A couple, Mr and Mrs Koleoso were hanging out at a relaxation spot of journalists union secretariat in a South-west state capital. They were noiselessly revelling the breeze of that weekend evening on bottles of non-alcoholic drinks until gist shifted to their data usage and stay on the internet.
In unanimity and as if rehearsed, the couple raised their voices, bitterly expressing their respective ordeal lately with a verdict that all service providers, all of them, are on a mission to take advantage of their subscribers susceptibility nay addiction to browsing, use of social media and digital transactions.
To them, it is a psychological burden on each day they are alerted by their service providers that their data is near its final breath.
Realistically, today, survival is no longer just about food on the table or fuel in the tank, it is also, if not more, about staying connected on the Internet to access beneficial information in the global community. From students in a crowded cybercafé, to bankers staring at a frozen screen in the office, to traders trying to receive an alert from a customer — everyone is feeling the sting of the astronomical rising data service costs.
What used to be a tool for convenience has now become a burden. Airtime disappears like smoke in harmattan, data vanishes faster than a flash of lightning, and even the simple USSD codes that once made banking easy now drain pockets in the name of “service charges.” Nigerians quip, half in jest and half in lamentation, that MTN is “stripping them naked.”
Nigeria’s telecom sector is dominated by four major providers–MTN, Globacom, Airtel, and 9mobile. Each has its loyal base, yet none has been spared from public outcry. Among them, MTN is often described as the most expensive, with subscribers complaining that call credit disappears “before you even finish saying hello.” Airtel, too, has earned its share of criticism for poor value on bundles, while Glo is seen as “still manageable,” especially for those who rely heavily on data. 9mobile, though less dominant, is remembered more for its struggles than for affordable relief.
Mrs. Omolara Adeyemi, a secondary school teacher in Ibadan, the Oyo State capital, narrates how her monthly salary seems to vanish into data subscriptions. “Before I know it, I have spent almost ₦15,000 on just data. That is, money I could use to buy foodstuff for my children. But without data, how will I prepare my lessons or communicate with parents on WhatsApp?”, she asked rhetorically.
The teacher’s pains echo across the country. In Lagos, a young entrepreneur, Segun, runs an online clothing business. His frustration is even sharper, saying, “If you calculate the airtime and data I buy in a month, it is almost like paying rent twice. My adverts swallow data, responding to customers takes more, and then the networks still fail when you need them most.”
These are not isolated voices. They reflect a national frustration. The irony is that in countries like Ghana and South Africa, the cost of mobile data is significantly lower, and the service more reliable. In the United Kingdom, unlimited broadband plans allow households to work, stream, and study without the fear of running out of data. In contrast, a Nigerian worker must ration gigabytes the way villagers ration kerosene for a lantern.
The situation grows more unbearable with the constant upward adjustment of charges. Once upon a time, an SMS cost ₦3. Today, it is several times higher. Banking transactions, once facilitated by free USSD codes, now attract charges for every dial. What began as a convenience has turned into another bill. In offices, employees complain of Zoom meetings cutting off midway. In universities, students rely on unstable hotspots to download lecture notes. And in homes, families must calculate whether to renew Netflix or sacrifice it for “essential” data.
The deeper concern lies in what this means for national productivity. A nation cannot thrive in a global digital economy if its citizens are too burdened by the cost of simply logging on. The government celebrates cashless policies, online registrations, and e-learning platforms, yet these dreams cannot flourish if the ordinary Nigerian is disconnected before the end of the month.
Globacom often prides itself as “the grandmasters of data,” and many subscribers agree it is relatively cheaper. However, affordability without stability is another problem. Airtel boasts of being “the smartphone network,” yet many Nigerians cry that their smartphone experience is more of an endurance test. MTN, with its wide coverage, is the giant that many cannot escape–even when they grumble about its tariffs. And 9mobile, though struggling for relevance, has not positioned itself as the messiah Nigerians crave.
In face of this, citizens are left with coping strategies. Some switch SIM cards like changing clothes, depending on which service provider is less cruel in a given area. Others restrict internet use to midnight bundles, depriving themselves of sleep just to download school materials or send business files. In this digital economy, Nigerians are forced to become jugglers, balancing costs against survival.
Nigerians are paying too much for too little. This is not just about luxury streaming or social media. It is about livelihood. Farmers need data to check market prices. Students need it to access online materials. Workers need it for emails and reports. Traders need it for bank transfers. When connectivity becomes a luxury, development is delayed, and dreams are deferred.
The telecom providers may argue that inflation, cost of infrastructure, and government levies drive their prices. This may be true, but the burden still rests heavily on the shoulders of ordinary citizens already bent from other economic pressures. To be fair, the sector has made strides since the days when SIM cards cost ₦20,000. But progress should not be measured only by expansion of towers. It should also be measured by the dignity of subscribers who deserve value for money.
It is time to rethink. Regulatory bodies must ask hard questions. Network providers must strike a balance between profit and compassion. And as citizens, our collective voices must rise — not in bitterness, but in demand for fairness. Connectivity is no longer a luxury; it is a right tied to survival in the 21st century.
Until then, the lamentations will continue to ring in the streets and on social media: “Before MTN strips me naked, let me leave this place for you.” It may sound like a joke, but beneath the laughter lies a painful truth. Nigerians are being stretched thin by the very services meant to connect them. And unless something changes, the digital bridge we dream of may remain a mirage in the desert of rising costs.
Leave a Reply