In the past few days, the debate over Dangote Trucks and its clash with transport
unions, such as the Nigeria Union of Petroleum and Natural Gas Workers (NUPENG),
the Nigeria Labour Congress (NLC), and their affiliates has grown louder. Union leaders
accuse the Dangote Group of undercutting established transport structures, exploiting
drivers, and operating in ways that undermine collective bargaining.
Yet the more the rhetoric intensifies, the more one is forced to ask: Who exactly benefits from this war?
The Nigerian worker, or a few union leaders desperate to protect their fiefdoms? The issue is bigger than one company or one union. It touches on how Nigeria balances industrial growth with labor rights, and how the nation treats investors who dare to put
their money where their mouth is. For decades, unions have played important roles in
defending workers against abuse. But in this particular battle, the facts tilt in favor of
Dangote.
At this juncture, it is expedient to throw a brief insight into the history of union power. To
start, it is not an exaggeration to opine that Nigeria’s unions are not new to
confrontation. In the 1970s and 1980s, NLC and NUPENG built reputations as fearless
watchdogs, confronting military regimes and forcing government accountability. The fuel
strikes of the 1990s and early 2000s crippled the economy but also amplified the voice
of the ordinary worker.
Yet over time, the lines blurred. What started as a noble struggle to protect wages and
welfare often morphed into power contests, sometimes hijacked by political actors.
NUPENG, in particular, has become notorious for its ability to ground the economy by
blocking fuel supply chains. It is precisely this weapon, economic sabotage, that is now
being threatened against Dangote Trucks.
The question Nigerians must ask is whether the same tactics that once worked against
authoritarian governments should be deployed against private investors who are
keeping the economy afloat.
The answer to the foregoing question is unarguably expedient as Dangote’s role in
Nigeria’s economy cannot be pooh-poohed with the mere wave of hands.
Aliko Dangote is not just another businessman; he is arguably Nigeria’s single biggest
private investor. His footprint stretches from cement and sugar to fertilizer, flour, and oil
refining. The Dangote Refinery alone, commissioned in 2023, has been hailed as a
potential game-changer for Nigeria’s chronic fuel import dependency.
Behind this industrial empire lies an enormous logistics challenge. Moving cement from
Obajana to Onitsha, sugar from Apapa to Kano, or fertilizer from Lagos to Maiduguri
requires one thing: trucks. Nigeria’s railways remain underdeveloped, pipelines are
inadequate, and air freight is not an option for bulk cargo. Dangote Trucks emerged as
a response to this gap.
Today, the company’s trucking division sustains thousands of direct jobs; drivers,
mechanics, loaders, dispatchers, while indirectly supporting even more across roadside
businesses, fuel stations, and spare parts markets. To cripple Dangote Trucks is to risk
collapsing this entire employment chain.
At this juncture, it is germane to ask whether the union opposition is of genuine concern
or a turf war? Union leaders argue that Dangote Trucks exploits drivers with poor
working conditions and harsh policies. Some allege the company runs a monopoly,
squeezing out independent truckers. But scratch beneath the surface, and a different
story emerges.
For years, Nigerian roads have been dominated by union-controlled trucking systems
notorious for extortion, inefficiency, and outright lawlessness. Drivers are forced to pay
multiple “levies” to union officials, and disputes are often settled with intimidation rather
than negotiation. These unions thrive in chaos. Dangote’s structured trucking model,
corporate accountability, centralized management, and monitored operations threaten
this status quo.
The agitation, therefore, looks less like a fight for workers and more like a turf war. The
unions fear losing control of a lucrative industry if corporate players like Dangote
become the new face of trucking.
Unfortunately, the bigger threat is national instability. What the unions may not realize
is that destabilizing Dangote Trucks destabilizes Nigeria itself. Cement distribution
delays would cripple construction projects and inflate housing costs. Fuel delivery
disruptions could trigger artificial scarcity. Food prices would climb as logistics costs
soar.
Nigeria’s economy is already battling high inflation, unemployment, and currency
depreciation. To add a union-triggered logistics crisis is to risk a perfect storm. This is
why the government and the public must view the issue not as a corporate-versus-union
quarrel, but as a national economic risk.
If unions truly care about the welfare of drivers, they should redirect their energy. The
biggest threats to truckers in Nigeria are not Dangote’s policies but the appalling state of
infrastructure. This is as bad roads destroy vehicles, cause accidents, and shorten
driver lifespans.
In a similar vein, insecurity on highways, from kidnappers to armed robbers, remains a
daily terror. Fuel costs eat deeply into profits and wages, leaving drivers with little to
save.
These are the real killers, not Dangote. Instead of expending energy fighting a company
that provides structured employment, unions should pressure government to fix roads,
improve security, and stabilize energy costs.
Without a doubt, industrial progress demands private-led models. Across the world,
private conglomerates have driven logistics transformation. Toyota in Japan, Samsung
in South Korea, Tata in India all developed efficient supply chain systems that
supported national growth. Dangote’s trucking system is Nigeria’s equivalent.
If replicated by other conglomerates like BUA, Flour Mills, and Lafarge, the entire
transport sector could modernize faster than any government intervention. But if unions
succeed in strangling Dangote Trucks, they will not just stop one company, they will
discourage others from attempting similar innovations.
Nigeria cannot afford to chase away the very few investors willing to risk capital on
large-scale infrastructure.
Against the foregoing backdrop, it is germane to make a call for partnership, not
persecution. This does not mean Dangote Trucks is perfect. Reports of driver
grievances deserve attention. Labor welfare must never be secondary. But the solution
lies in dialogue, not destruction.
Instead of positioning themselves as enemies of progress, unions should negotiate
better conditions for drivers within Dangote’s structure. That is how real labor
movements work: they engage, they reform, they improve, not dismantle.
Nigeria is at a crossroads. On one side are unions, wielding old tools of confrontation,
sometimes for genuine causes, but too often for control. On the other side is a company
that, for all its flaws, has consistently put its money into industries many others shun.
To fight Dangote Trucks is to risk higher unemployment, disrupted supply chains, and
further economic instability. To support it is to embrace a model of structured logistics
that Nigeria desperately needs.
The choice before the public, the unions, and the government is clear: Do we reward
the hand that builds or empowers the hand that destroys?
For the sake of jobs, stability, and national development, Dangote Trucks must not be
brought down by union power games. Nigeria cannot afford it.
