Governance is not complicated. It is about people and the resources entrusted to serve them. When resources are managed wisely, the people prosper, and prosperity spreads. Mismanage them, and poverty multiplies. Nigeria’s tragedy is not scarcity. It is stewardship.
For decades, Nigeria, described as Africa’s largest oil producer, has earned hundreds of billions of dollars, yet remains home to some of the world’s poorest citizens. That contradiction is not accidental. It is systemic. It reflects policy distortion, institutional weakness, and a culture of impunity that has too often treated public wealth as political spoils rather than a national trust.
The Abuja-based Independent Media and Policy Initiative (IMPI) recently captured this paradox bluntly by saying Nigeria’s poverty crisis is not the result of inadequate resources, but of persistent failure to manage them prudently and sustainably. It described the crisis as a “self-inflicted economic malady.” That phrase should trouble every public official.
Between 1980 and 2015, Nigeria rode multiple oil booms. Instead of converting windfalls into diversified productivity, the country succumbed to what economists call the Dutch disease. Oil revenues surged. The naira appreciated. Imports became cheaper. Domestic production became uncompetitive. Agriculture declined. Manufacturing withered.
IMPI’s analysis shows that between 1980 and 1986, exchange rate appreciation crippled local industries and turned Nigeria from a major agricultural exporter into a net food importer. Cocoa, palm oil, and rubber, once pillars of export strength, gave way to dependency. A parallel distortion emerged, the so-called “Nigerian disease.” Rural labour migrated to cities in search of oil-fueled wage spikes. Farming declined. Food insecurity deepened, which has continued to linger each day. Over-mechanised and poorly coordinated agricultural investments, uncompleted irrigation projects, and subsidies skewed toward politically connected elites widened inequality. Oil wealth created the wrong impression of prosperity while hollowing out the economy’s productive core.
Former Vice President Yemi Osinbajo once framed the issue plainly: Nigeria’s challenge is not geographical restructuring but resource management and service delivery. After decades of vast oil earnings, the uncomfortable question remains. Where is the infrastructure?
If mismanagement were purely historical, recovery might simply require time and discipline. But the problem is not confined to the past, and this is because between 2010 and 2026, an estimated $214 billion, roughly N300 trillion, has been flagged as missing, diverted, unrecovered, irregularly spent, or trapped in non-transparent fiscal structures. These figures reveal that they are not speculative but arise from audit reports, legislative investigations, civil society litigation, and investigative findings across administrations.
The oil sector alone provides sobering examples. In 2014, unremitted oil revenues triggered national outrage. Years later, audit queries continue to trail the Nigerian National Petroleum Company Limited. The names of institutions change. The pattern persists. The Central Bank of Nigeria has also faced audit alarms over trillions in unremitted surpluses and questionable intervention facilities. The Auditor-General has flagged failures to remit operating surpluses into the Consolidated Revenue Fund, alongside hundreds of billions allegedly disbursed to unidentified beneficiaries under intervention schemes, which is alarming and a common fraudulent practice.
Across Ministries, Departments, and Agencies, trillions have been cited in unsupported expenditures, unremitted taxes, procurement irregularities, and statutory liabilities left unrecovered. The institutions differ. The language of audit reports varies. The years change. The pattern does not.
A natural occurrence, which is the plain truth, and unarguably, is that when electricity funds disappear, the grid collapses. Also, when agricultural loans remain unrecovered, food prices surge. The same goes when social investment programmes stall due to bureaucratic lack of transparency; the vulnerable remain exposed. Nigeria borrows not only because revenue is insufficient but because leakage is persistent.
The 2026 fiscal projections sharpen the dilemma. This has continued to raise concern as seen in the proposed N58.47 trillion budget, which carries a N25.91 trillion deficit, with N15.9 trillion allocated to debt servicing. What signifies a systemic failure is that nearly half of the projected federal revenue will service past loans before development priorities are funded. The truth be told, borrowing is not inherently destructive. Economies such as the United States deploy deficit financing strategically to expand productivity. The difference lies in what the borrowing finances.
To date, Nigeria’s deficits are increasingly funded by recurrent obligations rather than productivity-enhancing infrastructure. This is why Nigeria’s domestic borrowing persistently crowds out private-sector credit, driving up interest rates and stifling enterprise. Time after time, the nation has continued to witness how weak revenue mobilisation, overt oil dependence, and institutional inefficiencies compound the strain, and for these reasons, public debt is projected to has surpass N177.14 trillion by the end of 2026, which is driven by the budget deficit in 2026 Appropriation Bill.
Based on what is obtainable in other advanced countries, debt becomes sustainable only when borrowed funds are channeled into growth-enhancing investments, institutions ensure transparency and value for money, and economic expansion outpaces debt accumulation. When these conditions weaken, deficits evolve into a fiscal trap.
Despite some of the challenges occasioned by mismanaged resources and leakages, policymakers project cautious optimism. The Central Bank forecasts GDP growth of approximately 4.49 percent, moderating inflation, and foreign reserves exceeding $50 billion. On paper, stability appears to be returning. But stability is not prosperity.
Take, for instance, between 2006 and 2014, Nigeria recorded average GDP growth rates of six to seven percent, peaking near eight percent. Yet poverty remained stubbornly high, judging by the lived experience of the populace. This shows that growth without inclusion is only arithmetic, not development. Today, households confront elevated food prices despite the report that food inflation fell from 29.63 per cent in January 2025 to 8.89 per cent in January 2026, energy costs, and unemployment. Yes, one may say that the exchange-rate unification and fuel subsidy removal were economically rational reforms. However, without aggressive domestic production expansion and credible social safety nets, adjustment costs fall heavily on citizens.
The concept of the “resource curse,” coined by Professor Richard Auty, explains why resource-rich nations often experience weaker institutions and lower long-term growth than resource-poor peers. Nigeria truly exemplifies that irony. Yet the curse is not inevitable. This is because countries such as Norway and Botswana transformed natural resource wealth into long-term prosperity through disciplined institutions, sovereign wealth management, and uncompromising transparency, which happens to be foreign to Nigeria’s system. The difference was not geology. It was governance.
Former President Olusegun Obasanjo has never been quiet over resource plundering as he lamented that Nigeria has squandered divine gifts. The same lies with the former Minister George Akume, who warned that no nation grows if a quarter of its resources are consistently mismanaged. The former Anambra governor, Peter Obi, observed bluntly that wealth cannot be entrusted to those without integrity. The United Nations is also amongst those who have repeatedly warned that mismanaged natural resources fuel instability and conflict. Where institutions are weak, resource wealth becomes combustible. Nigeria has navigated that edge for decades.
Nigeria does not suffer from a shortage of reform announcements. It suffers from a gap between announcement and enforcement. The Treasury Single Account was designed to consolidate public funds under constitutional oversight. Yet significant funds have periodically remained outside complete transparency. The problem is that audit findings often accumulate without visible recovery, prosecution, or systemic reform.
The reality is that if every naira saved from subsidy reform is not transparently reinvested in infrastructure, healthcare, education, and productivity, public trust will erode further. If intervention facilities are not tracked and repaid, agriculture will stagnate. If oil revenues are not fully remitted and independently audited, diversification will remain rhetorical, just as they have defined the system today. What will definitely propel a change when visible enforcement, recoveries, prosecutions, and institutional strengthening must replace quiet reports and circular memos.
President Bola Ahmed Tinubu stands at a consequential intersection due to the critical issues unfolding. His administration has initiated painful but necessary reforms in the areas of fuel subsidy removal, exchange-rate unification, and fiscal restructuring. One stands to say that these measures aim to restore macroeconomic order. But for a fact, macroeconomic stability is a foundation, not a destination. His presidency will either mark the beginning of Nigeria’s fiscal rescue or consolidate a system that mortgages tomorrow to survive today.
