The tomatoes arrive by the crate, red and slightly bruised from the ride in from the farm gates outside town.
A worker in rubber boots weighs them on a scale bolted to a concrete slab, taps the numbers into a phone, and wheels them into a room cold enough to fog his breath.
Outside, the sun that will pay for all of it beats down on a field of blue solar panels wired into a 90-kilowatt-hour battery bank, enough, the engineers here say, to keep the compressors running for four days even if the sky never clears.
This is Adonai Foods and Fresh Produce, a cold-storage operation on the border of Abuja and Nasarawa State, and it sits at the center of a quieter, more mundane version of Nigeria’s energy transition, one measured not in gigawatts of grid capacity but in kilograms of pepper that didn’t rot.