Follow Us on Google
On an uncomfortably hot afternoon in Ikeja, Lagos, the sound of humming generators drowns out the street noise. Inside a dimly lit two-bedroom apartment, 47-year-old widow and mother of three, Mrs. Bamidele, sits at a wooden dining table, a folded piece of paper clutched in her hands.
It is her latest electricity bill, ₦42,000.
The figure seems to glare at her like an accusation. She receives power for barely six hours a day, sometimes less. “I no longer keep food in the fridge,” she says, her voice tinged with bitterness. “It will spoil before NEPA brings light. So, what am I paying for?”
Her neighbours nod knowingly. In block after block, similar bills arrive in similar envelopes, detached from reality. Across Nigeria, millions of homes and businesses are trapped in the same broken system: estimated billing.
Guesswork Economy
Under this method, power distribution companies, known as DisCos, charge customers without reading an actual meter, basing bills on vague consumption averages. In theory, it’s a temporary measure until prepaid meters are installed. In practice, it has become a permanent fixture for millions.
Figures from the Nigerian Electricity Regulatory Commission (NERC) reveal the scale of the problem: as of the first quarter of 2024, more than 6.3 million customers were unmetered.
In 2023, over 60,000 formal complaints about overbilling were lodged with NERC. Consumer advocates believe the true number is far higher. “Many people don’t bother reporting,” says Adeola Fashina, who leads a Lagos-based consumer rights group. “They feel it’s a waste of time. Complaints vanish into a void.”
When confronted, DisCos point to a list of woes: suppressed electricity tariffs, chronic energy theft and billions of naira in unpaid bills from government ministries and agencies. They argue that, to survive, they must recover losses from those who actually pay.
Critics see a more cynical calculation. “It’s easier to overbill compliant customers than to fix the real problems,” says energy analyst Kunle Adebayo. “It’s punishing the honest while rewarding inefficiency.”
In some communities, residents have lived under estimated billing for more than a decade. In others, the absurdity borders on the surreal, households billed for power months after their transformers failed.
The Great Disconnect
The backlash is no longer just vocal — it is physical. Across urban and rural Nigeria, people are quietly cutting ties with the national grid.
In middle-class neighbourhoods, rooftop solar panels glint under the afternoon sun. In rural hamlets, diesel generators have been replaced by small community microgrids. Even in low-income areas, families pool resources to buy modest inverters and batteries.
For many, the decision isn’t about going green; it’s about regaining control. “At least with solar, I know what I’m paying for,” says Chika, who runs a frozen food shop in Onitsha, Anambra State. She no longer stocks certain products because of power uncertainty. “If my meat spoils, no one will refund me,” she says flatly.
The shift is bleeding the DisCos of paying customers, further eroding their ability to maintain infrastructure. This is the start of a dangerous spiral: worse service leads to more customer departures, which leads to even worse service.
The impact on small businesses is devastating.
In Ojota, Lagos, Ibrahim’s welding shop used to buzz with activity until late evening. Now, the doors shut before sunset. “I spend more on electricity bills than on steel,” he says, wiping his hands on his overalls. “Sometimes, I fire up my generator. At least I can count the litres of fuel.”
In Kano, tailor Musa has cut operating hours by four hours a day. “We used to work till 9 p.m. Now we close by 5 p.m. because the estimated bills are killing us,” he says. “Even when there’s no power, the bill goes up.”
And in Abuja, hair salon owner Ifeoma grimaces as she looks at her ledger. “My monthly bill is often more than my rent. I bought a small inverter to keep dryers running, but I’m still paying for a service that barely exists.”
Other News
Rural darkness
In Saki, Oyo State, a broken transformer has left the community in a blackout for nearly a year. Still, the bills keep coming. “We have been in darkness for months,” says community leader, Mr. Akinwale. “Every month, they send us a bill; for what?”
In villages like his, there is no hope that the DisCo will fix the problem anytime soon. Many are turning to solar home systems sold on payment plans by private companies.
The reform that stalled
When Nigeria’s power sector was partially privatised in 2013, prepaid meters were hailed as the end of estimated billing. But deadlines have been repeatedly missed. The Meter Asset Provider (MAP) scheme and the National Mass Metering Programme (NMMP) were launched to speed up installations, yet progress remains sluggish.
DisCos cite foreign exchange shortages, supply chain problems and vandalism as barriers. Critics say the real barrier is lack of will.
In the meantime, urban supply often averages just six to eight hours a day, yet bills of ₦30,000 to ₦40,000 are common.
Fighting back
Some communities are taking matters into their hands. In certain parts of Lagos and Edo states, residents have refused to pay until they are metered. In a few cases, it worked. In others, the DisCos responded with mass disconnections.
NERC urges consumers to report overbilling and apply for prepaid meters through official channels. But trust in the regulator is fragile. “We’ve reported, we’ve called, we’ve written letters,” says Chika from Onitsha. “It’s like shouting into the wind.”
What needs to change
Energy experts insist that the fixes are not complicated:
Accelerate prepaid metering to cover all customers.
Strictly enforce penalties for missed metering deadlines.
Increase billing transparency, publishing community-level supply and consumption data.
Encourage competition in distribution by supporting alternative power providers.
Without such changes, the national grid risks losing not just customers but its relevance.
By the numbers
At least, 6.3 million electricity customers remain unmetered (Q1 2024, NERC).
For Mrs. Bamidele, the woman in Ikeja, the demands are simple: fairness and reliability.
“We just want to pay for what we use,” she says, glancing at the lifeless fridge in her kitchen. “If they can’t give us light, they should stop charging us like this.”
Her words are echoed in markets, workshops and parlours across the country, a chorus of frustration from a nation tired of paying for ‘darkness’. If the lights go out for good, it won’t be from a nationwide blackout but from millions of quiet disconnections, one household at a time.
Pelumi Aluko-Olokun and Adebayo Victor write from Lagos
