In a country where the power grid takes more days off than the average worker, the idea of banning imported solar panels might sound like a script from a movie. But no — this time, it’s serious. Nigeria’s proposed restriction on solar panel imports, previously floated as political lip service, is now echoing from multiple corners of government. And if the latest pronouncements are anything to go by, the days of container-loads of Chinese photovoltaic panels arriving at Lagos ports may soon be numbered.
The Federal Government’s intent to halt solar panel imports — with the aim of boosting local manufacturing — was reiterated yesterday by Abba Aliyu, Managing Director of the Rural Electrification Agency (REA), at a roundtable in Lagos with the state government. “Over ₦200 billion ($124M) has been spent on the importation of PV panels into the country,” Aliyu lamented, hinting at a national economic injury. “Lagos, being the centre of excellence, is going to lead a total war in that domestication.”
A “total war” against solar imports? One might be forgiven for wondering whether the real enemy is Nigeria’s chronic power shortages or the foreign-made panels that have, until now, offered millions a glimmer of light — quite literally.
Aliyu revealed that the REA has helped expand a local PV assembly plant in Lagos from a modest 10MW capacity to 110MW. There’s even a lithium battery assembly joint venture in the pipeline with Green World — a $150 million investment, no less. It’s a start, though skeptics might point out that expanding a factory and sustaining a manufacturing ecosystem in Nigeria are two very different beasts.
Echoing Aliyu’s remarks, Nigeria’s Minister of Science and Technology, Uche Nnaji, invoked the ever-present Presidential Executive Order №5, which mandates the prioritization of indigenous technology and innovation. “We will stop all these importations of solar panels,” he said. “We will support our local industries to grow.”
And yet, there’s a catch. Or perhaps several.
A Policy With a Timing Problem
The call to restrict imports coincides — somewhat paradoxically — with Nigeria’s most ambitious push yet into decentralized renewable energy. The $500 million DRE Nigeria Fund, launched recently with international fanfare in Bridgetown, Barbados, is meant to scale mini-grids, solar home systems, and other distributed solutions. The effort, backed by Africa50, the Nigeria Sovereign Investment Authority (NSIA), and Sustainable Energy for All (SEforALL), is designed to address Nigeria’s yawning energy access gap.
On paper, it’s a game-changer. But even the best game-changers require reliable components. Solar panels, for instance.
Critics, including the Renewable Energy Association of Nigeria (REAN), have expressed concern that banning imports before local manufacturing reaches scale could derail progress. “A ban on solar imports, without first strengthening local production capabilities, risks derailing this progress,” the REAN warned. In short: build it before you ban it.
Nigeria imported over ₦237 billion ($147 million) worth of solar panels in the last quarter of 2024 alone, mostly from China. Replacing this volume locally is not merely a challenge of engineering but of infrastructure, regulation, and — crucially — time.
The Elephant in the Room
Against this backdrop, Nigerian cleantech darling Arnergy recently announced an $18 million raise this week to scale distributed solar solutions across the country. Investors include CardinalStone Capital Advisers, Breakthrough Energy Ventures (founded by Bill Gates), and British International Investment.
Bill Gates, whose energy fund previously led Arnergy’s Series A round, is no casual player in Nigeria’s energy ecosystem. His stake lends global credibility — and perhaps even some quiet influence — to Nigeria’s renewable future. But even that weight (and others) hasn’t insulated Arnergy from the anxiety swirling around the proposed import ban.
The company’s lease-to-own solar model, Z Lite, has seen exponential uptake, especially after Nigeria scrapped fuel subsidies in 2023, sending generator costs through the roof. With petrol prices up 500%, solar is no longer a green luxury but a financial necessity. Arnergy has installed over 1,800 solar systems across 35 states — with ambitions to reach 12,000 by 2029.
Investors are watching. Many see Nigeria’s energy transition not just as an environmental imperative but a business opportunity — if the policy environment doesn’t scare them off first.
The proposed solar import ban now places Nigeria’s policymakers in a tight bind. On the one hand, there’s a legitimate need to build industrial capacity, reduce dependency on foreign goods, and create jobs. On the other hand, the country has 92 million people still without access to electricity. Banning a product that powers homes, schools, and health centres, without an alternative in place, is a bit like cancelling food imports before planting the first seed.
There’s also the small matter of inflation and currency depreciation. Local manufacturers rely on imported inputs. Batteries, semiconductors, inverters — many components essential to assembling solar systems are still sourced abroad. So even “local” may not mean “cheap.”
Then there’s the DRE Fund. Its success hinges on the availability and affordability of solar components. If restrictions are imposed too soon, project timelines will lengthen, costs will rise, and the very investors Nigeria is trying to attract could walk away.
To the government’s credit, it isn’t just posturing. NASENI, Nigeria’s national engineering R&D body, has begun producing solar panels. The REA is actively supporting private initiatives. There are factories in Lagos, MoUs being signed, and real investment on the table. But optimism must be tempered with realism. Nigeria’s industrial policy history is replete with half-finished factories, over-hyped pilot programs, and equipment gathering dust.
A Flicker of Light — or a Shadow?
Nigeria’s solar future is not doomed. In fact, it has never looked more promising. But the country risks sabotaging itself with good intentions executed poorly. Restricting solar panel imports may one day be a badge of industrial pride. For now, it’s a test of policy pragmatism.
If successful, the policy could birth a robust local solar industry, reduce dependency, and build climate resilience. If bungled, it could strangle a growing sector, alienate investors, and leave millions in the dark.
As the sun sets on solar imports, one can only hope that what rises in their place is more than just hot air.