It starts before sunrise. The father wakes early not to prepare for an office but to join a fuel queue that has already stretched around the block overnight. He will spend two to three hours there, burning time he cannot afford to lose, just to keep the generator running for another few days. By the time he gets home, his wife has already gone to the market with a budget that shrinks against prices that rise almost weekly. She moves through the stalls doing the painful arithmetic that has become second nature to millions of Nigerian women. She adjusts, substitutes, and makes peace with buying less than she came for. The children need to eat. The rent is due. The school fees reminder came in yesterday. Everything is urgent and the money is never enough. By evening the family gathers for a meal that is smaller than it should be but made with everything the mother had. There is no complaint at the table because complaining changes nothing and everyone is tired. The generator hums outside, counting down to the next fuel run. Somewhere in the sitting room a phone is being charged before the fuel runs out because data is needed for the hustle that will begin again tomorrow. This is not a story about the extremely poor. This is the story of ordinary, working, trying Nigerians. And it is playing out in millions of homes across this country every single day.
