By Yusuf Danjuma Yunusa

The war drums have fallen silent in the Middle East. The Strait of Hormuz is once again open for business, and global crude oil prices have crashed back to earth, settling at $71 per barrel even lower than the pre-war price of $75.

But on the bustling streets of Nigeria, a different kind of tension is simmering. For millions of Nigerians, especially commercial drivers and commuters, the economic ceasefire has yet to arrive. While the global price of crude the primary component of petrol has dropped by over 90% from its wartime peak, the price at Nigerian pumps remains stubbornly high.

Petrol, which sold for an average of ₦750 before the war, shot up to as much as ₦1,500 during the crisis. Now, with the crisis over, it has only marginally dropped to hover between ₦1,250 and ₦1,350 per litre, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of citizens who feel they are being punished for a conflict they had no part in.

Our reporter went to the streets of Mararaba and Abuja to speak with the men and women on the frontlines of this daily struggle the Okada riders and the motorists to ask the question on everyone’s lips: “How much have you bought fuel recently, and what price do you really want the government to reduce it to?”

At a busy bus stop in Mararaba-Karu axis, we met three Okada riders who spoke with a palpable sense of exhaustion.

Nura wiped the sweat from his brow as he recounted his daily expenses.

“Just this morning, I bought fuel for ₦1,300 per litre at a NNPC station. At the filling station by the junction, they are selling for ₦1,450,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Do you know how many trips I have to make to pay for that? Before this madness, I was buying at ₦780. With ₦5,000, I could move my family and still have change. Now? ₦5,000 doesn’t even fill the tank of my motorcycle.”

When asked what price he wants the government to reduce it to, Emeka didn’t hesitate.

“We are not robots. We have families. The government should reduce it to ₦700 per litre. That is where it was. Why should we suffer for America and Israel’s fight? We didn’t ask them to fight. The war is over, so let the price come back to normal. We want ₦700 so we can eat again.”

Suleiman, an Okada rider operating in the Nyanya area of Abuja, echoed the sentiment, his voice laced with frustration as he parked his bike under a tree to escape the heat.

“I bought fuel yesterday for ₦1,400. The marketers say it’s because of ‘exchange rates’ and ‘transportation.’ But did the exchange rate crash during the war? No! When the war started and the price shot up, they said it was because of ‘global factors.’ Now the global factors are gone, but the price is still here. It doesn’t make sense to a simple man like me.”

Suleiman’s demand is precise and measured.

“I want the government to listen to us. I want them to reduce the price to ₦800 per litreI am not asking for the exact price from before, because I know things are hard. But ₦1,400 is a killer. I want ₦800. That is the only way I can survive. If they don’t, I will have to leave this job. It no longer pays.”

Isah Audu, a young rider who navigates through the traffic in the streets of Mararaba said he recently paid a staggering ₦1,500 at one NNPC filling station just to get a few litres to keep him going for the day.

“I wanted to cry, honestly. ₦1,500 and the tank wasn’t full. I had to borrow money from my friend to make up the rest. My passengers are complaining that I am increasing the fare, but what do they want me to do? Fly the bike?”

For Isah, the price of fuel is a matter of survival.

“We are seeing the news. We see that oil is now $71 per barrel. It is lower than before the war! So why is our price still high? It is an insult to our intelligence. The government should reduce the pump price to ₦650 or ₦700. That is the true reflection of the market. If they don’t, they are telling us that our lives do not matter.”

While the Okada riders speak of survival, the motorists speak of managing a household on a burning budget. We spoke to two women whose cars have become a burden.

Isa bella said she has had to drastically cut down on her driving.

“I now buy fuel in ‘units.’ I went to the station yesterday and bought ₦10,000 worth of petrol. The meter read that it was at ₦1,250 per litre. I looked at the pump and almost drove away. But where would I go? I had to buy it because I needed to take my children to school and get to work. Before the war, that ₦10,000 would have almost filled my tank. Now, it’s just a pittance.”

Isa bella who represents the many middle-class women struggling to keep their homes running, made a passionate plea.

“I am begging this government to please look at the formula they are using. If crude oil is $71, what is the justification for ₦1,250? I want the government to reduce petrol to ₦750 per litre. That is a fair price. It allows us to budget. It allows us to survive. We can’t keep adjusting our lives while the government adjusts the price only upwards. When it goes down globally, it must come down here. It is only fair.”

On the other hand was Amara who said the high cost of fuel is draining her salary.

“I try to manage, but it is so hard. I filled my tank last week, and it cost me ₦48,000 at a rate of ₦1,300 per litre. I was horrified. I had to use my food money. I am a single lady trying to make it in Abuja, and this fuel price is setting me back. I spend more on fuel than on my rent at this point.”

For Amara, the price reduction isn’t just a request; it’s a necessity to support a generation that feels economically choked.

“I don’t understand the economics, but I know the principle is wrong. The price was low, it went high because of war, and the war is over. Simple mathematics. I want the government to reduce the pump price to ₦700 per litre. That is what I can afford. That is what will allow me to save money and have a life. ₦1,300 is a punishment, and we did nothing wrong.”

The voices of Nura, Suleiman, Isah, Isabella, and Amara represent the mood of a nation grappling with an economic contradiction.

While the government and oil marketers cite issues like the depreciating Naira and the cost of shipping as factors keeping prices high, the average Nigerian is unwilling to accept that logic.

Why Is The Situation Always Like This?

Speaking with an economist on why such situations continue to prevail in the commodity market, especially here in Nigeria, Mr. Olalekan explained that “crude prices retrace quickly, damaged or underutilized refining capacity, shipping disruption, higher insurance costs, and inventory replacement can continue affecting diesel, freight, petrochemicals, packaging, manufacturing costs, and ultimately consumer prices over the following months.”

He added that, “markets tend to price expectations immediately, but supply chains deliver reality later. Mr. Olalekan concluded by drawing a simple illustration where he argued that the fluctuating price saga of crude oil is due to uncertainty with which manufacturers see things from the ordinary person. “What if tomorrow the war starts again, what are these manufacturers going to do with the products that they had the price reduced because of a temporary announcement of affairs?”, he questioned. “Tomorrow, Trump or the Iranian Leaders may start another war, on the basis that one doesn’t abide by the laid down agreements.” So for the price to come down, it will take time. That’s the simple answer”, he said.

As the day ends, the lines at the few filling stations selling at slightly lower prices only grow longer. Okada riders like Emeka will make a few more trips, hoping to earn enough for tomorrow’s fuel. Motorists like Funke will do the mental arithmetic, trying to figure out how to stretch the petrol in her tank until her next paycheck.

But one question lingers in the hot, humid air: If the war is over, why is the hardship in Nigeria just beginning? For millions, the answer is simple: the global ceasefire came months ago, but the “government ceasefire” on high fuel prices is yet to be declared.