The 30-day Fuel Price: A Mirage for Nigerians

Last Thursday, the Nigerian government announced a 30-day fuel price intervention. From now on, petrol will be sold at N1,350 per litre at selected NNPCL stations. This news reminded me of a scene from the Kenyan author Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s first novel, Weep Not, Child (1964). Bob Marley once said that life is a stream that finds its way. Our elders also say that comparisons are allowed, like how a tortoise's head looks like a man's big toe.

In the book, Njoroge, the young main character, walks along a newly tarred road in colonial Kenya. He spots what seems like a puddle of water in the distance. He gets excited, thinking it will quench his thirst. But as he gets closer, he realizes it is just a mirage. Ngugi describes this illusion as "devil’s water." He wrote, "Further ahead, the road was trapped in the heat. It became a moving featureless line that shook with the rising waves of hot air. If you looked hard, you could see pools of water. But when you got there, the water had moved further ahead. Njoroge’s mother had told him that this was devil’s water, water that kept on retreating so that you could never reach it, however fast you ran."

What the government offered last week feels like devil’s petrol. It brings Ngugi’s idea of “devil’s water” into the daily life of Nigerians. Thinking about this, I remember my childhood in Ikire, Osun State. As kids, we would rush to a place called Ori Eeru to see the Alálùpàídà and Pidánpidán. They were known for their skills in making things disappear right before your eyes. If you ever read “Ali and the Angel” from the New Oxford English Course book, you’ll understand how the prices of this devil’s water feel out of reach for the hungry.

The Alálùpàídà and Pidánpidán were experts in trickery. They were illusionists and magicians. As Ngugi said, no matter how fast you ran, you could not escape their tricks. In Ikire, we lined up to watch them perform various feats from their bag of deceit. The sound of the bàtá drum filled the air with its sharp rhythm, adding to the atmosphere.

The crowd was mesmerized. In front of us, a man lay on a mat, covered with a white cloth. Singers stood beside the drummers, dressed in white and painted with camwood. As they danced, they sang, “be careful, the world is not happy”, “se pèlé-pèlé, inú ńb’áráyé o…”.

Then, a man lifted the white cloth, like opening curtains in a movie. Instead of the man, we saw a live crocodile. It opened and closed its mouth, and no one knew how it had happened. It felt like a miracle. Just like the devil’s water.

Last Thursday, I experienced the life of an Alálùpàídà and Pidánpidán again. I was at Adeleke University in Ede, Osun State. My longtime friend, Prof Adelaja Odukoya, was giving this year’s Toyin Falola Annual Lecture. During the lecture, he reminded us of Brazilian scholar Paulo Freire and his book, Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1968). This book looks at the relationship between teachers, students, and society, as well as the relationship between colonizers and the colonized. It made me think about the oppression Nigerians face from their leaders. Much like Njoroge, Nigerian leaders lead their people to a hot road where a fake puddle of water seems to promise relief.

I was leaving Ede when I heard about the latest stunt from Aso Rock. That day was dedicated to Prof Toyin Falola, a highly respected historian in Africa. At Adeleke University, we celebrated him during the annual lecture. If you were looking for a modern-day ẹbọra, the African spirit made famous by D. O. Fagunwa, Falola is that figure. But rather than living in the forest, he lives in books.

If someone has spoken in every country and received around 30 to 40 lifetime achievement awards, plus many honorary doctorates and national honors like the Member of the Order of Niger (MON), then he is indeed an ẹbọra. Falola also holds a position as Chair of the Jacob and Frances Sanger Mossiker Chair in the Humanities at the University of Texas at Austin. He has written or edited over 150 to 200 books on Africa. Many conferences, prizes, and awards are named after him. It would be unfair to consider him an ordinary person.

My longtime friend, Prof Laja Odukoya from the University of Lagos, was the Distinguished Lecturer this year. His talk, titled "History, Power and Accumulation: Re-imagining Africa in the Globally Disorderly Order," left me inspired. But I was also reminded of the devil’s water from Aso Rock, the 30-day illusion of presidential intervention.

The announcement of a N1,350 price ceiling on fuel comes with sharp irony. On one side, it looks like a temporary relief for struggling Nigerians. On the other hand, it shows how much things have changed. Before May 2023, petrol sold for under N200 per litre. The Nigerian presidency has praised its economic achievements, but life is still very hard for many people.

Like an Alálùpàídà with their next trick, the government promoted its small reduction of petrol price by N60 as a Father Christmas “intervention.” In reality, this “reduction” is just a publicity stunt that comes too late and is too little to make a real difference. The government expects to be praised despite showing little regard for the people. It reveals how much the economic situation has shifted and how harshly leaders treat citizens. It highlights how the powerful are toying with the lives of ordinary Nigerians.

If we had a caring government, they would have taken steps long ago to protect us from the economic challenges since they came into power. Instead, they treat our survival as a temporary promotion. This shows that they see us as desperate people who can be satisfied with crumbs.

The N60 “intervention” looks like a cruel joke because the poorest rely heavily on petrol in Nigeria. If you can get gasoline, you can survive. The Nigerian economy largely depends on petrol. When fuel prices rise sharply, the costs of transporting food skyrocket. The poor struggle to get by. Electricity supply is unreliable, and the costs of electricity are through the roof. Barbers are losing money. Tailors are struggling to survive. Transport fares are skyrocketing. Everyone is feeling the pinch due to the rising costs of living. Micro-businesses are suffering too, with daily fuel costs cutting into their profits, turning self-employment into a loss.

Today, Nigeria faces food inflation at alarming levels. Basic foods like beans, bread, gari, and rice have become luxury items. Families are forced to rethink their diets. They are trapped in a cycle of compromise.

All the efforts by the Tinubu government to make the crocodile look real have failed. Nigerians see through these Alálùpàídà tricks. The recent increase of the national minimum wage to N70,000 may seem high, but it is not enough due to the loss of purchasing power compared to before the subsidy was removed. That N70,000 salary cannot even fill a modest family car's fuel tank.

The economic hardship from the government’s policies is overwhelming. Beyond the numbers of Nigerians suffering and dying, there is a deep fatigue caused by the Tinubu economy. The cost of medication has become unaffordable. The hardship has led to increased mental health issues. Husbands feel lost because they can no longer provide for their families. Crime rates are rising, and family tensions are high. Yet the government presents a N60 decrease in fuel price as a solution.

In the middle of this suffering, what reasoning did the Tinubu government use to decide that a N60 fuel reduction is what Nigerians need? We are not just dealing with illusionists but also ruthless power-seekers who will do anything to keep their power. The announcement of the end of subsidies in May 2023 was meant to be a temporary shock, but it has turned into a permanent state of hardship. Nigerians are living in a concrete jungle, as Bob Marley described it. He said, "No sun will shine in my day today/The high yellow moon won’t come out to play/Darkness has covered my light/And has changed my day into night.” This is the reality for many Nigerians today.

At the Toyin Falola Lecture, Prof Odukoya gave insight into why our government seems heartless. He quoted Falola, saying that the lack of evidence is not evidence of lack. Odukoya urged us to investigate how Nigerian elites under-develop our country. Our leaders gather wealth for themselves while leaving the burden of reform on all Nigerians, young and old. This is economic exploitation.

Prof Odukoya described the current Nigerian economy as an Agbèrò economy. An Agbèrò is a street-level extortionist who cares little for the conditions of the people. They do not worry about safety or comfort, only about squeezing money from workers like bus drivers and market vendors. The Agbèrò operates outside the law, and their actions blur the lines between protection and violence. Anyone who fails to pay the Agbèrò can face serious consequences.

Similarly, those in the Nigerian government seem only interested in profits. In an Agbèrò economy, stealing is normal. This is true for our current government. Reports suggest that this administration is the most deceptive in history. Like the Agbèrò, the government does not care about the people's suffering. They continue to take without regard for the damage it causes.

All of this connects back to Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s Weep Not, Child. The idea of “devil’s water” describing a mirage on the highway aligns with the false promises of this government. While they talk about progress and improvement, all Nigerians see are setbacks. It leaves us empty-handed. To expect real change from leaders who are committed to illusion is to chase after nothing. To believe the 2027 election will improve our lives is to wish for a mirage. The N1,360 fuel price is just like that mirage. It looks like hope from a distance, but up close, it is just a cruel illusion created by the heat and barrenness of our reality.