Just energy transition: Can Nigeria, Ghana turn $410bn into power?

Nigeria has a Climate Change Act, an Electricity Act, an Energy Transition Plan targeting net zero by 2060, and a new NDC. By July 2026, 16 states had taken over their electricity markets.

Ghana has a Renewable Energy Act, efficiency laws, an updated NDC with 47 programmes, and a Ministry of Energy and Green Transition.

The laws are signed. The agencies exist. The press releases have been read.

So, why are we still asking the same question?

Because a policy is not electricity. A target is not a transformer. A $410bn plan for Nigeria is not light in a classroom in Kano, or power for a cold store in Kumasi.

Both countries face the same brutal equation: expand reliable, affordable power, scale renewables, cut emissions, and do it all with broken grids, fossil fuel dependence, debt, and millions who cannot afford another tariff hike. Ghana just paid $1.47bn in 2025 to clear energy sector debt. Nigeria’s plan admits it needs $410bn by 2060, with $17bn expected from private investors who are still watching from the sidelines.

This column is not about whether the frameworks exist. They do.

The question The Bottom Line is asking is simpler, and harder: Can the institutions, the money, and the politics turn those documents into watts that actually reach people?

Because a just energy transition will not be measured by how many laws we passed.

It will be measured by whether the lights stay on, the bills are fair, and the people who will lose jobs and gain new ones are not left behind in the dark.

Let’s start with the foundation.

Nigeria’s Climate Change Act 2021 gave us a legal structure to coordinate climate action. The Electricity Act 2023 opened the market to states and to decentralised, renewable generation. It was supposed to break the monopoly and bring power closer to the people.

And it did something. By July 2026, 16 states had fully transitioned to regulating their intrastate electricity markets.

But decentralisation is not a magic switch. It is a new burden. Can state regulators enforce standards? Can they attract investors? Can they protect consumers from multiple layers of charges? Most importantly, will the woman in Owerri see fewer hours of darkness?

The law cannot answer that. Only delivery can.

Nigeria’s climate math is just as ambitious. The updated NDC promises a 20 per cent emissions cut below business-as-usual by 2030 with our own money. With international support, that rises to 47 per cent.

The Energy Transition Plan tries to connect that target to real life: power, cooking, transport, industry, oil and gas. But the plan is honest about the price tag: about $410bn in additional investment above business-as-usual between 2021 and 2060.

It has flagged an initial $23bn pipeline, with roughly $17bn expected from the private sector.

So, the problem has shifted. It is no longer “do we have a plan?”

It is “can we coordinate the institutions to run it, and can we find and manage the money without it disappearing?”

That coordination problem is Nigeria’s real risk.

The Ministry of Power and NERC set the rules. The Rural Electrification Agency is supposed to reach communities the grid forgot. The Ministry of Petroleum Resources and NNPC Ltd still run the economy because oil and gas won’t disappear tomorrow. NCDMB is meant to secure local jobs and industry. The National Council on Climate Change is supposed to provide the big picture.

Each has a mandate. None can deliver the transition alone.

If they work in silos, we will get announcements without outcomes. A solar project here, a gas plant there, and still no reliable power for the factory down the road.

Ghana’s story is similar. Its Renewable Energy Act and 2020 amendment created tools: competitive procurement, net metering, efficiency standards. Its updated NDC lists 47 adaptation and mitigation programmes across 19 areas. The framework is solid.

But frameworks don’t pay IPPs. They don’t fix transmission losses.

Look at the institutions. The Ministry of Energy and Green Transition sets policy. The Energy Commission regulates and pushes renewables. PURC must balance affordable tariffs with keeping utilities alive. VRA generates. ECG distributes.

It’s a chain. And a chain breaks at its weakest link. You can add all the solar you want, but if ECG cannot collect revenue or VRA cannot get paid, the power will not reach the consumer.

This is where Ghana’s numbers hurt.

In January 2026, the government said it paid $1.47bn in 2025 to clear energy sector debt and restore a World Bank guarantee. That money went to IPPs and fuel suppliers. Money to stabilise yesterday’s system.

Which raises an uncomfortable question: if we are spending billions just to keep the lights from going out completely, where is the fiscal space to build tomorrow’s system?

The answer cannot be “government should spend more.” Both countries are broke and borrowing. Both need private capital. Solar companies, IPPs, banks, oil and gas firms — they have the money and the expertise governments don’t.

But private money is not charity. When the state gives guarantees, subsidies, tax breaks or cheap loans to make a project bankable, citizens deserve to know the return. How many megawatts? How many jobs? At what cost per unit? For how long?

And that is why civil society matters.

Climate groups, energy access organisations, community leaders — their job is to ask the rude questions. Is this project affordable? Were communities consulted? Will the benefits reach the people who have never had 24-hour power?

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A solar farm is not automatically “just” because it is green. If it displaces farmers without compensation, or raises tariffs beyond what market women can pay, it has failed.

International partners add another layer. The World Bank, AfDB, SEforALL, Green Climate Fund, USAID, Power Africa — they bring finance, guarantees, and technical help. They can help close the gap.

But their involvement makes transparency more urgent, not less. When we hear “Just Energy Transition Partnership” or “climate finance,” journalists must ask: Is this a grant, a loan, or a guarantee? How much has actually been disbursed? Who controls it? What are the conditions?

Because money committed is not money spent. And money spent is not money well spent.

Nigeria’s $410 bn cannot come from the budget. The Energy Transition Plan says it will need commercial investment, concessional loans, development finance, and blended structures. Ghana is looking at climate funds, private capital, blended finance, and carbon credits under Article 6. Its revised Climate Prosperity Plan also targets public, private and catalytic capital.

Fine. But here is the test I propose:

Can a reporter in Ghana or Nigeria trace the money from commitment to disbursement to project to outcome?

How much was approved? How much was released? Who got it? What was it meant to deliver? Was it completed? How much electricity does it produce? What did consumers pay? Were jobs created? What happens if it fails?

We must also separate transition money from survival money. Ghana’s $1.47bn debt payment may be critical, but it is not transition finance. It is repair finance. Investment in gas may improve reliability today, but we must ask how long that infrastructure fits in a net-zero plan.

Nigeria and Ghana are not confused about where to go. The policies prove it.

The Climate Change Act. The Electricity Act. The Renewable Energy Act. The NDCs. The Energy Transition Plan. The Ministry of Energy and Green Transition. The direction is clear.

The harder question is execution.

A successful just energy transition will not be counted in laws passed or billions pledged at COP.

It will be counted in classrooms that can run a computer all day.

In hospitals that don’t rely on diesel.

In factories that can plan production without planning for blackouts.

In rural communities that get power for the first time, not just tariff increases for the tenth time.

In workers who lose a fossil job and gain a renewable one with dignity.

That is the only metric that matters.

$410bn is a promise.

$1.47bn is a rescue.

But a mother in Lagos and a trader in Accra do not live on promises or rescues.

They live on whether the bulb comes on when they flip the switch, and whether they can afford to keep it on.

So, we must ask it plainly, one last time:

The plans are ready.

The money is being chased.

The institutions exist.

The only question left is this:

Will Nigeria and Ghana deliver power, or will they deliver another decade of policies?

Because if we get this wrong, the transition will not be “just”.