Every topic about Nigeran citizens and lifestyle are interconnected. As you address a singular one, you tend to discover other intricacies. In Nigeria, darkness rarely arrives quietly. It often begins with a flicker. The lights dim once, then twice and finally everywhere goes pitch black. Fans slow to a reluctant stop, televisions go black as a chorus of groans rises from homes, shops, and offices. Someone inevitably announces what everyone already knows. “NEPA has taken the light.” The phrase has become part of Nigeria’s cultural vocabulary. For decades it has been used to describe the sudden loss of electricity, even though the National Electric Power Authority, commonly known as NEPA, no longer exists in its original form. Electricity outages interrupt nearly every aspect of daily life. From homes where refrigerators pause, phones stop charging, and the heat becomes immediately noticeable to offices, stalls and small businesses where computers shut down or work stalls until alternative power sources are found. “Imagine going to get chicken from a small mall and they tell you they are closed at 11am because there’s no power to run operations. What happens to your plans for the meal at that time?” For many Nigerians, the power outage itself is almost expected. What is unpredictable is how long it will last. Some outages last minutes. Others stretch into days or even weeks. This uncertainty forces individuals, families, and businesses to organize their lives around the possibility of darkness. Households often keep rechargeable lamps, power banks, and candles within reach. Phones are charged whenever electricity briefly returns, even if batteries are only half empty. Children learn to finish homework quickly before the next outage. Meals are sometimes planned around whether electricity will be available to cook or preserve food. In urban areas, after a power outage a sudden silence hangs for a moment and within minutes, a familiar sequence unfolds across neighborhoods. This sequence has created what many jokingly refer to as the “Generator gospel.” As one generator coughs to life, another follows. Soon the entire street fills with the layered hum of small engines competing with each other in the dark. What begins as inconvenience quickly transforms into routine. The phrase “generator gospel” captures a shared understanding: when the lights go out, salvation comes from the small engine outside. And with the sound of humming generators, comes the unending knocks on your door. Neighbours from your compound or even people from down the street with long charging extensions, loads of gadgets and piles of chargers packed together or hanging around their necks. You become the saviour whose gospel has traveled to the ears of the less positioned. Some people find it disturbing constantly having to answer the door and collect another gadget to put in charge or the annoyance from that one neighbour who forgot to put their phone on silent and now an incoming call keeps disturbing you. Nigerians have also built routines around the issues of electricity supply with many finding employment from opportunities generators have created. Mechanics specialize in repairing them, markets sell spare parts and fuel containers.
Nigeria is Africa’s largest economy and one of its most populous nations, yet reliable power supply remains elusive. Despite decades of reforms, investments, and policy debates, the national grid continues to struggle with outages, limited capacity, and uneven distribution. As a result, households and businesses have built their own parallel power system, powered by petrol and diesel. In effect, Nigerians have privatized electricity. When individuals and businesses become experts at producing their own electricity, the pressure on public institutions to deliver reliable power may weaken. The generator solves the immediate problem, but it does not solve the structural one. The generator may have become a symbol of resilience but it doesn’t infact go without implications, as the economic and health implications are quite significant. Businesses in Nigeria frequently spend more on self generated power than they would on reliable public electricity increasing production cost and therefore increased pricing amounts. For small enterprises already navigating inflation and unstable supply chains, the cost of fuel can determine whether a business survives. There’s environmental and health concerns as widespread use of petrol and diesel generators contributes to air pollution and carbon emissions. In tightly packed residential areas, generator fumes drift through open windows. Noise pollution is constant, and even in the quiet hours of the night, the steady mechanical hum rarely disappears completely. Still, each time when the lights flicker and disappear, Nigerians perform the same ritual. Fuel is poured, the starter rope is pulled and the engine sputters. But, beneath the humor and adaptation lies a quiet expectation shared by many citizens: that one day the phrase “Nepa has taken the light” or “up NEPA” will lose its relevance. Until the power returns, the gospel continues to preach.
