By MOSHOOD OSHUNFUREWA

The National Bureau of Statistics (NBS), in 2022, its latest report on the National Multidimensional Poverty Index Report, finds that 62.9 per cent of Nigerians are multi-dimensionally poor, approximately 132.93 million citizens deprived across health, education, living standards, work, and nutrition. The World Bank has since confirmed that poverty rose to 63 per cent in 2025, trapping about 140 million people in hardship. These numbers are not mere statistics. The reality of the daily lives of Nigerians life and workers, evidently shows that it is a collective indictment of a system that has become comfortable with mass suffering, even as government revenue soars and borrowing accelerates.

Consider the revenue figures. The Executive Chairman of the Nigeria Revenue Service (NRS), Dr Zacch Adedeji, has announced that monthly revenue generation surged from N711 billion in May 2023 to over N3.635 trillion by September 2025, representing an approximate 411 per cent growth. On paper, this is a remarkable fiscal turnaround. But where is the evidence that this wealth has touched the lives of ordinary Nigerians? Inflation has indeed moderated, headline inflation declined from 34.80 per cent in December 2024 to 15.15 per cent in December 2025, according to NBS data. Yet the World Bank has explicitly stated that “household incomes have not grown fast enough to offset still-elevated inflation, and poverty has yet to begin declining”. What Nigerians experience daily is not the relief of falling prices but the persistent erosion of purchasing power.

The disconnect between macroeconomic improvement and household welfare is most visible in the cost of shelter. For millions of Nigerians, affordable rent has become an impossible dream. The NBS reports that a large share of multi-dimensionally poor Nigerians reside in homes constructed with natural or rudimentary materials. Even in Lagos State, which records the second-lowest Multidimensional Poverty Index at 29.4 per cent, the cost of decent accommodation has long outstripped the earnings of the average worker. At the same time, the IMF has warned that Nigerians may face even tougher economic conditions in the near term as rising food and transportation costs continue to squeeze household incomes amid lingering global shocks. How, then, can anyone claim that these reforms are working for the people?

The answer is that the reforms are working – but only for the wealthy few. The job market tells a grim story. Recent projections suggest unemployment could remain stuck near 22.6 per cent in 2026, a strikingly high figure that reflects what analysts have termed a “jobless boom”. The International Monetary Fund (IMF) has projected Nigeria’s economy to grow by 4.1 per cent in 2026, yet this growth has conspicuously failed to translate into mass employment. The Central Bank of Nigeria’s Monetary Policy Rate remains high, commercial bank lending rates hover close to 38 per cent, and businesses have responded by favouring automation over labour. For the vast majority of Nigerians who depend on daily wages and informal sector income, the official economy might as well exist on another planet.

Meanwhile, the government continues to borrow at an alarming rate. According to the Debt Management Office (DMO), Nigeria’s total public debt climbed to N159.28 trillion by December 31, 2025, a sharp increase largely driven by domestic borrowing. The IMF projects Nigeria’s debt-to-GDP ratio at 32.3 per cent in 2026. In its Fiscal Monitor report, the IMF has explicitly warned that fiscal adjustment risks could force cuts to essential services—health, education, and social protection—that are critical for development and poverty reduction. Is it not profoundly contradictory to trumpet revenue increases while simultaneously sinking deeper into debt, all without any measurable improvement in the welfare of the citizenry? This is not sustainable economics. It is a cycle of borrowed prosperity that enriches a small elite while leaving the masses to bear the cost.

The poverty afflicting Nigeria today is not merely income poverty. It is multidimensional, deep, and dangerous. The NBS Multidimensional Poverty Index reveals that about two-thirds of Nigerians are deprived of health care, education, food security, and decent employment. In the North East, the MPI stands at 76.5 per cent; in the North West, 75.8 per cent. In Sokoto State, an astonishing 90.5 per cent of the population is multi-dimensionally poor. These figures describe a population stripped not only of material resources but of the very capabilities that make life liveable. This is a poverty of opportunity, of dignity, of hope. And it is self-imposed—the direct consequence of decades of political greed, structural neglect, and a governance culture that prioritises access to state resources over the delivery of public goods.

The danger of this trajectory cannot be overstated. A population of 140 million struggling Nigerians is a time bomb—not only for the business community, which cannot thrive in a market devoid of solvent consumers, but for the very continuity of Nigeria’s democracy. Desperation breeds instability. When young people are jobless, when families cannot afford rent or put food on the table, when the state is seen not as a protector but as a predator, the social contract frays beyond repair. The IMF itself has warned that more than 20 million people across sub-Saharan Africa could face moderate or severe food insecurity. In Nigeria, this is not a distant possibility. It is already unfolding in communities across the north and the south.

We must speak plainly. There is no need for grandstanding. The current economic reform agenda is self-contradictory. It has delivered higher revenue and lower headline inflation, yet poverty has deepened, debt has mounted, and ordinary Nigerians are worse off than they were two years ago. This is not an argument against reform; it is an argument for reform that is genuinely pro-poor, structurally sound, and accountable to the people. The wealthy few cannot continue to be the sole beneficiaries of Nigeria’s fiscal space. Unless we reorient our economic priorities toward inclusive growth, job creation, and social protection, the poverty crisis will metastasise into a health catastrophe, a security nightmare, and ultimately a threat to democracy itself. The numbers are clear. The question is whether our leaders will finally choose to read them.

•Moshood Oshunfurewa writes from Lagos and can be reached via 08035936663 (SMS Only) or via e-mail; moshoodho2025@gmail.com