There is a sound that every Nigerian child grows up knowing before they even understand what electricity is. It comes at dusk, sometimes earlier, sometimes much later. It does not ask permission. Somewhere on the street, a generator coughs twice, sputters, then settles into that steady growl. That growl becomes the background music of the evening. Within minutes, three more join in from different compounds. Each one sounds at a slightly different pitch. What you have is a kind of orchestra nobody auditioned for.
I grew up with this. Most of us did. For a long time, I thought of it the way many people still do, as simply the price of light. There is a power interruption, a generator provides light, and the noise is just what comes with it. It is like the smell of fried plantain from the roadside or the horn of a danfo bus; it is just part of the scenery. However, I work in health communication, and after years in this field, I have come to see that this noise is not just an inconvenience we tolerate with a shrug. It is quietly affecting our bodies and minds in ways most of us have never stopped to interrogate.
Let us start with the obvious one: hearing. A generator running close to your window is not a gentle hum. Depending on the size and the length of time the engine has been in use, it can produce noise levels well above what is considered safe for sustained exposure. Portable generators commonly produce between 60 and 90 decibels, and the noise from bigger industrial generators can even be higher than that. Health authorities generally agree that anything consistently above 85 decibels, over time, begins to wear down the delicate hair cells in your inner ear. These cells do not grow back. Once they are damaged, that is it. So, that ringing you sometimes notice in your ears after standing near a generator for a while cannot be considered normal. That is your body saying, ‘Please, step back!’
Then there is sleep, which we often do not discuss enough. A good number of Nigerians living in areas with an epileptic power supply sleep with a generator running somewhere nearby, either their own or a neighbour’s. Quality sleep needs a certain baseline of quiet, or at least consistency. A generator gives you neither. It surges, dips, and sometimes cuts off suddenly, and starts again with a jolt. Your brain, even while you are asleep, keeps registering these changes. It stays slightly alert to them. Over months and years, this kind of broken, shallow sleep contributes to fatigue, poor concentration, and irritability. Sleep researchers have also linked this sort of prolonged, disrupted sleep to a higher risk of raised blood pressure. We often blame stress from work or traffic for our blood pressure numbers. We rarely suspect the machine roaring outside our window every night.
Now, for the part that worries me most as someone who thinks about public health for a living: carbon monoxide. This is the silent one. Generators, especially the small petrol ones, produce carbon monoxide as they burn fuel. Many households keep them close to the house or even inside a poorly ventilated space, such as boys’ quarters or a corridor. You cannot see carbon monoxide. You cannot smell it. By the time symptoms like headache, dizziness, nausea, and confusion appear, it may already be doing serious damage. Every year, Nigerian newspapers report families found unconscious, or worse, because a generator was left running in an enclosed space overnight. Often it is because it was raining, or because someone wanted to keep the generator from being stolen. This is not a rare tragedy. It happens often enough that health workers in emergency departments across the country recognise the pattern immediately when a case comes in.
I am not writing this to lecture anyone about giving up their generator. I understand the reality. Power supply in this country has not been reliable for decades. For many families, a generator is not a luxury. It is the difference between a business staying open and a business shutting down. It is the difference between a child studying for exams and a child sitting in darkness. I am not asking you to throw away something that keeps your freezer running and your shop lit. What I am asking is that we treat the generator with a little more care for what it can do to us, rather than simply accepting the noise and the fumes as unavoidable background to Nigerian life.
The truth is that some of this is genuinely simple. Position your generator as far from windows and sleeping areas as your compound allows. Never, ever run it in an enclosed space, no matter how heavy the rain. If you can afford it, an inverter generator runs considerably quieter and more efficiently than the older carburettor types. The initial cost stings, but it pays for itself over time in fuel savings and in the sanity of everyone within earshot. Earplugs are cheap and useful too, particularly if you are the person tasked with refuelling or maintaining the machine for long stretches. If you live in a block of flats or a close-knit compound, a simple conversation with neighbours about generator hours can help. Agreeing not to run them past a certain time, unless it is truly necessary, protects everyone’s sleep and sanity.
There is also a critical conversation some people keep having with policymakers about improving the national grid so that this reliance on generators eases over time. That is a slower fight. It will not be won this year, or perhaps even this decade. However, while we wait, and Nigerians are famously good at waiting with humour intact, it is worth remembering that the noise outside your window is not just noise. It is a low, steady conversation your body is having with an engine. It is worth listening to what your body is telling you back.
So, the next time your neighbour’s generator roars to life in the evening, and you find yourself muttering under your breath, remember that the irritation you feel is not misplaced. Your ears, sleep, and blood pressure agree with you completely. This generator noise, my fellow citizen, is one trouble we can learn to outsmart, even if we cannot yet make it disappear.