If I could snap my fingers, I’d run my own transformer station—just for my shop and the clinic next door. Let the government keep their promises and their faulty cables; I’m tired of choosing between sewing machines and refrigerating insulin. Autonomy? It’s not crypto dreams or Elon tweets. It’s knowing the lights stay on when the rains come and the grid laughs at us. I’d even share the power, not out of kindness but because a rising tide lifts stubborn boats. But let’s be clear: no man in Abuja will hand me that switch. I’ll have to pull the wires myself, probably with help from Engineer Ada over in Yaba.
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