Why Nigerians Trust What They Can Hear, See, and Verify in Motion.
Somewhere in Surulere, a tailor is trying to convince a customer that her dress will be ready before Friday. She gestures at the half-cut fabric on her machine and the apprentice beside her, threading a needle. But her words alone don’t do the trick. What finally gives the customer peace is the low, rumbling sound of a Tiger generator behind the shop, humming like a second heartbeat.
That generator is doing more than supplying electricity. It’s supplying credibility.
This is the Generator Effect. It is the Nigerian tendency to trust things we can see running, hear working, or feel moving. It explains why we peep into coolers before ordering food at a party. Why we press our fingers on phone screens in shops to check touch sensitivity. Why we ask to “test it first” before paying for almost anything, from Bluetooth speakers to perfumes to used cars.
In the Nigeria market, movement is proof.
It’s not because we’re naturally distrustful. It’s because our environment has taught us to be vigilant. Packaging lies. Adverts overpromise. In some cases, vendors lie outright. But motion, real-time, visible, audible proof, is harder to fake. A vibration. A flicker. A click. A rotation. These are tiny performances that speak louder than any marketing language ever can.
You will see a mother in Wuse insisting that her daughter try on shoes and walk around the store. Not because they don’t trust the brand, but because movement unlocks assurance. The shoes must bend, must grip, must make the right sound on the tiled floor. That’s when a purchase becomes possible.
In behavioural psychology, there’s a concept called enactive verification. It’s the idea that people believe what they can interact with and experience firsthand. Nigerian consumers have developed a culturally specific form of this. Years of navigating uncertainty, scarcity, and broken infrastructure have rewired us to prefer proof in motion over promises in writing.
The electricity sector is partly responsible. The sound of a generator means business can run, food won’t spoil, POS machines will work. It’s why many consumers associate that low-pitched hum with reliability. Even when buying electronics, a customer is more likely to believe in a product if it’s plugged in and powered, even if the box is pristine.
This behavior has shaped entire retail subcultures.
Electronics shops now play loud music not only for ambience but to prove that the woofers, subwoofers, and speakers are working. Mechanics let customers stand beside the car as they change the oil, rev the engine, or shake the battery head. Furniture makers upload Instagram videos of sofas being sat on, bounced on, or dragged across tiled floors because photos alone are no longer enough.
We want to see effort. We want to hear performance.
In offices, the Generator Effect shows up in subtler ways. Staff tap keyboards louder than necessary. People repackage completed work as voice notes or WhatsApp videos to communicate motion. Colleagues restart printers or shuffle papers during meetings because silence can feel like inactivity, and inactivity breeds doubt.
Even in home services, it shows up. The plumber who arrives silently and completes work behind a door may not inspire confidence. But the one who knocks, asks loudly for tools, runs taps repeatedly, and wipes sweat from his forehead performs trust into existence.
This is what many Nigerian consumers are paying for, the visible energy.
Stillness, even when expert, is often mistaken for indifference. A pharmacist who pauses to read a doctor’s prescription note might be more thorough. But many Nigerians will trust the one who is already moving toward the shelf. The same goes for the waiter wiping down a table or a teller stamping a document. These actions carry semiotic weight.
We interpret activity as progress. We interpret stillness as delay.
For marketing professionals, the insight is clear. Products that move convert better than products that pose. Founders who show the backend of their operations, the kitchen, the delivery process, the repairs, attract more loyalty than those who post only finished photos. Movement triggers confidence. Visibility bridges doubt.
It also explains the rise of the product demo economy where creators and sellers lead with video explainers, how-it-works clips, and behind-the-scenes processes. The idea is to avoid selling only the result while neglecting the method. For Nigerian consumers, the steps matter. The sound of a blender. The squeak of new sneakers. The buzz of clippers. The flipping of Akara. These details anchor belief in real time.
It’s why screenshots of “work in progress” are more convincing than beautifully designed flyers. Why vendors now record voice notes confirming order prep or delivery timelines. Why many Nigerian buyers request live photos or “short videos” before payment.
The Generator Effect is about survival in a low-trust economy. A little vibration, a low hum, or a click at the right moment says: this thing works because you can see it for yourself.
In a country like Nigeria where words often fail, movement has become our mother tongue.
