Cost of living: Tell President Tinubu, We are Dying – Ty
Inside the Abuja Markets Where Inflation Has Turned Everyday Survival Into an Impossible Daily Gamble
Article:
The morning sun rises over the bustling expanse of Abuja’s local markets, but instead of the usual vibrant symphony of commerce—the clinking of change, the cheerful banter between traders and buyers, and the rhythmic calls of hawkers—there is a heavy, suffocating silence of despair. Across the stalls and dusty paths, a grim reality hangs thick in the air. For millions of ordinary Nigerians, the daily routine of waking up, going to the market, and putting food on the table has transformed from a simple necessity into a high-stakes, terrifying gamble with survival.
Walk through any market lane today, and you will encounter the same raw, unvarnished grief. Mothers with children strapped to their backs staring helplessly at empty bowls, mechanics and civil engineers trading their specialized tools for whatever odd jobs they can scrape together, and traders watching their capital evaporate before their very eyes. The question on everyone’s lips is no longer about prosperity or growth; it is a desperate, haunting plea for breath. The people are crying out, and the message echoing from the grassroots is loud, clear, and agonizing: “We are dying.”
To understand the magnitude of this crisis, one only needs to look at the numbers—numbers that defy logic and crush human dignity. Take staple food items like rice, the absolute bedrock of Nigerian households. Not too long ago, a bag of rice that sold for a manageable forty-six thousand to fifty thousand naira was already stretching the limits of working-class pockets. Today, that same bag commands an astronomical sixty-four to sixty-five thousand naira, sometimes even soaring higher depending on the market dynamics and the type. For imported varieties or larger measures, prices have skyrocketed past the one-hundred-thousand-naira mark, leaving families bewildered and entirely priced out of their basic nutritional needs.
The cascading effect of these price hikes touches every single corner of domestic life. A mother recalls how a small measure of local food items that used to cost a paltry twenty naira now demands five hundred, sometimes fifteen hundred naira. Common ingredients like pepper, beans, and fish have followed the same ferocious trajectory. A piece of fish that once sold for a few hundred naira now costs thousands, forcing families to drastically scale down their meals. Many households have been forced to drop from eating three square meals a day down to one—or sometimes nothing at all—relying entirely on raw grace and whatever meager scraps they can scavenge.
What makes this situation particularly agonizing is the collapse of purchasing power. While the cost of goods multiplies daily, wages have remained stubbornly stagnant. Workers who earn fixed salaries find themselves stripped of their purchasing power before the middle of the month even arrives. Transportation costs have compounded the nightmare. The skyrocketing price of fuel has sent transport fares through the roof, turning a simple trip to the wholesale market into an expensive endeavor that devours capital before a single item is even purchased. Traders recount going to the market with what they thought was sufficient capital, only to return with barely half the stock they used to buy, realizing that their money has lost its value entirely.
Amidst this economic hurricane, human stories of profound heartbreak emerge from every alleyway. Artisans and professionals who spent years training in specialized trades—mechanics, civil engineers, and skilled technicians—sit idle for weeks on end. When they do manage to secure a contract, the clients themselves are so cash-strapped that negotiating fair compensation becomes an exercise in frustration. The money earned vanishes into thin air instantly, leaving debts unpaid and families exposed. Heartbreakingly, parents share stories of how the crushing weight of poverty has forced them to pull their children out of private schools, transferring them to public institutions—or worse, keeping them home entirely because even basic educational fees have become an unattainable luxury. Some individuals speak with trembling voices about friends and neighbors whose children have succumbed to illnesses and malnutrition, tragedies born directly out of severe economic deprivation.
As the frustration mounts, the collective mood of the masses has shifted from quiet resignation to active, palpable anger. The social contract between the citizens and the leadership feels broken. Many voice deep disillusionment, recalling the promises made during political campaigns and contrasting them with the bleak reality they face daily. The sentiment on the ground is that the common people, who voted with hope for a better future, have been left behind to bear the heaviest burden of national economic restructuring. Warnings are whispered and sometimes shouted openly in the marketplace: if things continue on this trajectory, the patience of the masses will run out, leading to widespread mobilization and direct demands for intervention at the highest legislative and executive levels.
What would you have done if you walked into the market with your hard-earned money and realized you couldn’t even afford a single meal for your children?
This question hangs heavily over the entire nation as citizens grapple with a system that feels increasingly detached from their day-to-day suffering. The frustration is not merely about political affiliations or partisan debates; it is a primal fight for biological survival. When fathers cannot feed their dependents, when mothers watch their children go to bed with empty stomachs, and when hardworking professionals find their labor rewarded with penury, the very foundation of society is put to the test.
The cries from Abuja’s markets are a mirror reflecting a broader national emergency. They are a reminder that behind every macroeconomic policy, inflation rate, and currency fluctuation lies a human being with a beating heart, a family to protect, and a threshold of endurance. The traders, the artisans, the widows, and the youth are all sending a unified message to the corridors of power: policies must have a human face, and the suffering of the masses cannot be ignored as mere statistics on a ledger.
Ultimately, the crisis is a test of empathy, resilience, and urgent governance. The solutions require more than temporary palliatives; they demand systemic reforms that lower the cost of transportation, stabilize staple food prices, protect local production, and inject genuine purchasing power back into the hands of the working class. Until those transformative steps are taken, the daily life of the average Nigerian remains an uphill battle against overwhelming odds.
How long can ordinary citizens continue to stretch a breaking cord before the entire system snaps under the weight of unrelenting hunger?
