Connect with us

Feature/OPED

In Nigeria… One Day Monkey Go Go Market

Published

on

Monkey Go Go Market

By Prince Charles Dickson PhD

In Nigeria, the road has become a stage where power performs its most absurd theatre. The siren—once a tool of emergency—now plays the soundtrack of ego. The convoys, longer than a bride’s procession, louder than a market quarrel, move through our streets like small invading armies. And every time that blaring, violent sound slices through the air, a simple truth echoes behind it: one day monkey go go market… and e no go return.

Because power, especially Nigerian power, has a short memory. And even shorter patience.

These leaders who move as though the sun itself must pause when they pass were once ordinary Nigerians. They once queued at bus stops, once waited under the rain for taxis, once navigated potholed streets with the same caution as every other citizen trying not to die by negligence. But somewhere between election and inauguration, ambition and arrogance, something snapped. Their feet left the ground. Their humanity blurred. And their ears, now accustomed to sirens; forgot how silence feels.

The bizarre culture of convoys in Nigeria has metastasized into something theatrical, violent, and deeply offensive. What began as protocol has become performance. Sirens scream not just to clear the road, but to announce hierarchy. Vehicles speed not just to meet schedules but to demonstrate superiority. And the citizens, the people in whose name this power is supposedly held, scatter like startled chickens. Or worse, end up dead under tires that never brake.

The irony is painful. The same leaders who demand absolute obedience from citizens once walked among those same citizens unnoticed. Once upon a time they lived without outriders, without black-tinted SUVs, without pickup vans carrying heavily armed security men who point guns at commuters as though Lagos traffic is a battlefield. They were once people. Now they behave like a species apart.

But the road remembers. The people remember. And power always forgets that it is a tenant, never a landlord.

Escorts in Nigeria don’t just move with urgency; they move with intimidation. They shove, push, threaten, and roar through roads where ordinary Nigerians are merely trying to survive the day. The siren becomes a weapon, the convoy a declaration of dominance. The message is clear: “Your life must move aside. My importance is passing.”

In what country should this be normal?

Even emergency vehicles; ambulances carrying dying patients, fire trucks racing to burning buildings, sometimes cannot pass because a government official’s convoy has occupied the road with the entitlement of royalty.

This isn’t governance; it’s theater of the absurd.

And the casualties are not metaphorical. Nigerians have died—pregnant women hit by convoys, okada riders knocked off the road, children flung away like debris. Drivers in these convoys behave like warhorses let loose, sworn not to slow down regardless of what or who is ahead.

But who will hold them accountable? Who dares question power that sees questions as disrespect and disrespect as rebellion?

The institutions meant to regulate these excesses are the same institutions that created them. Protocol offices treat speed like divinity. Security details mistake aggression for duty. Schedules are treated as holy commandments. Every meeting becomes urgent. Every movement becomes life-or-death. Every road must clear.

But the truth sits quietly behind all this noise: no meeting is that important, no leader is that indispensable, and no road should require blood to make way.

Somewhere, a child grows up believing public office means public intimidation. A young man sees the behavior of convoys and dreams not of service but of dominance. A young woman imagines that leadership means never waiting in traffic like the rest of society. And so, the cycle of arrogance reproduces itself. A country becomes a laboratory where entitlement multiplies.

In Nigeria, the convoy culture reveals a deeper sickness: a leadership class that has disconnected from the lived realities of the people they claim to govern.

When did proximity to power become justification for violence?

When did schedules become more sacred than lives?

When did we normalize leaders who move like emperors, not elected representatives?

But more importantly: how do these leaders forget so quickly where they came from?

Many of them grew up in the same chaos their convoys now worsen. They once asked why leaders were insensitive. Now they have inherited the same insensitivity and advanced it.

The convoy is more than metal and noise. It is a metaphor. It illustrates how Nigerian governance often operates: pushing the people aside, demanding unquestioned obedience, prioritizing position over responsibility.

And yet, the proverb whispers:

One day monkey go go market… e no go return.

Not because we wish harm on anyone, but because history has its own logic. Power that forgets compassion eventually forgets itself. Leadership that drives recklessly, morally, politically, and literally—will one day crash against the boundaries of public patience.

This metaphor is a quiet mirror for every leader who believes their current status is divine permanence. One day, the sirens will go silent. The tinted windows will roll down. The outriders will be reassigned. The road will no longer clear itself. Reality will return like harmattan dust.

And then the question will confront them plainly:

When your power fades, what remains of your humanity?

The tragedy of Nigeria’s convoy culture is that it makes leadership look like tyranny and renders citizens powerless in their own country. It fosters a climate where ordinary people live in perpetual startle. It deepens distrust. It fuels resentment. It reinforces the perception that leadership is designed to intimidate rather than serve.

And what does it say about us as a nation that we accept this?

We accept the absurdity because we assume it cannot be overturned. We accept arrogance because we assume it is the price of power. We step aside because we assume there is no alternative.

But nations are not built on assumptions. They are built on accountability.

The temporary nature of political power should humble leaders, not inflate them. Four or eight years or whatever time they spend clinging to office cannot compare to the lifetime they will spend as private citizens once the convoys disappear.

When the noise stops, will they walk among us head high or with their face hidden?

When the sirens lose their voice, will they find their own?

What if true leadership was measured not by how loudly you move through society but by how gently you walk among the people?

Imagine a Nigeria where power travels quietly. Where convoys move with the dignity of service, not the violence of entitlement. Where leaders move with humility, not hysteria. Where the streets do not tremble at the approach of authority. Where citizens do not shrink to the roadside, waiting to survive the thunder of tinted SUVs.

It is possible. It is necessary. It begins with leaders remembering that every journey through Nigeria’s roads is a reminder of their accountability, not their dominion.

Because one day, and it will come—monkey go go market.

The convoy will stop.

The siren will fade.

The power will dissolve into yesterday.

And the road will ask the only question that matters:

While you passed through, did you honor the people… or terrorize them?

History will remember the answer.

And so will we—May Nigeria win!

Click to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Feature/OPED

Nigeria’s Children Under Siege as Politics Trumps over Governance

Published

on

Tinubu Nigeria’s Children Under Siege

By Blaise Udunze

Chapter Two, Section 14 (b) of the 1999 Constitution of Nigeria (as amended) is explicit when it states that the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government.  Hence, by every standard, the welfare of Nigerians should be the first priority of the government. What would be said if the same government had failed on this path? Judging by this rhetorical question and series of unfolding events, indications have shown that Nigeria is drifting into a dangerous territory where politics increasingly overshadows governance, and the amazing part of it is that insecurity, poverty and social despair continue to consume the very foundations of the state.

Surprisingly, this is eventually playing out when millions of Nigerians expect leadership, empathy and decisive action, the political class appears preoccupied with permutations for 2027, coalition-building, defections, endorsements and electoral calculations. Meanwhile, criminals are expanding their territory.

The horrendous, tragic kidnapping of pupils, teachers and school workers in Oriire Local Government Area of Oyo State has become one of the most painful symbols of Nigeria’s deepening security crisis. Shamefully, it would be recalled that recently armed terrorists invaded three schools in Ahoro-Esinle and Yawota communities. Yes, this might not be the first time of abducting school pupils, but one thing that is more troubling in this case is that dozens of schoolchildren and teachers were abducted, as this includes toddlers barely old enough to understand what was happening around them.

Intently looking at the incident, one vicious act is that among those abducted were two-year-old Christianah Akanbi and three-year-old Sikiru Salami, who are also not exempt from the daily torture.

The horror became even more devastating when a video emerged confirming the gruesome murder of Michael Oyedokun. He was a Mathematics teacher who had simply gone to work on a Friday morning to educate Nigerian children. He never returned home. The life of a teacher, a father and a mentor was cut short when beheaded in captivity by terrorists in Nigeria in May 2026.

His death is not merely a tragedy for his family. But the harrowing experience is that it is an indictment of a nation that appears increasingly unable to guarantee the safety of its citizens.

Let us consider the recent attack in Oyo State; this is not an isolated incident. It is part of a growing pattern that demonstrates the alarming deterioration of security across the country. And this is one harrowing and traumatic situation that might continue to heighten fear in the southwest: barely days after the Oyo school abductions, gunmen invaded Yashikira in Baruten Local Government Area of Kwara State, attacked the Emir’s palace, set parts of it ablaze and abducted ten residents. Also, of great concern is that just days earlier, worshippers had been killed and others abducted from a prayer ground in the same state.

Worst still, these nightmares have been the lived realities confronting Nigerians across Benue, Plateau, Katsina, Zamfara, Borno, Niger and other states. Stories of killings, kidnappings and displacement have become routine headlines.

The frightening reality is that Nigeria is gradually normalising the abnormal. Schools are becoming targets. Highways have become theatres of terror. Farms have become killing fields. Communities are becoming refugee camps. And citizens increasingly feel abandoned.

What makes the situation even more troubling is the growing perception that governance has been subordinated to politics.

This is to say that it has become glaring that while communities mourn their dead and families desperately search for abducted loved ones, the “sorry” situation is that public attention at the highest levels of government often appears focused on political calculations ahead of the 2027 elections.

This perception gained further traction following the Oyo school abductions. Nigerians watched grieving parents cry on television. Videos emerged showing abducted teachers pleading for help from captivity. This has triggered a negative notion, as many citizens felt there was insufficient urgency from the federal authorities in responding to one of the most horrifying school attacks in recent years.

Leadership is not measured only by policies and speeches. It is measured by empathy, responsiveness and the ability to assure citizens that their pain matters.

Section 14(2)(b) of Nigeria’s Constitution leaves no room for ambiguity. It states clearly that the security and welfare of the people shall be the primary purpose of government. Not politics. Not elections. Not defections. Not coalition building. Security and welfare.

Unfortunately, many Nigerians increasingly believe that the priorities of government no longer reflect this constitutional obligation. The consequences extend far beyond security. The educational sector is becoming one of the biggest casualties of the country’s security collapse.

The vicious incidents have brought the society to a standpoint whereby parents who once worried about examination results now worry whether their children will return home alive from school. Meanwhile, teachers who have continued to work tirelessly and still should be focused on learning outcomes are increasingly forced to think about survival.

One glaring adverse impact from all these abnormalities is that school enrolment in vulnerable communities is likely to decline as parents choose safety over education.

The long-term implications are frightening because the fact is that every child denied education today becomes a future economic liability. Every school abandoned due to insecurity creates another generation vulnerable to poverty, extremism and social exclusion. Every teacher lost to violence weakens Nigeria’s human capital.

Another aspect that is more of concern is that the abduction of children from schools represents more than a security challenge, but this is a thorough attack on Nigeria’s future. Perhaps the most heartbreaking and horrendous aspect of these attacks is the psychological damage inflicted on children. It must be established beforehand that when rescued, many victims may never fully recover from the trauma. This could be linked to, especially to the screams, the gunshots, the confusion, the separation from parents and the terror of captivity.

With the recent and past occurrences, without any iota of doubt, such experiences often leave invisible wounds that endure for years. Considering that the children who should be learning multiplication tables and nursery rhymes are instead learning fear.

The real question is, can a nation that cannot protect its children confidently speak about its future? Never! Emphatically, it should be understood that beyond education, insecurity is fueling a broader socio-economic epidemic.

Nigeria is already grappling with one of the worst affordability crises in its history, which also depicts the continued governance complacency. Talking of the removal of fuel subsidy and exchange rate liberalisation, inflation has eroded purchasing power, while food prices, transportation costs, rents and utility bills continue to soar, and worse off is the skyrocketing price of cooking gas.

Yet insecurity is making the crisis even worse. Farmers cannot access their farmlands. Harvests are disrupted. The country has witnessed the rural economies collapsing heavily. The resultant effect is that food production has continued to decline, and supply chains are increasingly vulnerable. The result is predictable because the simple arithmetic is that higher food prices, worsening hunger and deeper poverty.

The level of security collapse has shown that many northern farming communities, bandits now function as parallel authorities, imposing levies and determining who can farm and who cannot. This directly impacts food availability in urban centres hundreds of kilometres away.

Thus, insecurity is no longer merely a security problem; the truth is that it has become an economic problem, which is developmental, educational, and humanitarian. And ultimately, a governance problem.

The inability to effectively confront insecurity also raises difficult questions about institutional capacity.

As public affairs commentator Leonard Umunna recently observed, weak institutions produce weak outcomes. Corruption, poor accountability and ineffective governance structures have collectively undermined the state’s ability to deliver security and development.

Some of the terrifying truths Nigerians must take into cognisance are that when institutions become compromised, citizens lose confidence. Also, when accountability disappears, impunity flourishes, as the same applies when governance fails, criminality fills the vacuum. One truth that cannot be argued is that the vacuum is becoming increasingly visible across Nigeria.

The irony being experienced today in Nigeria is that while political actors are preparing intensely for 2027, the very foundations required for democratic stability are being eroded.

The terror and anxiety are definitely obvious, and the fact is that democracy cannot thrive in an environment of widespread fear.

Citizens who cannot travel safely, farm safely, worship safely or send their children to school safely are unlikely to have confidence in democratic institutions.

Perhaps, some ought to translate these messages to those at the helm of affairs in Nigeria that security is the foundation upon which every other national aspiration rests. And, without security, economic reforms become ineffective. Without security, educational investments become vulnerable. Without security, foreign investment declines. Without security, national unity weakens. Also, another underlying fact is that without security, democracy itself becomes fragile.

The well-known truth, which is quite unfortunate today, is that Nigeria’s challenges are not insurmountable because the country possesses the manpower, resources and institutional structures necessary to reverse the tide.

What appears lacking is the political will, urgency and strategic focus required to confront the crisis comprehensively.

This moment demands more than condolences after attacks. It demands intelligence-driven operations. It demands stronger coordination among security agencies. It demands improved local intelligence networks. It demands accountability. It demands institutional reforms. Most importantly, it demands leadership that places governance above politics.

As Nigeria inches toward another election cycle, political leaders must recognise a simple truth, and that truth is that there may be little value in winning elections in a nation increasingly overwhelmed by insecurity, poverty and social fragmentation.

The pursuit of political power cannot become more important than the survival of the republic itself. The death of Michael Oyedokun should haunt the conscience of the nation. So should the tears of Christianah Akanbi. So, should every parent be afraid to send a child to school? So should the pain of every community living under the shadow of terror. Nigeria is at an intersection; it has reached a tough moment where important and critical decisions must be made.

One path leads to deeper insecurity, educational decline, economic hardship and national instability. The other requires courage, responsibility and a renewed commitment to governance. The choice should not be difficult.

For if politics continues to take precedence over governance, the greatest casualty may not be any political party or administration. It may be Nigeria itself. The country is redeemable, and there is still hope for a better Nigeria.

Blaise, a journalist and PR professional, writes from Lagos and can be reached via: bl***********@***il.com

Continue Reading

Feature/OPED

Facing the Reality of Inflation in Everyday Life

Published

on

Timi Olubiyi Reality of Inflation

By Timi Olubiyi, PhD

Currently, many are passing through one of the most difficult times due to inflationary pressures. From transportation to food, electricity, healthcare, school fees, rent, and communication, the rising cost of living has altered the daily experience of millions of households. What used to be considered necessities have now become luxuries for many families. Across the country, the average citizen is under enormous pressure to survive amid worsening inflation, shrinking purchasing power, and economic uncertainty.

While inflation is a global phenomenon, the Nigerian experience has become particularly severe because of the combined effects of fuel subsidy removal, exchange rate volatility, high transportation costs, insecurity in food-producing regions, and weak wage growth. The reality of petrol selling at nearly N1,400 per litre in some parts of the country has significantly changed household economics and business sustainability. The consequences are visible everywhere in markets, offices, homes, schools, hospitals, and on the streets.

In practical terms, transportation fares have more than tripled in many cities within a short period. Food inflation has equally become alarming. Bread, eggs, cooking gas, yams, tomatoes, beans, and other staple foods continue to rise beyond the reach of average Nigerians. Electricity tariffs and telecommunications costs have also increased, while rent in urban centres keeps climbing. Unfortunately, salaries and wages have not kept pace with these realities. This is perhaps the greatest crisis confronting workers and small business owners today. Many employees still earn wages negotiated several years ago under entirely different economic conditions. Yet the value of those salaries has been severely eroded by inflation. In real terms, many workers are poorer today despite remaining employed.

The truth is that the salary structure available now can no longer effectively support decent living standards for many households. Even professionals with stable employment now struggle to meet basic obligations. Civil servants, teachers, artisans, small traders, entrepreneurs, and even middle-income earners are feeling the weight of the economic squeeze.

For many families, survival now depends on borrowing, reducing consumption, postponing healthcare, or sacrificing savings and investments. More troubling is the psychological effect of this prolonged hardship. Economic pressure is increasingly and significantly affecting mental health, marriages, productivity, and social stability.

Anxiety, frustration, depression, anger, and emotional exhaustion are becoming common experiences among citizens trying to survive difficult conditions. Difficult times and hardship often fuel marital conflicts, domestic tension, and reduced emotional well-being. In workplaces, economic uncertainty lowers morale, concentration, and productivity as employees struggle to cope with transportation costs, food, and other basic needs.

In fact, many people now live permanently in survival mode, uncertain about what tomorrow may bring. Businesses are equally under pressure. Rising operational costs continue to threaten sustainability, especially for small and medium-scale enterprises. Diesel prices, transportation costs, imported raw materials, electricity bills, taxation, and weak consumer spending have reduced profitability across many sectors. Several businesses have downsized operations, reduced staff strength, or shut down completely. Others remain in operation but merely struggle to survive.

Consequently, the era when a single salary could comfortably sustain a family is gradually disappearing in Nigeria. One of the clearest lessons from the current economic climate is that relying solely on one source of income has become increasingly risky. Economic realities now require individuals and households to think beyond traditional salary structures and embrace income diversification. In fact, multiple streams of income are no longer optional; they are becoming a necessity for financial survival and resilience. Families that depend entirely on one monthly salary are highly exposed to economic shocks, inflation, job loss, or business disruptions. The harsh reality is that even regular employment no longer guarantees financial security.

Therefore, Nigerians must begin to intentionally explore additional income opportunities that can complement existing earnings. This does not necessarily mean abandoning primary jobs or businesses, but rather creating alternative sources of income that can provide support during difficult times. Technology and digital platforms have made this more possible than ever before. Social media, e-commerce, freelancing, online consulting, digital content creation, virtual training, and remote services now offer opportunities for additional income generation.

Many professionals can monetise their knowledge, experience, or talents through side engagements without compromising their primary employment. In a way, passive income opportunities such as agriculture, cooperative investments, real estate, dividend-paying stocks, mutual funds, and small-scale trading can help cushion economic shocks over time. Land acquisition, for instance, remains one of the most reliable long-term stores of value in Nigeria despite current economic challenges. Assets that appreciate over time can provide financial protection against inflation. More so, living below one’s means may no longer be a matter of choice but a practical necessity under present realities. The culture of excessive social competition and pressure to maintain appearances despite declining income can worsen financial stress. Economic survival today requires financial honesty, discipline, and strategic planning.

In conclusion, the current economic realities in Nigeria demand a shift in mindset, financial behaviour, and survival strategies. Fuel at N1,400 per litre is not merely an energy issue; it affects transportation, food prices, school fees, healthcare costs, business operations, and overall quality of life.

Inflation has redefined daily living for millions of Nigerians. Therefore, building multiple streams of income, improving financial literacy, embracing prudent spending, and investing for the future are no longer luxury ideas but necessary responses to economic realities.

The truth is simple: depending solely on salary income in today’s Nigeria may no longer be sufficient for financial stability. The earlier households adapt to this reality, the better positioned they may be to survive and thrive despite the challenges ahead. Good luck!

How may you obtain advice or further information on the article? 

Dr Timi Olubiyi is an expert in Entrepreneurship and Business Management, holding a PhD in Business Administration from Babcock University in Nigeria. He is a prolific investment coach, author, columnist, and seasoned scholar. Additionally, he is a Chartered Member of the Chartered Institute for Securities and Investment (CISI) and a registered capital market operator with the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC). He can be reached through his Twitter handle @drtimiolubiyi and via email at dr***********@***il.com for any questions, feedback, or comments. The opinions expressed in this article are solely those of the author, Dr Timi Olubiyi, and do not necessarily reflect the views of others.

Continue Reading

Feature/OPED

Nigeria’s Booming Banks And A Collapsing Economy

Published

on

CBN Gov & new Bank logo(1)

By Blaise Udunze

Nigeria’s banking industry appears to be booming, largely driven by the policies of the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN), under Governor Olayemi Cardoso, while the real economy continues to suffocate.

At a time when millions of Nigerians are sinking deeper into poverty, when inflation continues to erode household incomes, when businesses are collapsing under unbearable operating costs, and when migration has become a survival strategy for many young professionals, Nigerian banks are announcing staggering profits, stronger capital positions and unprecedented liquidity growth.

According to the bank’s financial statements, the financial system appears healthy. In reality, the economy where citizens work, trade and survive is gasping for breath.

This growing disconnect between financial sector prosperity and economic suffering now represents one of the gravest threats to Nigeria’s long-term economic stability and its ambition of building a $1 trillion economy.

The numbers are indeed impressive. Nigerian banks’ shareholders’ funds reportedly surged to about N27 trillion following the recapitalisation exercise. The top five banks now command balance sheets estimated at over N164 trillion. Tier-1 banks collectively generated trillions in profits within the first quarter of 2026 alone, while the sector-wide recapitalisation exercise raised over N4.56 trillion.

Ordinarily, such figures should inspire confidence about the future of the economy. Stronger banks are expected to translate into stronger businesses, more jobs, industrial expansion and wider economic opportunities. But Nigeria’s experience is proving otherwise.

Instead of serving as engines of productive growth, banks are increasingly becoming custodians of liquidity trapped within the financial system itself. That is the real danger.

Even as banking liquidity expands sharply, lending to the productive economy remains weak and constrained. Reports indicate that banks parked a record N24.13 trillion with the CBN, while simultaneously increasing investments in government securities and treasury bills because these avenues are safer, more profitable and less risky than lending to businesses operating within Nigeria’s harsh economic climate. This reality exposes a dangerous contradiction.

A developing economy desperately in need of industrialisation, manufacturing growth, infrastructure expansion and job creation cannot afford a banking system that prefers financial safety over productive economic risk.

A sustainable economy cannot thrive where the real sector is starved of funds. Yet this is exactly where Nigeria now stands.

Despite the massive liquidity in the banking system, growth in lending to the private sector continues to lag behind the pace of liquidity expansion. The implication is clear. Financial sector strength is no longer translating into real economic development. This is not how healthy economies function.

Ordinarily, banks in developing economies are expected to operate as catalysts for economic transformation. Across successful economies, commercial banks finance manufacturing, agriculture, innovation, infrastructure and entrepreneurship because those sectors generate jobs, productivity and national wealth.

Small and Medium Enterprises (SMEs), especially, are globally recognised as the backbone of grassroots economic development. Nigeria is no exception.

SMEs account for over 70 per cent of registered businesses, contribute nearly half of Nigeria’s GDP and generate between 84 and 90 per cent of employment opportunities. Yet despite their overwhelming importance, SMEs reportedly receive barely between 0.5 per cent and one per cent of total commercial bank lending. That is not merely a policy failure. It is an economic tragedy.

Every denied SME loan is a denied employment opportunity. Every failed business represents another frustrated entrepreneur. Every frustrated entrepreneur becomes another Nigerian contemplating migration.

This is how economic dysfunction transforms into human displacement. The so-called “Japa” phenomenon did not emerge in isolation. It is deeply connected to economic hopelessness. When productive citizens lose faith in their country’s economic future, migration stops being a lifestyle choice and becomes a survival mechanism.

Unbeknownst to the policymakers is that Nigeria cannot realistically build a $1 trillion economy while productive sectors remain financially suffocated.

A closer glance at the trend of events helps to reveal that the danger becomes even more severe when viewed against the backdrop of the recent outcome of the 305th Monetary Policy Committee (MPC) meeting, where the CBN retained the Monetary Policy Rate (MPR) at 26.5 per cent in its bid to sustain disinflation and macroeconomic stability.

It is understandable and certain that inflation control is important, but the fact is that at 15.69 per cent, inflation remains painfully high and continues to weaken purchasing power. Food prices remain elevated. Transportation costs remain unbearable. Consumer demand is weakening. The middle class is shrinking rapidly.

But maintaining elevated interest rates also comes with painful consequences. Simple arithmetic tells us that higher interest rates mean higher lending costs. Higher lending costs mean higher production costs. Higher production costs worsen inflationary pressures and weaken business survival rates.

Invariably, this also tells us that for Nigerian manufacturers and corporates already battling a weak naira, volatile exchange rates, expensive diesel, energy insecurity and declining consumer demand, access to affordable credit is becoming almost impossible.

Many businesses are no longer borrowing to expand production or employ workers. They are borrowing merely to survive. This is economic suffocation.

Meanwhile, banks continue to profit massively from high-yield government securities and treasury investments. Reports indicate that major Nigerian banks generated over N6.68 trillion from investment securities and treasury bills instead of financing productive enterprises capable of stimulating growth and employment.

The government’s appetite for borrowing itself shows no sign of slowing down. Public borrowing reportedly climbed above N39 trillion. Historically, excessive government borrowing crowds out private sector investment because banks naturally prefer lending to the government rather than exposing themselves to risks associated with businesses operating in unstable economic conditions.

The result is predictable. The real sector weakens while speculative and non-productive financial activities flourish. This explains why Nigeria increasingly resembles a financial system disconnected from the realities of ordinary citizens.

While banks celebrate rising profits, poverty and hunger worsen visibly across the country. Unemployment continues to rise. Small businesses are dying quietly. Household purchasing power is collapsing under inflationary pressure.

Yet the financial system appears more liquid than ever. That contradiction should alarm policymakers. The recapitalisation exercise itself now raises difficult questions.

What exactly is the purpose of stronger banks if stronger banks do not strengthen national productivity?

If recapitalisation merely empowers banks to deepen investments in government debt instruments while manufacturers, farmers, exporters and SMEs remain starved of affordable credit, then the exercise risks becoming financially impressive but economically hollow.

Indeed, the current monetary environment appears to reward financial conservatism over productive risk-taking.

The stringent Cash Reserve Requirement (CRR), elevated interest rates and broader macroeconomic uncertainty continue to discourage aggressive lending to the private sector. Banks understandably seek safety. But nations do not industrialise through excessive financial caution.

No economy develops when capital circulates primarily within treasury bills and government securities instead of flowing into factories, farms, logistics, housing, innovation and production.

This is the larger danger confronting Nigeria today. Economic crises rarely begin with recession statistics alone. Sometimes, they begin when financial institutions become detached from the suffering realities of the wider economy. They begin when growth exists only within banking balance sheets but disappears from households, factories and streets.

Without productive credit expansion, economic growth becomes artificial and exclusionary. Without affordable financing, businesses cannot scale. Without business expansion, jobs cannot emerge. Also, it must be noted that without jobs, insecurity, poverty and migration inevitably worsen. The implications for social stability are enormous.

One painful fact is that citizens already burdened by inflation, debt pressures and widespread distrust now face a system where economic opportunities continue shrinking despite apparent financial sector prosperity. One of the lurking dangers is that this deepens resentment, weakens confidence in institutions and threatens long-term economic cohesion.

The CBN’s inflation fight may be necessary, but monetary stability alone cannot substitute for productive economic expansion. Financial stability without inclusive growth eventually becomes unsustainable.

The real economy matters more than banking optics. Nigeria urgently needs policies that incentivise real sector lending, reduce structural risks facing manufacturers and SMEs, strengthen credit infrastructure, lower production bottlenecks and redirect liquidity toward productive economic activity.

As a matter of fact, it is high time for Nigeria to start rethinking the growing dependence on debt-driven fiscal management that continues to crowd out private investment. Development cannot occur when government borrowing consumes the financial oxygen needed by businesses.

Ultimately, banking profitability should not become an isolated island of prosperity surrounded by a collapsing productive economy.

A nation cannot celebrate trillion-naira banking profits while millions of citizens sink deeper into economic despair. No society sustains such a contradiction indefinitely.

If Nigeria truly hopes to build a resilient and inclusive economy, then the banking sector must once again become a vehicle for national development rather than merely a beneficiary of government debt and monetary tightening.

Otherwise, the country risks creating a contradictory economy where banks grow richer while citizens grow poorer and where financial prosperity exists only on paper while economic hardship defines everyday life.

Blaise, a journalist and PR professional, writes from Lagos and can be reached via: bl***********@***il.com

Continue Reading

Trending