A man married two wives. To maintain fairness, he set up a roster to guide who shared his bed and when. Since they were only two, he made the bed-sharing a weekly arrangement. Both wives agreed, and the man faithfully fulfilled his duties in each wife’s bed. It seemed the women were satisfied until one day, the senior wife decided to rock the boat.
“You cannot sleep with me and you cannot sleep with my junior wife,” she declared.
The husband blinked in disbelief, as though trying to clear cobwebs from his brain. Even the second wife was stunned. Since when did “our mother” become the guardian of her own honey pot and that of her co-wife? Yet the senior wife insisted: no visiting or browsing of any website by their husband, period. That was when the husband flipped.
“You cannot cordon off your honey pot and also seal the cookie jar of my second wife—the one whose bride price I also paid in full, just like yours. A dog cannot watch over two compounds. Feel free to keep your thighs together as long as you wish, but I am free to do as I please with my second wife.”
Polygamy, like a free market economy, is about choices, competition, and alternatives. No wife is allowed to leave the husband stranded with blue balls, not that I know how black balls turn blue. A man who feeds and houses two or more wives will never be without a warm bed. If one wife is sulking, she will not be missed. In fact, I have reliably learnt that women in polygamy sometimes pray for their co-wives to go on strike, so they can enjoy bonus nights with their husband. When a senior wife,iyale, declares that the husband can neither touch her nor the others, she is not just being unreasonable, she is flirting with madness.
So, how did we get here? Aliko Dangote—or more precisely, Dangote Refinery’s “wives”—are at war. The senior wife wants to dictate whose pot their husband eats from and whose bosom he enjoys. But Dangote (as in Refinery, please) clearly anticipated this day. He is a Nigerian, after all. He knows no Nigerian has a monopoly on mischief. He knew this day of bedroom blackmail would arrive. He had seen other businesses suffer, not just blue balls but outright castration, at the hands of those they fed and clothed, the ones who once professed loyalty and devotion.
Thinking ahead, Dangote did not announce that he was going to buy trucks. If you ask me, I believe he suspected his senior wife might even lace his pounded yam withoogun igbabge(juju of forgetfulness) to make him abandon the project. Like a wise husband, he understood that he must increase operational bandwidth if he was to satisfy all “wives.” Just as a man with many wives must increase blood supply to his southern region to keep the harem happy, Dangote invested over N720 billion and prepared to deploy 4,000 Compressed Natural Gas (CNG)-powered trucks to distribute his products nationwide. This was innovation in fuel distribution designed to cut logistics costs and inefficiency. Until the senior wife got wind of the revolution and decided to pull the roof down with her protest: “You won’t do me, and you won’t do the new wife.”
What is a man supposed to do when he has many women to service? Sit idly while his land is taken over and tilled in his presence? Should he not, like Dangote, count his teeth with his tongue and buy his ownburantashibefore his wives start straying and his children start resembling the neighbour? What is wrong with producing petroleum products and wanting to deliver them directly to the market? Even orange sellers know it makes sense.
This new arrangement is expected to save Nigerians about N1.7 trillion annually in fuel distribution costs, costs filling stations would otherwise pass on to you and me, who are already heavily burdened. But now the wife who won’t do is insisting the wife who is ready to do cannot do. Do we not look like a crowd rushing toward the asylum? Isn’t this why Nigerians hesitate to invest at home because a few powerful enchanters always rise to kill newborn initiatives? Why are we like this? Who will drive these 4,000 trucks: Togolese, Chinese, Americans, or Nigerians? Won’t those drivers have families to feed? Is there any single Nigerian right now recruiting 4,000 drivers? Has the Nigerian government itself recruited 4,000 of anything this year or last? Yet a few fat cats puffing on cigars sit somewhere calling for a strike. They won’t invest, they won’t let investors breathe. What exactly do we call that, if not evil?
*Only Dangote, for now, has had the courage to build a refinery. Let us stop harassing him. Let us encourage others by our attitude. That is the only way to build this economy* .
The reasoning of those threatening a strike stands patriotism, development, and employment opportunities on their head. This is perhaps the most poorly thought-out union action in recent times, and it collapsed on Day One. I am embarrassed on behalf of NUPENG, PENGASSAN, and their allies who once terrified Nigerians. Remember those headlines—“NUPENG, PENGASSAN, NURTW VOW TO SHUT DOWN NIGERIA”—that sent us into panic buying and hoarding, sparking endless fuel queues and traffic jams? Did you see any of that on Monday? Even the most potent threats expire. Sorry. The days of holding Nigerians’ balls in a vice grip are gone. I filled both my cars in under ten minutes, and filling stations were calmly doing business.
Dangote Refinery is now accused of “crude and dangerous anti-union practices, monopolistic agenda, and indecent industrial relations strategies.” Critics say Aliko Dangote is unleashing war against Nigeria’s working class, against trade unionism, and against the principle of decent work. They allege the company pays some of the lowest wages in the oil and gas sector and treats staff beneath acceptable standards.
To bolster their case, they brandish Section 40 of the Constitution, the Labour Act, and ILO Conventions 98 and 87, accusing Dangote of bad industrial relations for barring his new drivers from joining oil and gas unions. Classic, predictable union rhetoric.
But let us consider the so-called freedom of association. Imagine a man who endured years of shame, unable to pay rent or school fees, finally receiving an appointment letter from Dangote Refinery. His armpits soaked with nervous sweat, his heart pounding, he clutched that letter and rushed to his church altar to thank God for deliverance from unemployment and his wife’s venomous tongue. Do you think, when he signed “Original copy received by me,” that he was thinking of unions? Would he not have sworn to renounce every union on earth just to secure that job?
One man risked everything to build one of the largest refineries in Africa. He fought the cartels who bled Nigerians dry through importation and subsidies. He took massive dollar loans from hard-eyed bankers who demanded their interest. He endured harassment from those who thought they owned Nigeria’s oil sector, torment by day, nightmares by night.
His blood pressure rose, his three-hour sleep vanished. Yet he stood firm. He rolled out his products. He let market forces speak. Then he said, why not deliver directly to filling stations?
After all, virtually every service in Nigeria has embraced delivery: food, aso-oke, shoes, jewelry, even electronics. Dispatch riders in their thousands now make a living from home delivery. Why then should Dangote be vilified for doing the same with petroleum? Even my hairdresser delivers at home.
Since I heard of Dangote’s delivery model, I have considered setting up a filling station. All I’d need is to build the station, paint it my favourite colours, call Dangote to bring the products, and sell. No need to buy trucks. No need to employ drivers. And truth be told—even regular drivers are full of drama. Just imagine the reduced stress.
Those clinging to analogue strikes should wake up and smell the coffee. The world has moved on. The Petroleum Industry Act (PIA) exists. Deregulation is in place. Dangote Refinery is a private concern. Those who begged for jobs with fasting and prayer cannot suddenly act like his masters. If Dangote says “no unionisation” in his house, it is sheer bad faith to agree and then later run to a union.
How will our manufacturing sector grow, how will investors stay, if we frustrate the few courageous ones who bring their money home instead of hiding it in tax havens? What Nigeria needs is more players across all sectors. More investors mean more jobs. More jobs mean more disposable income, more small businesses, more competition. And it is competition (not lazy complaints) that breaks monopoly.
You cannot wish monopoly away with rhetoric.
Only Dangote, for now, has had the courage to build a refinery. Let us stop harassing him. Let us encourage others by our attitude. That is the only way to build this economy. If we keep chasing investors away, we will eat our young to survive—and like every animal that does so, we too will face extinction.

*Egbemode (egbemode3@gmail.com)