familiar culture of political overstatement, he avoided promises of instant twenty-four-hour electricity, instead committing only to “visible improvement in the shortest possible time”. Modest as it may sound, in a sector as structurally impaired as Nigeria’s, this represents a rare dose of realism that has long been absent from official discourse.
The truth is that Nigeria’s electricity crisis is deeply structural. It is shaped by decades of underinvestment, gas supply constraints, inefficient transmission systems, financially distressed distribution companies, and a persistent liquidity crisis that undermines the entire value chain. These problems are compounded by repeated national grid collapses, which have eroded public trust and reinforced the sense that instability is not an exception but the norm.
The burden of this dysfunction is now painfully immediate. Ordinary Nigerians face a dual energy crisis—public and private. Electricity tariffs continue to rise even as supply remains erratic, forcing households and businesses to rely heavily on generators. Yet even this fallback option is becoming increasingly unsustainable as fuel prices have surged to around ₦1,400 per litre in many areas, making daily power generation a luxury rather than a coping strategy.
In practical terms, Nigerians are paying more for electricity they rarely receive, while simultaneously spending far more to generate their own. Small businesses, artisans, and low-income households are particularly affected, trapped between an unreliable national grid and an increasingly unaffordable alternative. In this context, the case for a structured electricity subsidy is not merely economic—it is social necessity, essential to preventing widespread productive collapse.
In my home in Bauchi, this paradox is not theoretical but a constant reality. Even when public power is available, it is often weak and unstable, with voltage so low that it can barely charge a mobile phone. Prepaid meters impose prohibitive costs on consumers, while those on estimated billing remain at the mercy of the distribution company whose charges are frequently inconsistent and difficult to justify. The result is a system that punishes both usage and restraint.
It is against this backdrop that the ubiquitous generator—popularly called “I pass my neighbour”—has become a defining feature of Nigerian life. Yet even this symbol of private resilience is now slipping out of reach. At today’s fuel prices, sustaining generator use has become the prerogative of the affluent, further widening the gap between economic classes and deepening energy inequality.
Meanwhile, there is a growing shift towards solar energy, driven not by environmental ideology but by economic necessity. Households and businesses are increasingly turning to solar systems as a way of escaping the instability of the grid and the prohibitive cost of fuel. Yet reports of possible additional charges or regulatory burdens on solar adoption risk undermining this emerging lifeline at precisely the moment it should be encouraged.
The irony is further sharpened by reports that even the Aso Rock Presidential Villa Abuja has adopted solar solutions to reduce dependence on the national grid. If decentralised energy is deemed practical at the highest level of government, it raises legitimate questions about why ordinary citizens should be discouraged from pursuing similar solutions.
What is required is not punitive regulation but strategic coherence—a policy framework that treats solar, gas infrastructure, and grid reform as complementary pillars of a broader energy transition, rather than competing systems. Nigeria’s long history of underperformance has already forced citizens into self-help energy solutions; policy should now seek to organise and support that reality, not penalise it.
It should be noted that the success or failure of the Tinubu administration’s power agenda will not be judged by technical presentations or installed megawatt figures, but by whether Nigerians can meaningfully reduce their dependence on generators, whether small businesses can operate without crippling fuel costs, and whether electricity finally becomes a reliable public utility rather than an occasional privilege.
For now, Nigerians are not asking for miracles. They are asking for fairness, affordability, and honesty in the management of a sector that touches every aspect of daily life. Until reforms begin to reflect both the economic realities of citizens and the structural weaknesses of the system, electricity in Nigeria will remain what it has long been—a promise repeatedly made, but hardly kept.
Leman is a former National Secretary of Nigeria Union of Journalists- NUJ
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