Feature/OPED
The Spiritual Side Of Aso Villa
By Reuben Abati
People tend to be alarmed when the Nigerian Presidency takes certain decisions. They don’t think the decision makes sense.
Sometimes, they wonder if something has not gone wrong with the thinking process at that highest level of the country.
I have heard people insist that there is some form of witchcraft at work in the country’s seat of government.
I am ordinarily not a superstitious person, but working in the Villa, I eventually became convinced that there must be something supernatural about power and closeness to it. I’ll start with a personal testimony.
I was given an apartment to live in inside the Villa. It was furnished and equipped. But when my son, Michael arrived, one of my brothers came with a pastor who was supposed to stay in the apartment. But the man refused claiming that the Villa was full of evil spirits and that there would soon be a fire accident in the apartment.
He complained about too much human sacrifice around the Villa and advised that my family must never sleep overnight inside the Villa.
I thought the man was talking nonsense and he wanted the luxury of a hotel accommodation. But he turned out to be right.
The day I hosted family friends in that apartment and they slept overnight, there was indeed a fire accident. The guests escaped and they were so thankful. Not long after, the President’s physician living two compounds away had a fire accident in his home. He and his children could have died. He escaped with bruises.
Around the Villa while I was there, someone always died or their relations died. I can confirm that every principal officer suffered one tragedy or the other; it was as if you needed to sacrifice something to remain on duty inside that environment.
Even some of the women became merchants of dildo because they had suffered a special kind of death in their homes (I am sorry to reveal this) and many of the men complained about something that had died below their waists too.
The ones who did not have such misfortune had one ailment or the other that they had to nurse. From cancer to brain and prostate surgery and whatever, the Villa was a hospital full of agonizing patients.
I recall the example of one particular man, an asset to the Jonathan Presidency who practically ran away from the Villa.
He said he needed to save his life. He was quite certain that if he continued to hang around, he would die. I can’t talk about colleagues who lost daughters and sons, brothers and uncles, mothers and fathers, and the many obituaries that we issued.
Even the President was multiply bereaved. His wife, Mama Peace was in and out of hospital at a point, undergoing many surgeries.
You may have forgotten but after her husband lost the election and he conceded victory, all her ailments vanished, all scheduled surgeries were found to be no longer necessary and since then she has been hale and hearty.
By the same token, all those our colleagues who used to come to work to complain about a certain death beneath their waists and who relied on videos and other instruments to entertain wives (take it easy boys, I don’t mean nay harm, I am writing!), have all experienced a re-awakening.
Everyone who went under the blade has received miraculous healing, and we are happy to be out of that place. But others were not so lucky. They died.
There were days when convoys ran into ditches and lives were lost.
In Norway, our helicopter almost crashed into a mountain. That was the first time I saw the President panicking. The weather was all so hazy and he just kept saying it would not be nice for the President of a country to die in a helicopter crash due to pilot miscalculations.
The President went into a prayer mode. We survived.
In Kenya once, we had a bird strike. The plane had to be recalled and we were already airborne with the plane acting like it would crash.
During the 2015 election campaigns, our aircraft refused to start on more than one occasion. The aircraft just went dead.
On some other occasions, we were stoned and directly targeted for evil. I really don’t envy the people who work in Aso Villa, the seat of Nigeria’s Presidency.
For about six months, I couldn’t even breathe properly. For another two months, I was on crutches. But I considered myself far luckier than the others who were either nursing a terminal disease or who could not get it up.
When Presidents make mistakes, they are probably victims of a force higher than what we can imagine.
Every student of Aso Villa politics would readily admit that when people get in there, they actually become something else.
They act like they are under a spell. When you issue a well- crafted statement, the public accepts it wrongly.
When the President makes a speech and he truly means well, the speech is interpreted wrongly by the public.
When a policy is introduced, somehow, something just goes wrong.
In our days, a lot of people used to complain that the APC people were fighting us spiritually and that there was a witchcraft dimension to the governance process in Nigeria.
But the APC folks now in power are dealing with the same demons.
Since Buhari government assumed office, it has been one mistake after another. Those mistakes don’t look normal, the same way they didn’t look normal under President Jonathan.
I am therefore convinced that there is an evil spell enveloping this country. We need to rescue Nigeria from the forces of darkness.
Aso Villa should be converted into a spiritual museum, and abandoned.
Should I become President of Nigeria tomorrow, I will build a new Presidential Villa: a Villa that will be dedicated to the all-conquering Almighty, and where powers and principalities cannot hold sway.
But it is not about buildings and space, not so? It is about the people who go to the highest levels in Nigeria.
I really don’t quite believe in superstitions, but I am tempted to suggest that this is indeed a country in need of prayers.
We should pray before people pack their things into Aso Villa. We should ask God to guide us before we appoint ministers. We should, to put it in technocratic language, advice that the people should be very vigilant.
We have all failed so far, that crucial test of vigilance. We should have a Presidential Villa where a President can afford to be human and free.
In the White House, in the United States, Presidents live like normal human beings. In Aso Villa, that is impossible. They’d have to surround themselves with cooks from their villages, bodyguards from their mother’s clans and friends they can trust.
It should be possible to be President of Nigeria without having to look behind one’s shoulders. But we are not yet there. So, how do we run a Presidency where the man in the saddle can only drink water served by his kinsman? No. How can we possibly run a Presidency where every President proclaims faith in Nigeria but they are better off in the company of relatives and kinsmen. No. We need as Presidents men and women who are willing to be Nigerians. No Nigerian President should be in spiritual bondage because he belongs to all of us and to nobody.
Now let me go back to the spiritual dimension. A colleague once told me that I was the most naïve person around the place. I thought I was a bright, smart, professional doing my bit and enjoying the President’s confidence. I spelled it out. But what I got in response was that I was coming to the villa using Lux soap, but that most people around the place always bathed in the morning with blood. Goat blood. Ram blood. Whatever animal blood. I argued. He said there were persons in the Villa walking upside down, head to the ground. I screamed. Everybody looked normal to me. But I soon began to suspect that I was in a strange environment indeed.
Every position change was an opportunity for warfare. Civil servants are very nice people; they obey orders, but they are not very nice when they fight over personal interests.
The President is most affected by the atmosphere around him. He can make wrong decisions based on the cloud of evil around him. Even when he means well and he has taken time to address all possible outcomes, he could get on the wrong side of the public.
A colleague called me one day and told me a story about how a decision had been taken in the spiritual realm about the Nigerian government.
He talked about the spirit of error, and how every step taken by the administration would appear to the public like an error. He didn’t resign on that basis but his words proved prophetic.
I see the same story being re-enacted. Aso Villa is in urgent need of redemption. I never slept in the apartment they gave me in that Villa for an hour.
By Prince Charles Dickson Ph.D
Nigeria is perhaps the only country where a politician may steal enough money to build three universities, donate twenty bags of rice to a prayer house, and immediately be introduced as “a great philanthropist and pillar of the faith.” The congregation applauds. The cleric smiles. Cameras flash. Heaven receives a bank alert it never requested.
“Sai Baba! Sai Malami!” the praise singers thunder, while the distinguished guest adjusts his cap, grips his prayer beads and looks humbly into the middle distance. By evening, another politician is occupying the front pew of a cathedral, lifting two hands in worship, although one suspects the third invisible hand is still inside the public treasury.
This is the Nigerian religious-political circus: spectacular costumes, sacred vocabulary, endless pilgrimages and remarkably little evidence of moral transformation.
We must begin with an important correction. It is neither fair nor provable to claim that 99.99 per cent of corrupt politicians are practising Muslims and Christians. What can be said is that Nigeria is overwhelmingly populated by people who identify as Muslim or Christian. Pew Research Centre estimates that Muslims and Christians together constitute virtually the entire population. Consequently, most politicians, honest or dishonest, will publicly identify with one of those religions.
The real scandal, therefore, is not that corrupt politicians belong to religions. It is that corruption appears perfectly comfortable living beside loud professions of faith. It eats breakfast with Christianity, attends afternoon prayers with Islam, and sleeps peacefully beneath framed quotations from scripture.
Nigeria has produced a curious creature: the devout kleptocrat.
He fasts, but the treasury must break the fast. He pays tithe, but not tax. He performs ablution, but refuses institutional cleansing. He kneels before God and places the country beneath his shoe.
He asks forgiveness every week without returning what he took.
He sponsors pilgrimages with money that could have equipped hospitals, then asks the pilgrims to pray for Nigeria’s development. This is like stealing somebody’s generator and requesting prayers for the darkness in his house.
Christianity does not teach this. Islam does not teach it. African traditional morality does not teach it. Even ordinary home training does not teach it.
Both Islam and Christianity treat public trust, justice, compassion, honesty and care for the vulnerable as serious moral obligations. Neither faith provides a theological washing machine into which stolen funds can be inserted and brought out smelling of incense. A pilgrimage is not a corruption amnesty. A church donation is not a plea bargain. Sponsoring religious programmes does not convert public theft into charity.
You cannot steal a community’s borehole and donate bottled water during Ramadan. You cannot divert teachers’ salaries and build a church auditorium. You cannot inflate a road contract, abandon the road, then organise a thanksgiving service after surviving an accident on that same road.
At some point, even hypocrisy deserves professional embarrassment.
The economic context makes the performance more offensive. Claims that “over 79 per cent” of Nigerians are poor depend on the definition and dataset being used, so that figure should not be repeated as a settled fact. However, the verified picture is already grim enough. The World Bank estimated that more than half of Nigerians were living in poverty in 2025, while its Nigeria country assessment says poverty remains widespread and that poorer households may spend up to 70 per cent of their income on food.
Meanwhile, nearly 35 million Nigerians were projected to face acute or severe food insecurity during the 2026 lean season, the highest level recorded for the country in the relevant analysis.
These are not decorative statistics. They represent children arriving at school too hungry to learn, parents dividing one meal into three diplomatic portions, pensioners choosing between medication and food, and graduates discovering that their certificates have become expensive bookmarks.
Against this background, unexplained political wealth is not merely vulgar. It is morally violent.
The statement that any present or former officeholder possessing ₦5 billion must automatically be a thief may satisfy public anger, but law and fairness require greater care. Some politicians had legitimate businesses, inheritances or investments before entering office. Wealth alone is not proof of theft.
However, unexplained wealth is a legitimate basis for scrutiny. Where a public officer’s assets are wildly inconsistent with lawful earnings, the burden of public explanation becomes unavoidable. Nigeria’s Code of Conduct system requires public officers to declare their assets and liabilities, while the Code of Conduct Bureau is responsible for receiving, examining and monitoring those declarations.
The correct democratic question is therefore not simply, “Are you rich?”
It is: What lawful activity produced this wealth, when was it earned, was it properly declared, were taxes paid, and can the explanation survive independent investigation?
A senator cannot tell citizens that wealth is a “mystery of God” when his declared salary is public knowledge. Divine favour is not an accounting category. “Grace” cannot explain twenty-seven properties, twelve companies and a warehouse full of dollars. Even manna came with distribution rules.
The deeper problem is that parts of Nigeria’s religious establishment have become involved in an unhealthy exchange with political power. Politicians provide money, access, vehicles, land and proximity to government. Religious leaders provide legitimacy, titles, photographs, prayers and a moral raincoat.
The politician arrives as “His Excellency, the divinely chosen servant-leader.” Nobody asks how the servant acquired a private jet while the people he serves cannot afford transport. Nobody wants to upset the offering basket. Prophecy suddenly develops selective eyesight.
To be balanced, many Nigerian clerics, Muslim and Christian, speak courageously against corruption, defend vulnerable communities and refuse political capture. Many politicians also practise their faith sincerely and serve without stealing. The disease is not universal.
But the silence of influential religious institutions is often too expensive to ignore.
A cleric who constantly condemns young people for indecent dressing but cannot condemn officials who undress the national treasury has misplaced his moral measuring tape. A preacher who sees spiritual danger in hairstyles but none in budget padding needs more than revelation. An imam who lectures poor traders about honesty while celebrating officials with inexplicable fortunes has reduced religion to ceremonial wallpaper.
Religious leaders must recover the courage to ask unpopular questions. Before accepting a massive donation from a public official, they should ask whether the donor’s known income can reasonably support it. Institutions should publish major political donations and establish ethical rules governing gifts from politically exposed persons. Stolen money does not become holy because it enters a religious account.
The state must also stop outsourcing accountability to divine judgement. Nigerians frequently say, “God will judge them,” which is true within religious belief, but God also gave the country auditors, investigators, courts, journalists, voters and laws. Waiting exclusively for celestial prosecution is institutional laziness wearing a prayer shawl.
Asset declarations should be effectively verified, and greater public access would strengthen accountability. The ICPC has itself previously advocated publication of public servants’ declared assets as an anti-corruption measure. Investigative institutions must follow money without consulting party membership, regional origin, denomination or prayer vocabulary. A thief speaking in tongues and a thief reciting Arabic remain thieves requiring evidence-based investigation and lawful prosecution.
Citizens also have work to do. We cannot condemn corruption in Abuja while celebrating it when “our son” returns home with unexplained wealth. Communities organise receptions. Traditional titles multiply. Clerics pronounce blessings. Relatives announce that God has finally remembered the family. Nobody asks what job produced the convoy.
Our outrage is often tribal, partisan and denominational. We investigate opponents and interpret allies. When their politician steals, it is corruption. When ours steals, it is strategic empowerment of the constituency.
Nigeria will not defeat corruption until stolen wealth becomes socially shameful rather than socially impressive.
The politician who cannot explain his fortune should not receive a chieftaincy title, front-row seat, honorary doctorate or harvest-launch chairmanship. He should receive questions. Many questions. Questions with documents attached.
Religion must become more than pilgrimage photographs, prayer caps, rosaries, flowing gowns and amplified declarations of righteousness. True faith must disturb injustice. It must make theft uncomfortable, generosity accountable and leadership answerable.
Otherwise, the mosque becomes a photo studio, the church becomes a reputation-repair workshop, and religion becomes perfume sprayed over the odour of public theft.
The final question is not whether Nigerian politicians pray. Many clearly do.
The question is whether their prayers have ever met their consciences. Because a nation cannot shout “Amen” loudly enough to convert corruption into governance. Either way—May Nigeria win.
By Abba Dukawa
Self-accountability is very important in politics because it encourages political leaders to take responsibility for their actions, decisions, and promises rather than blaming others for their failures. In fact, it is essential for effective and trustworthy political leadership. It promotes transparency and responsibility while ensuring that political leaders remain focused on serving the interests of the people rather than pursuing personal interests.
During the 2022 All Progressives Congress (APC) primary election for the Gaya, Ajingi and Albasu Federal Constituency, the then-incumbent member, Abdullahi Mahmud Gaya, decisively defeated Bashir Ahmad, then an aide to President Muhammadu Buhari, by 109 votes to 16.
Following his defeat, Ahmad took to Facebook to explain his absence from the venue, claiming that he had left to protect his supporters, whom he alleged were being intimidated by thugs.
He wrote: “As an aspirant, I left the venue of the primary election for Gaya, Ajingi and Albasu Federal Constituency, because of the security of our majority delegates. If you want to compete with the best, thugs shouldn’t be part of any election.”
For those who witnessed the process, however, the account presented on social media bears little resemblance to what transpired on the ground. Perhaps the most curious part of Ahmad’s statement was his reference to “majority delegates.” The question is simple: who were these majority delegates?
Even before and after Ahmad had not established a substantial grassroots political base, either in his own local government or across the three local governments that make up the federal constituency. His emergence from Abuja, aided by his position as a presidential appointee, did not automatically translate into political acceptance among the delegates. The delegates ultimately demonstrated this at the primary. They overwhelmingly backed Hon. Abdullahi Mahmud Gaya, whose 109 votes against Ahmad’s 16 left little ambiguity about their preference.
It is also important not to rewrite the events surrounding the primary. Who brought security escorts from Abuja to the venue? Was it not Ahmad and members of his camp? And what was the purpose of their presence at the Islamic Centre in Gaya, where the primary was conducted?
When the political contest failed to produce the desired outcome, the matter subsequently moved to the courts. The legal challenge, however, did not overturn the primary result. The Federal High Court and the Court of Appeal in Kano affirmed Hon. Abdullahi Mahmud Gaya’s victory.
That raises a legitimate question: why continue to resurrect an issue whose political and legal outcomes have already been established?
If the delegates rejected you, the primary result rejected you, and the court affirmed that result, what exactly remains to be contested?
Politics is not a permanent entitlement. Holding a government appointment does not confer ownership of the grassroots, just as proximity to Abuja does not replace the democratic choice of party delegates.
The delegates spoke. The result was recorded. The court affirmed it.
Rather than repeatedly reopening a chapter that ended in a decisive political defeat, perhaps the more responsible course is to accept the verdict of the delegates and move forward. Political narratives may be contested, but established records cannot simply be rewritten.
There is, however, another issue that Bashir Ahmad should address.
The question of whether he was eligible to contest the 2022 primary while still holding a government appointment deserves clarification. Under the electoral framework applicable at the time, public officers seeking elective office were subject to resignation requirements.
According to records available to me, Ahmad did not resign before participating in the electoral process and continued to receive his government salary during the relevant period. I personally have copies of payslips covering that period.
If Ahmad is prepared to make claims about political events on social media, he should equally be prepared to address questions about his own record.
The same principle applies to the 2026 APC stakeholders’ consensus process.
At the stakeholders’ consensus meeting held at the Kano State Government House for the Ajingi, Gaya and Albasu Federal Constituency, Hon. Abdullahi Mahmud Gaya reportedly secured 33 of the 55 recorded stakeholder votes across the three local government areas.
The incumbent member, Hon. Ghali Panda, received the remaining 22 votes, while Bashir Ahmad, despite being one of the aspirants, reportedly received zero votes.
The figures become even more revealing when broken down by local government area. Based on the information available to me, Hon. Abdullahi Mahmud Gaya secured 19 votes in Gaya, 10 in Ajingi and 4 in Albasu.
These are matters that should not be reduced to social-media propaganda or political storytelling. They are claims capable of being tested against the relevant records.
Ahmad therefore owes the public straightforward answers to straightforward questions. Why you did nit resign from your government appointment before contesting in 2022? Why Did you continue receiving your government salary during the period in question?
How many votes did you receive at the 2026 stakeholders’ consensus meeting? And, perhaps most importantly, why did you receive no vote at that meeting?
These questions are not intended to diminish anyone’s political ambition. They are questions of accountability and public credibility.
Politics should be about facts, accountability, integrity and the confidence of the people, not selective storytelling. Political disagreements are legitimate, but they should not become an excuse to distort established records or mislead the public.
The people from far-away Kano deserve to know what happened in 2022 and what happened in 2026.
The records exist.
Let the records speak for themselves.
Dukawa can be reached at [email protected]
By Blaise Udunze
Could it be said that Nigeria’s true identity today represents a country suffering and grappling with soaring inflation, mass unemployment, failing public infrastructure and multidimensional poverty despite almost three decades of enormous public revenue inflows? With the look of things, one question therefore deserves urgent national attention. Without missing any words, what exactly has government at all levels done with the trillions of naira shared through the Federation Account Allocation Committee (FAAC)?
One obvious fact is that since the return to democratic governance in 1999, Nigeria has witnessed a remarkable expansion in federal revenue sharing since the existence of this country.
Findings based on monthly allocations reported by FAAC and the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS) showed that over the past 27 years, the FAAC has distributed an estimated N160 trillion among the Federal Government, the 36 states and the 774 local governments. The obvious here is that the figure represents one of the largest transfers of public resources in Nigeria’s history.
One would definitely assume that, since the removal of the fuel subsidy in June 2023, government revenues have risen dramatically. Not to miss out on other gains from crude oil earnings, statutory revenue, Value Added Tax (VAT), exchange-rate adjustments, electronic money transfer levies, customs collections and other federally collected revenues, resulting in unprecedented monthly FAAC allocations.
In 10 years alone, FAAC distributed approximately N25.58 trillion to the three tiers of government, with states and the FCT receiving about N13.8 trillion during the period. One would also wonder that since President Bola Tinubu assumed office in May 2023, more than N56 trillion has been distributed through FAAC.
Surprisingly, amidst it all, in just over three years, President Tinubu’s administration has presided over FAAC distributions amounting to approximately 35 per cent of the estimated N160 trillion shared since the return to democracy in 1999. In other words, more than one in every three naira ever distributed through FAAC over 27 years has been shared under the current administration. But this recent figure represents only a fraction of the larger national story.
The more important question is not simply how much money has been shared. The question is what Nigeria has built with more than N160 trillion in public allocations over nearly three decades.
What is of concrete concern is that the sheer size of N160 trillion is difficult to comprehend until placed beside Nigeria’s major economic indicators.
Nigeria’s total public debt stood at approximately N149.39 trillion as of March 31, 2025. This means that the estimated FAAC allocations shared since 1999 are larger than the country’s entire current debt stock. While FAAC funds cannot directly be compared with debt because they serve different fiscal purposes, the comparison highlights a critical reality that shows that Nigeria has generated and distributed enormous financial resources, yet still carries one of Africa’s largest debt burdens.
The comparison with national budgets is equally revealing. Come to think of it, Nigeria’s proposed N58.18 trillion 2026 budget represents one of the largest annual spending plans in the country’s history, whilst the cumulative FAAC allocations since 1999 are equivalent to almost three times the size of Nigeria’s 2026 federal budget.
No doubt, the implication is profound. A country that has shared resources equivalent to several annual national budgets should reasonably demonstrate significant improvements in infrastructure, healthcare, education, electricity, industrialisation and citizens’ welfare. But the reality remains different.
One thing is obvious today and cannot be disputed by the political players, both past and present: Nigeria continues to struggle with poor roads, unreliable electricity, inadequate healthcare facilities, overcrowded classrooms, high unemployment and widespread poverty.
The truth is that the comparison becomes even more striking when looking at specific sectors, as this would provide a clearer picture. Considering that Nigeria’s recent proposed 2026 budget allocates approximately N3.52 trillion for education, N2.48 trillion for health and N3.56 trillion for infrastructure, bringing the combined allocation for these three critical sectors to about N9.56 trillion. The estimated N160 trillion shared through FAAC since 1999 is more than 16 times the combined 2026 federal allocation for education, health and infrastructure.
This raises a fundamental question: if Nigeria has received resources sufficient to finance these strategic sectors multiple times over, why do citizens continue to experience declining social services?
The comparison with capital investment is also significant. Nigeria’s proposed 2026 capital expenditure of N26.08 trillion is only a fraction of the estimated FAAC allocations shared since 1999. Had a substantial portion of these revenues been consistently channelled into productive capital projects, Nigeria could have developed world-class transportation networks, reliable electricity systems, modern healthcare facilities, industrial clusters and globally competitive education infrastructure.
That is the scale of the opportunity Nigeria has had. Instead, millions of Nigerians continue asking a painful question: Where is the evidence?
Economic theory is straightforward. When governments receive large financial resources, citizens expect corresponding improvements in their standard of living. Public revenue exists to create public value, not merely to finance government administration. Imagine what N160 trillion could have achieved if strategically invested over 27 years.
Nigeria has an estimated housing deficit exceeding 28 million units. A sustained investment programme using only a fraction of FAAC resources could have delivered millions of affordable homes while creating massive employment opportunities across construction, cement, steel, furniture and logistics industries.
Strategic agricultural investment could have transformed Nigeria into a food-secure nation through irrigation systems, mechanised farming, storage facilities, rural roads and agro-processing industries.
Investment in healthcare could have ensured that every local government has functional primary healthcare centres equipped with trained personnel, essential medicines and modern facilities.
Education could have been completely transformed through improved teacher training, digital learning infrastructure, modern classrooms, research facilities and expanded access to quality education.
Nigeria’s electricity challenge could have received far greater attention through investments in transmission networks, renewable energy, gas-powered generation and embedded power solutions that would reduce the cost burden on businesses and households.
A significant portion of FAAC resources invested in small and medium-sized enterprises could have created millions of jobs, expanded local production and strengthened Nigeria’s private sector.
None of these ambitions was beyond Nigeria’s financial capacity. The resources existed. The challenge has been utilisation.
Across many states, FAAC has gradually become less of a development catalyst and more of a monthly survival mechanism. Salaries, recurrent expenditure, political appointments, administrative costs and government overheads consume substantial portions of public resources, while capital projects remain insufficient.
The dependence on FAAC has also discouraged many states from aggressively developing sustainable internally generated revenue. Many states still depend heavily on federal allocations, weakening fiscal innovation and reducing accountability. A system where governments wait monthly for federal transfers creates little incentive to build productive economies.
Ironically, decades of increased allocations have coincided with worsening economic realities. Food prices continue rising. Millions remain unemployed or underemployed. Hospitals struggle with inadequate equipment. Schools remain overcrowded. Roads continue deteriorating. Manufacturers battle high energy costs. Businesses continue closing. Families spend more of their income meeting basic needs.
This contradiction raises serious governance questions. In Nigeria’s case, painfully, revenue growth does not automatically create development. Development requires transparency, accountability, strategic planning and effective implementation.
Nigeria must therefore move beyond celebrating monthly FAAC figures and begin measuring the outcomes generated from those resources.
Every month, Nigerians hear announcements of billions and trillions shared among governments. But rarely do they hear: How many hospitals were completed? How many schools were renovated? How many kilometres of roads were delivered? How many jobs were created? How many communities gained access to clean water? How many businesses were supported?
Revenue announcements must never replace performance reports. Every state and local government should publish transparent FAAC utilisation reports showing allocations received, projects funded, costs, locations and measurable outcomes.
Technology makes this possible. Open budgeting platforms, public expenditure dashboards and digital monitoring systems can ensure citizens know how their resources are being deployed.
Transparency should no longer be optional. The Federal Government equally has a responsibility.
Higher revenues must translate into improved national infrastructure, stronger institutions, better security, industrial growth and enhanced social protection.
Nigeria cannot continue borrowing heavily while simultaneously receiving record public revenues without demonstrating corresponding developmental outcomes.
Public finance is not simply about collecting money. It is about creating lasting value. Roads improve commerce. Electricity supports industries. Education increases productivity. Healthcare strengthens human capital. Agriculture reduces dependence on imports. Digital infrastructure enhances competitiveness. These are investments that create future prosperity.
When public revenue is consumed mainly by recurrent obligations, future generations inherit debts without corresponding assets.
Nigeria must strengthen accountability institutions, including auditors-general, public accounts committees, anti-corruption agencies and civil society organisations, to monitor how FAAC resources are utilised.
Citizens also have a responsibility. Public money belongs to the people. Communities must demand evidence of projects funded by government resources.
The tragedy of Nigeria is not simply a shortage of revenue. It is the failure to convert revenue into development. Nigeria has demonstrated remarkable ability to generate public income. What remains lacking is the political discipline and institutional capacity to transform that income into national prosperity.
The estimated N160 trillion shared through FAAC since 1999 represented a historic opportunity to rebuild Nigeria’s economy and improve citizens’ lives.
Millions of jobs could have been created. Infrastructure could have been transformed. Poverty could have been reduced. Investor confidence could have strengthened. Living standards could have improved.
Instead, many Nigerians continue to experience economic hardship despite decades of enormous public revenue distribution.
History will not judge governments by how much FAAC they received. History will judge them by what those allocations built.
The real question is no longer whether Nigeria has enough money. The question is whether Nigeria has the leadership, accountability and political will to convert public wealth into public prosperity. Not to focus on using the FAAC as an electoral tool to weaponise the opposition. Until that happens, N160 trillion in FAAC allocations will remain a symbol of missed opportunity rather than a foundation for national transformation.
Blaise, a journalist and PR professional, writes from Lagos and can be reached via: [email protected]
