‘Slow Business, Cold Meals’: How a 3-day gas strike left Nigerian families starving

Yemi Kolawole’s voice cracked slightly, out of frustration or anger, or both as she recounted her experience over the weekend to Neusroom journalists who spoke to her in Lagos. “Yesterday, I wanted to cook for my family. We searched for gas all around but we couldn’t buy any,” the Lagos resident says. “We had to soak garri.”

Her story echoes across Lagos and beyond, as Nigeria grapples with a severe cooking gas shortage caused by the labour dispute between Dangote Refinery, one of Nigeria’s biggest producers of Liquefied Petroleum Gas, with a stated daily production capacity of 2,500 tonnes and the Petroleum and Natural Gas Senior Staff Association of Nigeria (PENGASSAN).

This strike has seen prices nearly double in a matter of days and left Lagos families struggling to put hot meals on their tables and retailers scrambling to make businesses stay afloat.

At gas retail outlets across Lagos, there were palpable signs of distress at locations Neusroom journalists visited. In Ikorodu local government area of Lagos, two out of eight outlets did not have gas for sale. Mara, the manager of KK Gas, one of the few outlets opened for business explained that their stock was being sold at a higher price. “Before, we were selling for N1,200 per kilogram. Later, because of the scarcity of the gas, we increased our price to N1,400,” she said.

For context; this means that the price for refilling a 12.5kg cylinder has now jumped to N17,500 representing a 34.6% increase, with some areas reporting even higher rates.

George, who manages Madan Oil and Gas Station, sold his last stock at N1,300 per kilogram before supplies dried up completely. “There’s gas now,” he says cautiously, “but because of too much bulkiness of plenty trucks at the depot, there’s still not enough supply.”

The shortage’s ripple effects extend far beyond inconvenience. For Mrs Kolawole, it meant her children went to school without breakfast. “Even this morning I didn’t cook for my children when they were going to school,” she says, her frustration palpable. “I spent over the money I usually spend every time I take them to school.“

Another market woman, who asked not to be fully identified, describes her son’s desperate search for cooking gas over the weekend. “He spent over 2-3 hours looking for cooking gas before he came back home,” she recounts. “The cost of filling our cylinder now is almost times two of my budget at home. Even now, we cannot cook twice in a day in my family.”

The crisis has forced families to make impossible choices. Where once they could plan meals around their budgets, they now face the grim reality of cold kitchens and hungry children. “I’m still thinking if the one I have finish, how will I cope?” the market woman asked Neusroom reporters.

Behind the Shortage

The roots of the crisis lie in an industrial dispute that brought gas distribution to a near standstill. The PENGASSAN strike, sparked by the dismissal of Nigerian workers at the Dangote Refinery, was suspended on October 1 following federal government intervention.

Bayo Ojulari, Group Chief Executive Officer of NNPC Limited, addressed the nation’s concerns on Sunday, acknowledging the strike’s impact. “The increase you saw was relatively artificial because for the period of the strike, movements and loading were delayed by about two, three days,” he explained to State House journalists.

Ojulari also noted that opportunistic pricing compounded the problem. “Some retailers and marketers with existing stock also raised their prices, contributing to the overall increase,” he said, before assuring Nigerians that “as things return back to normal, it takes some time for distribution to be fully restored.”

The operations manager at Madan Oil and Gas depot in Lagos provided his ground-level insight into the supply chain breakdown. “The main reason for the scarcity is inadequate supply from Dankote refinery due to PENGASSAN’s strike, and there are some internal maintenance going on there,” he explains.

The impact was immediate and severe. “This tank that brought the gas has been at the depot for two weeks now,” Olawale says, highlighting the backlog created by the disruption. “It just came this morning to offload for us.”

The crisis has exposed vulnerabilities in Nigeria’s LPG distribution system. At gas stations across Lagos, the evidence of supply chain stress is unmistakable. Olawale admits he hasn’t been able to confirm whether normal supply has resumed at the depot. “I’ve not even contacted anybody at the depot to know if they start supplying now,” he says.

The uncertainty creates a vicious cycle. Without reliable supply information, retailers struggle to manage customer expectations. Customers, desperate for gas, crowd depots the moment word spreads of a delivery. Prices fluctuate wildly as different outlets receive supplies at different times and in varying quantities.

“Once there’s no gas available, there’s a tendency for increasing price range in all over places,” Mara observes, describing a market where scarcity breeds volatility.

Human Cost

Beyond the economics and logistics, the crisis extracts a human toll measured in missed meals, disrupted routines, and mounting anxiety. Mrs Kolawole’s family drinking garri instead of eating a cooked meal isn’t just an inconvenience—it’s a dignity stripped away, a household’s rhythm broken.

The market woman who found gas only through a Good Samaritan’s help speaks to the desperation many feel. “Even then the price was double,” she notes, grateful yet troubled by the premium paid for necessity.

For gas vendors like Mara, the crisis presents a painful paradox. “It’s hard for us and even for the people that’s getting the gas, it’s hard for them too,” she says, caught between business survival and empathy for struggling customers. “Customers have been coming and asking for gas and it’s hard for us to sell.”

Looking Ahead

As supplies tentatively resume, cautious optimism mingles with lingering uncertainty. George hopes his station will receive gas within two days. Mara expects supplies “before this week runs out.” Olawale speaks of hoping for “normal supply at the depot now so they can reduce the population.”

But for families like Mrs. Kolawole’s, hope feels distant. When asked how long the crisis might last, her answer is telling: “I really can’t say, everything is up to God. I leave it to God’s hands.”

The market woman’s response carries a similar resignation: “I don’t know, it is left for the government.”

While NNPC’s Ojulari assures that the surge will ease soon, the damage has already been done. Trust has been shaken, budgets have been stretched beyond breaking, and for too many Nigerian families, the simple act of cooking a meal has become a luxury rather than a given.

As one interviewee puts it, pointing to the broader frustration with governance: “I can’t say the government because we are the government. But all in all I just hope for a better government.”

Until then, families wait, gas cylinders remain empty, and the question persists: When will normal life resume? For now, that answer remains as elusive as the cooking gas itself.

Additional Report by Alexander Aiyudu, Esther Emeka