Gịnị mere ọnụahịa mmanụ ọkụ ji ebuli ọnụahịa nri dị ka tomato elu?
Cheta nwanyị ahụ na-ere tomato na Mile 12. Onye ọrụ ugbo na-akwụ ụgwọ maka ike iji too ha, ụgbọ ala na-ebu ha site n'ugbo, ụgbọ ala ọzọ na-ebuga ha narị kilomita ruo na Lagos, mgbe ahụ onye na-ere ahịa n'ụba na-akwụ ụgwọ njem, onye na-erekwa ya azụ azụ na-akwụkwa ọzọ. Ka tomato ndị ahụ na-eru n'aka nne na-akwado nri abalị, mmanụ ọnụ ahịa dị oke ọnụ abawo n'ọnụahịa ya ọtụtụ ugboro.
A sụgharịrị azịza ndị dị na peeji a site na Bekee site na igwe, ọ bụkwa na onye nsụgharị elelebeghị ha.
Ebe nke a si abịa
Article on X Article by @atiku on X · https://x.com/atiku/status/2094810791937446399 2026-09-01 ›
A Nigerian earning the ₦70,000 statutory minimum wage requires ₦56,000 merely to buy 40 litres of petrol at ₦1,400 per litre. That is 80 per cent of an entire month’s minimum wage. Before that worker buys food, pays rent, electricity, school fees or medical bills, four-fifths of his monthly wage can disappear into just 40 litres of petrol.
Meanwhile, citizens of Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and the UAE generally earn vastly more while paying less per litre. That is the human face missing from your economic argument.
And the pain does not end at the petrol station. Take the woman selling tomatoes at Mile 12. The farmer pays for energy to cultivate. A vehicle moves the tomatoes from the farm. Another truck carries them hundreds of kilometres to Lagos. The wholesaler pays transport. The retailer pays transport again. By the time those tomatoes reach the mother preparing dinner, expensive fuel has entered the final price several times over.