What It Means to Grow Up Counting Generators Instead of Dreams

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When I think about the childhoods many African children are living today, I am transported back to my own: a small house, a kerosene lantern that flickered more than it shone, and the low, constant growl of generators humming through the night like mechanical insects. Some children fall asleep to lullabies. We fell asleep to diesel fumes.

There are places in this world where childhood is measured in stories, in wonder, in curiosity. But for millions of African children, childhood is measured in blackouts, in the number of hours without electricity, in the candles burned, in the generator cycles counted before the night turns quiet again. The rhythm of darkness becomes a companion, a dictator, a quiet thief.

I grew up counting generators instead of dreams.
And today, in 2025, 80% of the world’s people without electricity still live in Africa. The story has not changed. Only the stakes have grown sharper.

The sounds and silence that shape a childhood

In many African towns, electricity is not expected; instead, it is hoped for. And hope is unreliable. As a child, I learned to do homework fast because the light could disappear mid-sentence. I learned to conserve my imagination because darkness has a way of shrinking possibilities.

The noise of generators is the soundtrack of inequality. Those who can afford one live under a haze of constant fumes; those who cannot live in silence, a silence that is sometimes peaceful but often suffocating. Candles drip on schoolbooks. Smoke stains the walls. Children squint to read. Mothers ration kerosene like medicine.

It is easy for policymakers to talk about “megawatts” and “access targets.” It is harder to understand what it means for a child to grow up in darkness.

Darkness teaches you your limits.
Light teaches you your possibilities.

The cost of darkness on a child’s mind

The truth is this: energy poverty is not just an economic problem; it is a psychological and developmental one.

According to the World Bank, Africa loses 2–4% of its GDP every year because of unreliable electricity. But what is lost in a child’s mind cannot be measured in GDP.

Studies from UNICEF show that children who rely on kerosene lamps suffer increased risks of burns, respiratory disease, impaired vision and lower academic performance. But beyond the physical harm, there is a deeper loss — the loss of consistent study hours, of safe environments, of a sense that one’s future is possible and supported.

Electricity is a childhood right.
Without it, dreams dim early.

This is why Energy Transition Africa has repeatedly argued that electricity access must be seen as a justice issue, not a luxury.

Counting generators is a tax on hope

Across the continent, households collectively spend over $27 billion each year on small diesel generators, more than many African countries spend on health or education. Nigeria alone consumes more diesel for backup power than several European countries consume for transport.

When you grow up around generators, you learn things no child should learn:

• how to stretch your homework between power cuts
• how to fall asleep through fumes
• how to charge a phone at a neighbour’s house
• how to listen for the moment the generator sputters, the warning sign that fuel is running out
• how to ration possibilities because everything depends on light

Generators are not signs of resilience. Rather, they are signs of a system that has failed families.

Dreams interrupted before they begin

Every time the lights go out, a child loses something:

A page of homework.
A moment of safety.
A chance to study.
A chance to hope.
A chance to rest.
A chance to grow.

It is no coincidence that the regions with the lowest electricity access also have the highest rates of learning poverty, maternal mortality, and childhood illness. Energy is not an add-on to development; it is the foundation of it.

The International Energy Agency notes that at current rates, Africa will not reach universal access to electricity until after 2060, decades past global targets.

For the world, this is a statistic. But for a child, it is a destiny.

What justice looks like for a child growing up in darkness

Energy justice is not abstract. It is deeply personal.

It means:

• a child doing homework under a bright light, not a smoky lamp
• a mother cooking without coughing
• a clinic refrigerator that keeps vaccines safe
• a classroom where students can see the board
• a community where shops can stay open after sunset
• a future where generator noise is no longer a lullaby

Justice begins with literal power.

Africa must invest not only in grids, but in decentralised systems that reach the last mile. Many rural areas will not receive grid access soon enough. Mini-grids, standalone solar, and clean cooking are not small solutions.
They are childhood-saving solutions.

The memory of light and what millions still don’t have

There is a moment I remember clearly: the first time my family had steady electricity for a whole evening. We sat together, not talking much, simply amazed by the uninterrupted glow. For the first time, I realised how heavy the darkness had been.

Millions of children across Africa have never had that moment.
They have never known what it feels like to take light for granted.

And that is why I write.
Darkness taught me many things.
But it did not teach me to accept it.

A final reflection: Light is a human right

The world sometimes speaks about Africa’s energy poverty as an engineering puzzle or a financing challenge. But for me, it will always be a human story, a story written in the eyes of children who read by candlelight, mothers who cook through smoke, and families who live in the narrow spaces between blackouts.

Electricity should not be a privilege.
It should not be a prayer.
It should not be a dream.

It should be the place where all dreams begin.

Africa cannot afford another generation defined by darkness.
We must build a continent where children grow up counting possibilities, not generators.

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