By Godwin Agia, Jalingo
In the sweltering heat of Jalingo, the “Mai Ruwa”—the ubiquitous water vendors of Taraba State—are the lifeblood of the metropolis. Yet, behind the rhythmic clinking of their metal carts lies a grim reality: the very men keeping the city hydrated are drowning in debt and exhaustion.
As the twin pressures of fuel hikes and inflation crush small-scale enterprises, these vendors say they are no longer working for a living—they are merely laboring to exist.
The math of misery
For 32-year-old Musa Ishaya, a vendor in the Mayo-Gwoi area, the economics of water vending have become a cruel joke. Since borehole owners rely on diesel-powered generators, the cost of a single jerrican has jumped from N20 to N50.
“Fuel is our biggest predator,” Ishaya says, wiping sweat from his brow. “I sell a jerrican for N100 to N120, but once you subtract the cost of the water, constant repairs to the truck, and the high cost of food needed to stay strong enough to push, my daily take-home is less than N1,500.”
The physical toll is equally steep. Ishaya often treks up to two kilometers under a punishing sun to deliver a single load. “Last week, my truck frame snapped. The welding cost me N2,000—that was two full days of profit gone in an instant. I am laboring for nothing.”
The rent trap
The situation is even more dire for those who do not own their equipment. At Mile Six, 41-year-old Hassan Sani explains the “rent trap” that keeps many vendors in perpetual poverty.
“I rent this truck for N300 a day,” Sani explains. “A full trip of 10 jerricans brings in N1,000. But look at the breakdown: N500 goes to the borehole owner, and N300 goes to the truck owner. I am left with N200 per trip to cover my food and my family’s needs.”
With new plastic jerricans now costing N1,200 each, replacing worn-out gear has become nearly impossible. Many vendors have resorted to “truck-sharing” to split rental costs, but this reduces the number of trips each man can make in a day.
A call for infrastructure
Despite their struggles, the vendors remain the primary source of water for thousands of residents. However, they warn that the current model is unsustainable. While customers complain about price hikes, the vendors argue they have no choice if they are to survive.
“We are praying for the government to revive the public water supply,” Ishaya says. “Man must eat, and water must flow, but right now, we are the ones bleeding so the city can drink.”
The vendors’ plea is simple: either fix the fuel crisis or restore the taps. Until then, the Mai Ruwa of Jalingo will continue to push their heavy burdens—not for profit, but for the hope of a tomorrow that is slightly less thirsty.
