Lithium offers Nigeria a rare chance to do things differently, writes KENNETH B. ATI-JOHN
In the dusty hills of Nasarawa, young boys dig with bare hands for shards of lithium-rich rock. These fragments, sold for pennies, travel through shadowy supply chains to power Teslas in California, BYDs in Shenzhen, and batteries across Europe. The irony is stark: Nigerian children scrape the ore that drives the global clean-energy revolution.
Lithium has become the new oil, the critical mineral without which electric vehicles and renewable storage cannot advance. Yet unlike oil, discovered and squandered in equal measure, lithium offers Nigeria a rare chance to do things differently. The question is urgent. Will this resource be squandered again, or will it finally be transformed into the foundation of a clean energy renaissance?
Lithium is no longer just a commodity. It is the linchpin of global industrial transformation. Demand is projected to rise five to six fold by 2030, driven by electric vehicles, renewable energy storage, and digital devices. China already refines more than sixty percent of the world’s supply. Chile and Australia dominate production. The United States, Europe, and Japan are racing to secure long-term contracts.
This scramble is not merely economic but geopolitical. Control over lithium defines technological leadership and national security. Countries without a secure access strategy risk dangerous dependency. Countries with it, if disciplined, will shape the terms of the twenty-first century. Nigeria, with its vast deposits, its large domestic market, and its access to Africa’s 1.3 billion consumers through AfCFTA, is uniquely positioned.
Geological surveys confirm Nigeria sits on a treasure trove. Deposits in Kaduna, Nasarawa, Ekiti, Oyo, Kogi, and Kwara have been identified, with grades well above international benchmarks for economic viability. Industry analysts estimate reserves at over thirty-four billion dollars.
Foreign interest is rising. Chinese-backed firms are committing billions into processing plants. A UK company has reported major finds in Kaduna. In 2018, Nigerian firms discovered thousands of tonnes of commercial-grade lithium. To its credit, government policy now bans raw ore exports and requires local processing.
Yet challenges persist. Illegal mining, environmental destruction, and child labor scar the sector. Smuggling deprives Nigeria of value, while enforcement remains weak. The nation stands at a precipice: resource wealth beneath its feet, uncertainty above.
Two futures are possible. One is extraction and export. Nigeria becomes a quarry, shipping raw ore at thin margins. It repeats the story of crude oil and Congo’s cobalt: riches in the soil, poverty on the surface. Every truckload of unprocessed ore means billions in foregone industrial value and sovereignty ceded to foreign powers.
The other is industrial value addition. Nigeria refines lithium into carbonate and hydroxide, builds cathode and anode plants, develops battery factories, and could eventually assemble electric vehicles for the African market. Each stage multiplies value several times over. From thirty-four billion dollars in rocks, Nigeria could generate over two hundred billion in industrial output and millions of jobs.
Chile has shown what disciplined mining policy can achieve, reinvesting resource revenues in education and technology. China has shown the power of foresight, using decades of state-backed investment to dominate refining. Nigeria must choose its model, and it must choose quickly.
Nigeria must act with deliberate vision. The ban on raw ore exports must be enforced without exemptions. Dedicated power infrastructure, rail corridors, and industrial parks are essential. Skills development is equally critical: mining universities, STEM education, and joint research centers.
Artisanal miners must be formalized, child labor eradicated, and environmental protections enforced. Nigeria must diversify partnerships beyond China, engaging Japan, the European Union, the United States, and the Middle East. AfCFTA offers a ready market where Nigeria could lead in regional EV and battery manufacturing. Pension funds and banks must also invest. This is not only a foreign investor’s game. It is a national project.
Failure would be catastrophic. Economically, Nigeria risks becoming a thirty-four billion dollar quarry while others reap hundreds of billions from finished products. Every truckload of ore smuggled abroad is a school unbuilt, a hospital unequipped, an industry unborn.
Socially, inaction traps communities in poverty. Nigerian children will remain in artisanal pits instead of becoming engineers of the clean-energy age. Politically, today’s elites will be remembered not as visionaries but as custodians of betrayal, repeating the oil curse in a new century.
Geopolitically, the stakes are existential. The clean-energy map is being drawn now. If Nigeria delays, supply chains will be locked and the nation relegated to the periphery. History rarely grants second chances. Oil was squandered. Lithium is a reprieve. To miss it again would be unforgivable.
Lithium is not only economic. It is sovereignty. Control of critical minerals grants leverage in global supply chains. Nigeria can command respect if it controls its lithium; it will become a colony of the clean-energy age if it does not.
This is Africa’s broader leapfrogging moment. Nigeria has the chance to lead and prove that resource justice is possible. Communities that bore the costs of oil must not endure the same with lithium.
The world will not wait. Demand is exploding, contracts are being signed, and choices are being made. Nigeria must decide now whether lithium will mark the dawn of industrial rebirth or another lost decade.
Our children should not be digging ore for the world’s batteries. They should be building those batteries, assembling vehicles, and innovating the future. Lithium is more than a mineral. It is Nigeria’s test, a chance to turn the weight of history into the spark of renewal. To seize it requires vision, courage, and discipline. To squander it would be unforgivable.
Rear Admiral Ati-John (rtd.) writes from Lagos
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