By Bagudu Mohammed
Last week, the News Agency of Nigeria reported that the National Agency for Food and Drug Administration and Control had commenced enforcement of the long-debated ban on the production and sale of alcohol packaged in sachets and small bottles below 200 millilitres. According to the report, the Director-General of NAFDAC, Professor Mojisola Adeyeye, made this disclosure during a media parley in Lagos, explaining that the move followed a directive of the Senate. Although the agency had announced as far back as November 2025 that enforcement would begin by December, the process was briefly halted after the Federal Government ordered a suspension pending wider consultations. That pause has now ended, and enforcement is underway.
Adeyeye’s explanation was unambiguous. The decision, she said, was taken to safeguard public health and to protect vulnerable populations, particularly children, adolescents, and young adults, from the harmful use of alcohol. She noted that the widespread availability of high-alcohol-content beverages in sachets and small containers had made alcohol cheap, easily accessible, and easy to conceal. While stressing that NAFDAC is not opposed to alcohol itself, she emphasized that the agency is firmly against the unchecked proliferation of highly concentrated alcohol in formats that encourage abuse. Before her tenure, she revealed, some sachet alcohol products contained between 50 and 90 percent alcohol, an extremely dangerous concentration. Even when manufacturers were directed to reduce alcohol content to 30 percent, resistance followed, with industry players citing threats to jobs and investments. A five-year grace period, stretching from December 2018 to January 2024, was granted to allow businesses to adjust. According to NAFDAC, that window has now closed.
At first glance, public reaction to the enforcement appeared mixed but largely calm. Many described the policy as normal, overdue, or inevitable. Then came a headline that sharply shifted the tone of the conversation. Members of the Nigerian Labour Congress and the Trade Union Congress stormed the Lagos office of NAFDAC to protest the ban, joined by the Distillers and Blenders Association of Nigeria. Placards warned against destroying local manufacturers, cited trillions of naira in investments, and claimed that millions of Nigerians risked losing their livelihoods. Solidarity songs rang out, and the protest framed the issue squarely as a battle between job security and regulation.
This response immediately raises difficult questions. The first is procedural and symbolic. The unions chose to confront NAFDAC, an implementing agency, rather than the National Assembly, which issued the directive and holds the constitutional authority to make binding laws. That choice suggests either a misunderstanding of institutional roles or a strategic attempt to pressure the most visible enforcer rather than the true originator of the policy. Either way, it blurs accountability and risks turning a complex public health debate into a theatre of intimidation and spectacle.
More troubling, however, is what has been largely absent from the public square. In moments of national dilemma, especially on issues touching directly on health and human well-being, the voices of medical and public health professionals should be unmistakable. Yet the silence or near-neutrality of critical stakeholders such as the Nigerian Medical Association, the Pharmaceutical Society of Nigeria, and other health bodies has been striking. These are institutions that regularly assert their role as custodians of public health, often mobilizing public opinion when negotiating welfare packages or responding to perceived threats to professional interests. On a matter with such far-reaching health implications, sitting on the fence is not neutrality; it is abdication.
This silence matters because the debate has been framed almost exclusively as a conflict between workers’ livelihoods and regulatory overreach. Trade unions, by their nature, are expected to defend jobs at all costs. That role is understandable, but it does not automatically make their position objective or aligned with the broader public good. When one side of a debate is driven by vested economic interests, society relies on independent, evidence-based voices to provide balance. Without that, public opinion becomes vulnerable to coercion, emotional appeals, and half-truths, especially when mass action is used to overwhelm quieter but more consequential concerns.
Alcohol sachets themselves are not a mystery. They are small, cheap, plastic packages containing alcoholic drinks, often between 50 and 100 millilitres, designed to be affordable and easy to hide. These characteristics explain their popularity across parts of Africa, but they also explain why so many countries have moved to restrict or ban them. Kenya outlawed sachet alcohol as far back as 2004. Malawi, Cameroon, Tanzania, Uganda, Zambia, Rwanda, and Ivory Coast have all enacted bans or strict regulations at different times, largely in response to rising rates of alcohol misuse, especially among young people.
The experience of these countries also offers sobering lessons. In Cameroon, whisky sachets remain widely available despite an official ban, with brands circulating openly. Uganda faces similar enforcement challenges, as several producers have failed to comply. Tanzania struggles not only with health consequences but also with environmental pollution from discarded sachets. Kenya continues to battle cross-border smuggling from neighboring countries, while Zambia’s banned tujilijili persists through illicit trade. In Malawi, a court injunction temporarily overturned the ban after pressure from manufacturers, and in Ivory Coast, banned sachets have been found to contain dangerous substances such as methanol. Rwanda has taken a firmer stance by prohibiting alcohol packaging in plastic containers altogether, citing both health and environmental risks. Across the region, the pattern is clear: sachet alcohol is difficult to regulate and easy to abuse.
Globally, the public health case against alcohol, particularly in cheap and highly accessible forms, is well established. The World Health Organization has repeatedly warned that alcohol consumption is linked to significant health risks and that there is no completely safe level of use. Alcohol is associated with cancers, liver disease, cardiovascular conditions, and mental health disorders, and is responsible for millions of deaths worldwide each year. From a theoretical perspective, the social determinants of health framework reminds us that availability, affordability, and social norms strongly shape consumption patterns. When alcohol is cheap, portable, and ubiquitous, harm predictably rises.
The economic argument is equally compelling. While manufacturers and unions emphasize job losses, alcohol-related harm imposes enormous hidden costs on society. Healthcare systems are strained by alcohol-related diseases. Productivity is lost through absenteeism, disability, and premature death. Road accidents, domestic violence, and crime linked to alcohol impose further burdens on families, communities, and law enforcement. Studies consistently show that areas with higher alcohol availability experience higher rates of violence and injury, and that policies which reduce access, increase prices, or restrict marketing lead to measurable declines in harm.
Against this backdrop, the narrow focus on job protection begins to look dangerously incomplete. Workers, including union members themselves, are not insulated from the consequences of alcohol abuse. They are among the victims of road crashes, domestic violence, declining mental health, and reduced life expectancy. Protecting jobs tied to harmful products while ignoring the broader social and economic losses is not solidarity; it is a disservice to the very people unions claim to defend. As the economist Amartya Sen has argued, development should be understood as the expansion of human capabilities, not merely the preservation of income streams detached from well-being.
The real question, then, is not whether jobs matter or whether public health matters. Both do. The question is which path better secures the long-term welfare of society. Around the world, governments are tightening alcohol regulations precisely because the costs of inaction have proven too high. To argue for greater access and affordability of strong alcohol in the name of employment, at a time when evidence overwhelmingly points in the opposite direction, is to cling to a short-term logic that sacrifices collective safety for immediate economic comfort.
In this light, the sachet alcohol ban should not be reduced to a simplistic contest between regulators and workers. It is a test of national priorities, institutional courage, and moral clarity. If Nigeria is serious about protecting its young people, reducing preventable deaths, and building a healthier, more productive society, then public health cannot be shouted down by placards and protest songs. It must be defended with evidence, integrity, and the voices of those entrusted to speak for the health of the nation.
Bagudu can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or on 0703 494 3575.
