I came to get gas and the pump was looking at me like a loan officer asking, are you ready to make this financial decision? I left negotiating like I was applying for a mortgage. Buying petrol in Nigeria now requires risk assessment, emotional support, and a small prayer and even then you drive away wondering if you just purchased fuel or made a financial commitment for the week.
Nothing serious, just a small top up. But the pump was still staring, like a bank officer reviewing a loan application. Are you sure you are ready for this commitment. Because buying petrol in Nigeria is no longer a transaction. It is a life decision. You do not just drive into the station anymore. You arrive slowly, carefully, like a man approaching a hospital bill.
First you park and observe. You look at the price board the way students look at exam results. Your heart starts beating faster. Your mind begins calculating things you never planned to calculate. School fees. Rent. Food. Fuel. Somewhere in the middle of all this mathematics you realise something shocking. The car is no longer the expensive thing. The petrol inside it is.
At the pump the attendant asks a question that used to be very simple. How much. But in today’s Nigeria that question carries emotional weight. You pause. You stare at your dashboard. You stare at your wallet. Then you answer carefully, like a man negotiating peace in the Middle East. Just put small. Not full tank. Nobody says full tank anymore. Full tank is now a lifestyle reserved for oil companies and visiting dignitaries. Ordinary citizens operate on what economists call incremental survival strategy. Five thousand. Seven thousand. Sometimes you even whisper the amount like a secret. Three thousand. The attendant nods with the quiet understanding of a man who has seen many broken dreams.
As the numbers climb slowly on the pump you stand there watching like someone monitoring hospital equipment. Tick. Tick. Tick. Each number rising like your blood pressure. Somewhere your heart beats faster than the petrol meter. By the time it stops, you are not even sure whether you bought fuel or made an investment.
You drive out of the station slowly, protecting the petrol in your tank the way people protect newborn babies. No unnecessary movement. No aggressive acceleration. Every drop now has a PhD in economics. Somewhere in the distance the engine whispers gently, Please drive carefully. We cannot afford mistakes.
By the time the pump finally stops, you stand there staring at the numbers like a man who has just seen his blood pressure results. You collect your receipt slowly, respectfully. Because at this point petrol is no longer fuel. It is an investment. You drive out gently, protecting the contents of your tank like fragile cargo. Even potholes now require negotiation. Somewhere inside the car the engine hums softly, like it understands the situation. As you join the road you whisper a small prayer to the tank, my friend, please manage yourself.
Because in today’s Nigeria petrol is no longer something you burn. It is something you protect. In fact, the next time someone asks me what assets I own, I might just answer honestly. A quarter tank and growing.
Stephanie Shaakaa
08034861434
