There is a sound that unites Nigerians more than the national anthem: the scream of "Up NEPA!" when electricity returns. You've been in darkness for three days. Your phone is at 3%. Your inverter died yesterday. You've been eating room-temperature leftovers and having conversations by candlelight. You have accepted your fate. You are now a citizen of the 18th century. Then—click —the fan sputters to life. The bulb flickers. The fridge hums. And from every compound on the street, the shout erupts. "Up NEPA!" Children run out screaming. Adults laugh in relief. Neighbors exchange triumphant looks across fences. It is not just power; it is resurrection. But the real chaos begins inside. The race to the socket is Olympic. You plug in your phone, your laptop, your power bank, and your second power bank simultaneously. Someone plugs in the iron. Someone else starts the microwave. The TV goes on. The AC tries to start. And then—click —silence again. You overloaded the circuit. The celebration lasted four minutes. The second round of shouting is less joyful. "Who off the light?!" Finger-pointing begins. The iron is unplugged. The AC is abandoned. Priorities are negotiated. The phone charger wins. The TV is secondary. The iron is a luxury item that can wait for generator hours. But that initial moment? That "Up NEPA" euphoria? It is uniquely Nigerian. No other country celebrates electricity like a birthday surprise. We have been conditioned to treat light as a gift rather than a right. And when it comes, we throw a party. What's the longest you've gone without light, and how did you celebrate when it returned? And have you ever cried "Up NEPA" as an adult?
