Feature/OPED
Is Nigeria Borrowing to Survive or to Build?
By Blaise Udunze
Nigeria is no longer flirting with deficit financing. As a country, it is living with it, not occasionally but structurally, routinely, almost comfortably. It became evident when the National Assembly rose to defend the proposed N25.91 trillion deficit in the N58.47 trillion 2026 budget that it did more than justify another year of borrowing. It normalised it. Again, the message had been clearly defined that deficit financing is no longer a temporary response to shocks; it is now a structural feature of Nigeria’s fiscal architecture.
This was confirmed by the Senate, which, led by Senator Solomon Adeola, who defended continued borrowing as inevitable. In agreement with his defence, Senator Olamilekan Adeola argued that borrowing is inevitable in the face of unpredictable revenue and vast development needs. He is not wrong. No modern economy runs without deficits. The United States borrows. European economies borrow. Even fast-growing Asian Economies have used deficits strategically.
The real issue, as Adeola himself admitted, is how Nigeria borrows and what it borrows for.
That is where the debate becomes uncomfortable. Looking at it objectively, in a plain calculation, almost half of what the federal government hopes to earn will go straight to creditors. The chronic issue is that Nigeria’s projected revenue for 2026 stands at N33.19 trillion, while expenditure is estimated at N58.47 trillion, leaving a yawning gap of over N25 trillion. Debt service alone is expected to gulp nearly N15.9 trillion. In other words, before roads are built, before hospitals are equipped, before schools are renovated, almost half of the projected revenue is already committed to servicing yesterday’s loans.
Of paramount concern is that the action being discussed does not serve as a policy that supports the economy; it is a counter-cyclical stimulus during downtime to stabilise growth. It is a structural dependence. This is to say that at the core of Nigeria’s deficit dilemma lies revenue weakness. Despite the much-touted diversification of the economy, the country remains heavily dependent on crude oil for foreign exchange and for a significant share of public revenue. The fearful part is that when oil prices fall, when production drops due to theft or quotas, or when global demand weakens, government revenue collapses. Expenditure, however, does not fall with oil prices. Salaries must be paid. Pensions must be honoured. Political offices must function. Debt must be serviced. Borrowing fills the gap.
Beyond oil, the non-oil tax base remains shallow. Nigeria’s tax-to-GDP ratio lags far behind peer economies. One of the challenges is that, as a vast informal sector, weak tax administration, compliance gaps, waivers, and leakages mean that even in years of non-oil growth, revenue does not rise proportionately. One truth the country must yield to is the advice of Minister of Finance, Wale Edun, who rightly warned that Nigeria must reduce its dependence on debt and build a stronger domestic revenue base. This stems from his understanding that in a world of high global interest rates and retreating multilateral support, borrowing is becoming more expensive and less forgiving. Yet the borrowing continues.
One troubling fact from the disclosure of the Debt Management Office (DMO) is not that Nigeria’s public debt stood at over N152 trillion by mid-2025, but it is projected to climb further. What makes this figure more of a trouble is not just its size, but its purpose. Historically, Nigeria once escaped the weight of unsustainable debt through the Paris Club exit negotiated under President Olusegun Obasanjo. Two decades later, the country finds itself in a far more complex web of domestic and external obligations. The question is simple in the sense of what has the borrowing built?
If deficits finance productive infrastructure that expands the economy’s capacity, power plants that reduce production costs, rail lines that ease logistics, and digital infrastructure that boosts exports, then borrowing can be justified. Future growth will expand the tax base and service the debt. Hence, it will be agreed that deficits, in that scenario, become bridges to prosperity.
But if deficits finance recurrent expenditure, salaries, overheads, fuel subsidies, political patronage, interest payments, then borrowing becomes a treadmill. The country runs harder each year, yet moves nowhere.
Nigeria’s fiscal pattern increasingly resembles the latter. Recurrent expenditure consumes a significant portion of revenue. In some years, debt service has exceeded the federal government’s retained revenue. This forces further borrowing simply to keep government machinery running. Borrowing to service old debt is the classic signature of a fiscal trap.
Meanwhile, the crowding-out effect is becoming pronounced. With the government aggressively issuing domestic debt instruments, over 70 per cent of risk assets in the financial system are reportedly tied to government securities. Banks prefer lending to the government at high yields rather than financing private businesses. Lending rates, influenced by a high monetary policy rate, hover between 35 and 40 per cent. For manufacturers, farmers, and tech entrepreneurs, such rates are prohibitive.
In effect, the state is absorbing liquidity that could otherwise power private-sector growth. The engine of sustainable revenue, the productive economy, is being starved.
Supporters of the current approach argue that deficits are necessary to close Nigeria’s massive infrastructure gap. Contrary to their argument, the roads are dilapidated. Power supply remains unreliable. Security spending has ballooned in response to persistent threats. With a fast-growing population, social spending pressures are immense. In such a context, refusing to borrow would mean freezing development.
That argument carries weight. Nigeria cannot austerity its way to prosperity. While slashing expenditure indiscriminately could worsen unemployment and deepen poverty.
However, borrowing without institutional reform is a lot more dangerous. Economist Adi Bongo has warned that asset sales, privatisations, and new borrowing will fail without strong oversight and accountability. Nigeria’s history of public-private partnerships and sectoral reforms, particularly in the power sector, offers cautionary tales. Assets sold to politically connected entities without capacity did not deliver efficiency gains. Institutions were created but not empowered. Data was published but not interrogated. Borrowing into weak institutions is like pouring water into a leaking basket.
There is also the issue of political budgeting. Election cycles often bring expanded spending and proliferating projects. Revenue does not necessarily rise in tandem. Structural deficits become politically convenient. Once normalised, they are difficult to reverse.
The Senate President, Godswill Akpabio, who recently framed the 2026 budget as a “moral document,” said it must therefore be judged not by its size, but by its outcomes. The question that should follow such a comment is, will the N26 trillion capital allocation translate into completed roads, functional health centres, and reliable electricity? Or will delayed releases, procurement bottlenecks, and weak oversight roll projects into yet another fiscal year?
Nigeria’s history of overlapping budgets and low capital implementation rates raises legitimate scepticism. Economists have cautioned that attempting to execute multiple large budgets concurrently strains administrative capacity and encourages rushed, low-value spending. When execution falters, the borrowed funds do not generate returns. Yet the interest meter keeps running.
Subsidy reform illustrates both the promise and the risk. The removal of fuel subsidy under President Bola Tinubu was described as a turning point, which was commended by an international organisation. In theory, eliminating subsidies should free fiscal space for productive investment like infrastructure, health, or education, as expected. But transparency in how those savings are redeployed remains crucial, especially in how the subsidy removal is being used. The truth remains that trust erodes if citizens do not see tangible improvements in infrastructure and services to showcase how the money realised from subsidies is being expended. Compliance weakens because once trust and fairness decline, people will easily default or be less willing to obey rules (like paying taxes or following regulations). Revenue mobilisation becomes harder. Trust is the invisible currency of fiscal reform.
Exchange rate pressures add another layer of complexity. When the naira weakens, external debt servicing costs rise in local currency terms; import-related spending increases. Even if reserves appear strong, they are not freely spendable funds; they are buffers against external shocks. Mistaking reserves for budgetary liquidity is a dangerous illusion.
The global context is also less forgiving. Developing countries now pay far more in debt service than they receive in aid. Capital flows are volatile. In such an environment, fiscal discipline is not optional; it is survival.
So, are Nigeria’s deficits building future revenue capacity or merely financing present consumption?
The evidence is mixed, but the tilt is worrying. There are genuine reform efforts underway, such as tax administration overhaul, digitised revenue monitoring, electricity sector reforms, and efforts to attract capital importation. There are signs of macroeconomic stabilisation that are moderating inflation, improving reserves, and modest GDP growth. These are not trivial.
Yet the scale and persistence of deficits, the heavy burden of debt service, the crowding-out of private credit, and the lack of transparency around execution suggest that borrowing is increasingly funding continuity rather than transformation or driving meaningful structural change.
Deficit financing becomes a growth strategy only when three conditions are met, such as when borrowed funds are channeled into productivity-enhancing investments (such as infrastructure, energy, manufacturing, education, and these things must expand the economy’s capacity to produce); institutions ensure transparency and value for money; and economic growth outpaces debt accumulation, so the country can comfortably service and repay what it has borrowed. When those conditions weaken, deficits mutate into a fiscal trap.
Nigeria stands at that junction. The Senate is right that borrowing in itself is not evil. But normalising structural deficits without tightening or simultaneously enforcing expenditure discipline, expanding revenue beyond oil, strengthening institutions, and reducing the cost of governance, then the country is taking a significant risk.
A nation can borrow to build bridges. Or it can borrow to pay salaries. The former compounds growth. The latter compounds debt.
If Nigeria’s deficits do not translate into visible infrastructure, expanded industrial capacity, thriving private enterprise, and rising tax revenues, history will record this era not as bold reform, but as deferred reckoning.
Deficits are not destiny. But when they become routine, they stop being temporary tools, unexamined, and politically convenient; they shape the destinies of Nigerians. From today, as a sovereign nation, Nigeria must decide whether it is borrowing to survive the present or to secure the future. The choice Nigeria makes about how it uses deficit financing will determine whether it becomes a growth ladder or locks it into a worsening cycle of debt that becomes harder and more expensive to escape over time, while the cost of escaping grows each year.
Blaise, a journalist and PR professional, writes from Lagos and can be reached via: bl***********@***il.com
By Blaise Udunze
It is considered that in every organised society, the home is supposed to be a place of security. It should be where families find peace after a hard day’s work, where children grow, where dreams are nurtured, and where the pressures of life temporarily fade away. This narrative comes with keen interest, having witnessed that for millions of Nigerians, home has become the country’s newest economic battlefield. This is fast becoming the experience for the vast majority of Nigerians.
Across the length and breadth of Nigeria, citizens are deeply lamenting the skyrocketing rent. Regrettably, this has become one of the fastest-rising costs of living. An unexpected trend which has become a huge concern is that currently apartments that were rented for N700,000 or N1 million just a few years ago are now advertised for N3 million, N5 million or even higher. Amidst this bizarre development, do you know that they are often without significant improvements to the property itself? One key troubling development is that recent estimates suggest that house rents in many Nigerian cities have surged by between 100 and 300 per cent over the last two years, a pace that far exceeds the country’s official inflation rate and has placed unprecedented pressure on households already struggling with rising food, transportation and energy costs.
Landlords, through estate agents, increasingly demand one or two years’ rent upfront. Tenants are expected to pay 10 per cent of the principal rent toward agency fees, legal fees, agreement charges, caution deposits, and, in most cases, the service charge (which appears to be higher), security levies, and utility-related costs before receiving the keys. In many cases, these additional charges add hundreds of thousands or even millions of naira to the advertised rent, making the total cost of securing accommodation far beyond the reach of average-income earners. Equally disturbing is the unchecked exploitation by agent marauders, who prey on desperate house seekers by imposing outrageous and often illegal fees that further deepen Nigeria’s housing crisis. What should ordinarily be a routine life event has become a financial ordeal.
Nigeria’s housing crisis is no longer simply a property story. It has evolved into an economic emergency with profound implications for families, businesses, public health and national development.
The Federal Government’s National Housing Data Technical Committee estimates that Nigeria faces a housing deficit of approximately 15 to 20million homes. At the same time, millions of existing houses are considered structurally inadequate and lack access to essential infrastructure. If this figure is something to consider, anyone would know that these figures reveal two overlapping crises. First, this shows that millions of Nigerians cannot find decent accommodation, whilst millions more live in overcrowded, unsafe or poorly serviced housing.
At the same time, Nigeria’s population continues to expand rapidly, with cities absorbing hundreds of thousands of new residents every year.
One of the challenges is that urbanisation has consistently outpaced housing development, widening the gap between supply and demand while, predictably, rents continue to rise and affordability continues to decline.
Remarkably, housing experts generally recommend that households should spend no more than 30 per cent of their income on accommodation. For many Nigerian families, that recommendation has become almost impossible to achieve.
Teachers, nurses, journalists, police officers, civil servants, young bankers, entrepreneurs, artisans and other middle-income earners increasingly devote more than half of their annual income to rent alone. For many, housing has become the single largest financial obligation, leaving very little for every other necessity of life.
After paying landlords, food budgets shrink. Healthcare is postponed. Children are transferred to less expensive schools. Retirement savings disappear. Business investments are suspended. Vacations become unimaginable luxuries. The rent bill has become the first expense families think about and the last financial burden they can escape.
The effects extend far beyond individual households. This is totally outrageous, as financial analysts have long observed that when accommodation consumes a disproportionate share of disposable income, consumer spending across the economy inevitably weakens.
Families postpone replacing household appliances. Vehicle purchases are delayed. Furniture sales decline. Restaurants receive fewer customers. Clothing retailers experience lower patronage. Small businesses lose purchasing power from consumers whose earnings are now tied up in rent. The result is a vicious economic cycle in which rising housing costs suppress consumption, reduce business activity, and ultimately slow economic growth.
Behind every rent increase lies a deeply personal story. Consider a fictional but representative family whose experience mirrors that of countless Nigerians. The aspect of receiving notice that the annual rent for their modest two-bedroom apartment would rise from N1.2 million to N3 million comes with uneasiness. At this point, the Blessings’ family had spent months desperately searching for an alternative.
Unable to afford the increase and harassment from the landlord, they eventually relocated nearly 30 kilometres away from their former neighbourhood. The consequences were immediate. Their children had to change schools. The family’s daily commuting time doubled. Transportation costs rose sharply. Family time disappeared.
The father now leaves home before sunrise and returns late at night. The mother spends more each month commuting than she once spent on groceries. Their financial burden has not disappeared. It has merely shifted from rent to transportation and also deals with other issues like epileptic power supply and flooding, especially during this rainy season.
Unfortunately, such stories are no longer exceptional. They have become increasingly common across Nigeria’s major cities. Perhaps no demographic feels this pressure more acutely than young professionals.
Come to think of it, graduates entering the workforce quickly discover that entry-level salaries cannot support decent accommodation close to their workplaces. You would also see many remaining with their parents far longer than anticipated. Other effects include seeing them share apartments with several unrelated adults to reduce costs, whilst some endure daily commutes lasting three or four hours because affordable housing exists only in distant suburbs.
The fact is that the consequences extend beyond inconvenience because long commuting hours reduce productivity, increase fatigue, heighten stress levels and significantly diminish quality of life. Another aspect of this, which is discouraging, is that for many talented young Nigerians, financial independence, home ownership and family formation are becoming increasingly distant aspirations. Several interconnected forces explain why rents continue to climb so aggressively.
Inflation has significantly increased the cost of cement, steel, roofing sheets and virtually every construction material required to build houses. The depreciation of the naira has made imported building materials substantially more expensive. No doubt, from recent findings, there are clear indications that there is a significant increase in the prices of building materials. Let us see the period between 2024 to 2026, Cement: N6,500 – N13,000; blocks: N600 – N1100; 30T of sand: N165,000 – N250,000; 30T of granite: N530,000 – N780,000; rebars (iron) ton: N850,000 – N1,150,000 amongst others. To be fair, it is a known fact that high interest rates have increased borrowing costs for developers, while land acquisition remains prohibitively expensive in many urban centres. The very question at heart is, how has this recent development significantly impacted the apartments built five years ago and beyond?
The government has made it difficult to the point that obtaining development approvals can be slow and costly. Developers also contend with multiple taxes, infrastructure levies and rising labour costs before construction even begins. No doubt, these expenses inevitably find their way into rental prices. But one question keeps running through the minds of many, which is, how do these directly impact apartments built many years back? The truth is that market realities alone do not explain every increase.
In many locations, speculative pricing has taken hold. Some landlords have raised rents far beyond what can reasonably be attributed to maintenance or inflation, taking advantage of overwhelming demand and the severe shortage of available accommodation.
The inability of many Nigerians to purchase homes has further intensified the pressure on the rental market. Inflation, high mortgage rates and limited access to long-term housing finance have pushed home ownership beyond the reach of millions, forcing them to remain tenants for much longer than planned. This should be blamed on the government of the day, as more people compete for a limited supply of rental properties, landlords possess even greater leverage to increase prices.
Housing insecurity is also producing a less visible but equally damaging consequence for deteriorating mental health.
The constant fear of eviction, the uncertainty surrounding annual rent reviews and the enormous pressure of raising large lump sums every one or two years create persistent psychological stress.
Think of the impact of parents’ worry about disrupting their children’s education. Young couples postpone marriage because they cannot afford accommodation. Family disagreements increasingly revolve around financial pressures. Consider the part of many Nigerians who quietly or secretly or unknowingly battle anxiety, emotional exhaustion and depression arising from the struggle to secure decent housing.
None of these psychological costs clearly appear in official economic statistics, but the truth is that they profoundly affect productivity, family stability and overall well-being. It is equally obvious that the crisis is also affecting employers and businesses.
Workers forced to travel long distances arrive at work exhausted. Traffic congestion consumes valuable productive hours each day. It turns out that companies increasingly struggle to retain staff who relocate in search of affordable accommodation. Also, know that many employers face mounting pressure to increase housing allowances simply to remain competitive.
All these call for a balancing as employees demand higher wages to offset escalating living costs, further increasing operating expenses for businesses already contending with inflation, unstable exchange rates and rising energy prices.
Housing affordability is therefore no longer merely a social concern. It has become a business and national competitiveness issue.
Though Nigeria is not alone in confronting housing affordability challenges, its recent trend calls for attention. Across Africa, rapid urbanisation continues to outpace housing supply.
For this reason, Kenya has introduced ambitious affordable housing programmes aimed at expanding supply, although implementation challenges remain; this can’t be compared to Nigeria’s current situation. Ghana is not left out of the equation as it continues to battle a significant housing deficit. Ghana is also grappling with the irony of completed homes that remain unaffordable for many citizens. South Africa, despite possessing a relatively more developed mortgage market, continues to experience severe affordability pressures in cities such as Johannesburg and Cape Town.
Nigeria’s situation, however, is intensified by its enormous population, rapid urban expansion, limited mortgage penetration and one of Africa’s largest housing deficits.
Nigeria has witnessed successive governments introducing affordable housing initiatives, mortgage schemes and public-private partnerships which fails before implementation. While these programmes represent positive intentions, delivery has consistently fallen far behind growing demand.
Housing experts argue that meaningful reform requires far more than constructing a limited number of housing estates.
Nigeria must simplify land acquisition processes, reduce infrastructure costs, expand mortgage accessibility, improve planning approvals, encourage private-sector investment in affordable housing and strengthen incentives for developers willing to build homes for middle- and low-income earners.
Improving housing data is important, but accurate statistics alone cannot reduce rents. Effective implementation remains the country’s greatest policy challenge.
Let’s consider some of these salient points proffered by urban planners who insist that Nigeria’s housing crisis cannot be solved exclusively through market forces. According to them, governments at all levels must invest strategically in infrastructure and create financing mechanisms that reduce development costs. To further help reduce the housing gap, they encourage the construction of affordable rental housing rather than focusing disproportionately on luxury developments.
The truth is that if housing continues to consume an ever-growing share of household income, consumer spending, investment and long-term economic growth will remain constrained. Another key barrier that must be addressed quickly, as highlighted by researchers, is inflation, limited housing finance, weak regulatory enforcement and inconsistent policy implementation, which happen to be major bottlenecks to affordable housing delivery.
One key question that yearns for answers is whether it is not obvious to the government and other stakeholders that housing is far more than concrete walls, roofing sheets and painted ceilings? The fact is that shelter, as the meaning implies, shapes educational outcomes, influences public health, determines productivity, strengthens families, supports social mobility and contributes directly to national competitiveness.
At this stage, it is a complete shame and at the same time an irony that a nation where hardworking teachers, nurses, journalists, entrepreneurs, artisans, security personnel and civil servants cannot comfortably afford decent shelter risks weakening its middle class, widening inequality and undermining sustainable economic growth.
If the truth must be told, Nigeria’s rent crisis is therefore not merely about landlords and tenants. For a fact, it is about the future of work, family stability, economic opportunity and social justice. Clearly, it is about whether millions of hardworking citizens can enjoy the dignity that comes with secure and affordable housing.
The mistake all along, which must be eschewed, is that a country’s progress is being measured solely by the number of luxury estates it builds or the height of its skyscrapers. More importantly, it should also be measured by whether ordinary citizens can afford a safe place to call home without sacrificing their children’s education, healthcare, savings or future aspirations.
If this is not adequately addressed, this rent trap will persist until affordable housing becomes a genuine national priority backed by bold reforms and sustained implementation; millions of Nigerians will continue facing an impossible choice, which would invariably lead them to surrender their financial future to keep a roof over their heads or abandon the comfort, security and dignity that every family deserves.
Concerned stakeholders shouldn’t continue to believe that the true cost of Nigeria’s rent crisis is therefore measured only in naira. It is measured in postponed dreams, delayed marriages, fractured families, declining productivity, abandoned ambitions, struggling businesses and the quiet erosion of hope among citizens who work tirelessly every day but find the simple promise of a decent home slipping further beyond their reach.
Blaise, a journalist and PR professional, writes from Lagos and can be reached via: bl***********@***il.com
By Blaise Udunze
Daily, the world watches Nigeria through a familiar lens in what appears to be a gory situation. Especially in cases when the news headlines tell stories of farmer-herder clashes, bandit attacks, kidnappings, villages reduced to ashes or deserted by the dwellers, as thousands of Nigerians have been displaced across states such as Zamfara, Plateau, Benue, Niger, Kaduna and Nasarawa. Subliminally, this is about to become a similarly ugly occurrence in southwestern Nigeria, which is fast becoming obvious if not nipped in the bud quickly.
Recorded data have shown that bandits, Boko Haram, and others killed over 190,000 Nigerians in 17 years and displaced 3.7 million people.
A human rights organisation, the International Society for Civil Liberties and Rule of Law (Intersociety), in its fearful revelation, has said that no fewer than 190,150 Nigerians have been killed by bandits, Boko Haram insurgents, and suspected armed herdsmen between July 2009 and March 19, 2026, as this calls for concern.
The dominant explanations often point to ethnic tensions, religious divisions, climate change, shrinking grazing routes or weak security institutions. No doubt, those factors are certainly part of Nigeria’s complex security crisis. Yet another question deserves serious examination.
What if, in some locations, the violence is also serving another purpose? What if some of the territories experiencing repeated displacement are the same places sitting atop some of Nigeria’s most valuable mineral deposits? More importantly, if such a pattern exists, who benefits when communities disappear?
Of a truth, these questions are uncomfortable, but undeniably they deserve careful investigation rather than dismissal.
For ages, Nigeria has been naturally endowed, and it is estimated to be rich in enormous significant reserves of gold, lithium, uranium, tin, columbite and other strategic minerals increasingly sought after in the global transition to clean energy technologies. As international demand for battery minerals continues to rise, these resources have become far more valuable than they were only a decade ago.
If one overlays publicly available geological information with maps showing persistent violence, some observers argue that striking geographical overlaps appear in several regions. Such overlaps alone cannot establish causation. Correlation is not proof of conspiracy. However, they raise questions worthy of independent scrutiny.
One issue attracting increasing attention and adequately yearns for answer is whether prolonged insecurity may inadvertently or deliberately create conditions that make mineral extraction easier.
Under Nigeria’s Nigerian Minerals and Mining Act 2007, mineral resources belong to the Federal Government, while mining rights are granted through licences and leases. Community engagement and land access are expected to form part of the licensing process, although implementation varies depending on circumstances. This raises an important policy question.
What happens when the communities expected to participate in those processes have already fled because of violence?
Displacement changes the dynamics of land ownership, consent and access. While no evidence automatically proves that attacks are orchestrated to facilitate mining, the sequence of violence followed by renewed commercial activity in some locations deserves closer examination by regulators, lawmakers and investigative journalists.
In conflict studies, researchers have long observed that wars often generate economic winners alongside humanitarian losers. Could elements of Nigeria’s insecurity also be producing economic beneficiaries?
Reports over the years have documented concerns about illegal mining operations across parts of northern Nigeria. Government agencies themselves have repeatedly acknowledged that criminal networks profit from the country’s vast mineral wealth. The unresolved question is whether isolated criminality has, in some instances, evolved into more sophisticated alliances involving political influence, financial interests and international supply chains. If so, the implications extend far beyond Nigeria.
Invariably, it is clearly known that lithium has become one of the world’s most strategic commodities, powering electric vehicle batteries and renewable energy storage systems. Gold has always remained one of the safest global investment assets during periods of uncertainty. Meanwhile, it is well confirmed that the global appetite for these minerals creates enormous financial incentives.
Suppose violent displacement reduces resistance to extraction. Suppose shell companies subsequently acquire mining interests. Suppose minerals then leave Nigeria through legitimate-looking export documentation while their true value remains understated.
These scenarios remain allegations unless supported by verifiable evidence. Yet they outline a framework that investigators may wish to test rather than ignore. Financial crime experts frequently identify trade mis-invoicing as one of the most common methods of illicit financial flows worldwide.
Could Nigeria’s solid minerals sector be vulnerable to similar practices? If valuable lithium ore is deliberately but inaccurately described as lower-value material on export documents, substantial wealth could potentially leave the country without reflecting its true market value. Likewise, if unrefined gold exits through privileged channels with limited scrutiny, questions naturally arise about oversight, transparency and accountability over criminal activities which have continued to stunt and disrupt the country’s socio-economic growth and at the same time cause carnage.
Such possibilities are not accusations against any particular institution or company. Rather, they illustrate why stronger monitoring systems are increasingly essential. Another question concerns logistics.
With the high level of criminal activities, industrial mining requires heavy machinery, diesel supplies, transportation networks and specialised personnel. These are not operations that can remain invisible indefinitely.
If certain territories are genuinely too dangerous for security agencies, how do industrial-scale extraction activities reportedly continue in some remote locations? If they do, who protects those operations? Who authorises their movement? Who verifies what is extracted? Who ensures royalties and export revenues reach public coffers? These are governance questions that demand institutional answers.
Equally important is the international dimension. Minerals extracted in Nigeria ultimately enter global supply chains. Gold may pass through international refining hubs before entering financial markets. Lithium may become part of battery manufacturing destined for electric vehicles, which are being sold across Europe, North America and Asia.
One known fact is that consumers purchasing products containing these minerals rarely know the full story of where they originated.
Increasingly, however, investors and governments are demanding ethical sourcing standards that trace minerals from extraction to final manufacture.
A critical factor that must be taken into cognisance is that if insecurity is creating opportunities for illegal or unethical extraction anywhere in the world, multinational companies have responsibilities alongside national governments, of which the onus falls on the Nigerian government.
Transparency cannot stop at the mine gate. Nor should accountability end at national borders. Another issue requiring attention concerns beneficial ownership.
Across many jurisdictions, shell companies can obscure the identities of individuals ultimately controlling commercial assets. If politically exposed persons or powerful business interests are hidden behind complex corporate structures registered offshore, identifying beneficiaries becomes significantly more difficult. This challenge is hardly unique to Nigeria.
Findings showed that from Latin America to Central Africa and Southeast Asia, resistant corporate networks have frequently complicated efforts to combat corruption and illicit resource extraction. That is precisely why open corporate registries, beneficial ownership databases and transparent mining licence disclosures are becoming global governance priorities. For Nigeria, the stakes could hardly be higher.
The country stands at the centre of the world’s emerging critical minerals economy. The Nigerian government can’t feign ignorance of the fact that, when handled transparently, these resources could finance infrastructure, education, healthcare, and industrial development for generations.
In no way would the government claim not knowing that when handled poorly, they risk becoming another chapter in the well-documented “resource curse,” where extraordinary natural wealth coincides with persistent poverty, insecurity and institutional weakness.
The ultimate challenge, therefore, is not simply about mining. It is about governance. It is about whether public institutions possess both the independence and capacity to ensure that natural resources benefit citizens rather than narrow interests. It is about whether conflict zones receive genuine peacebuilding efforts instead of becoming forgotten frontiers. And it is about whether international markets demand accountability with the same enthusiasm they demand raw materials.
None of these questions should be answered through speculation. They require rigorous investigations, forensic financial analysis, satellite imagery, mining license audits, customs records, beneficial ownership disclosures and courageous journalism.
They require governments willing to open their books. They require international cooperation capable of tracing money across borders. Most importantly, they require asking questions that have too often remained unasked.
Perhaps Nigeria’s security crisis is exactly what it appears to be: a tragic convergence of historical grievances, weak institutions, criminality and environmental pressures. Or perhaps, in some places, another layer of economic incentive deserves closer scrutiny.
Until those questions are thoroughly investigated, one possibility will continue to linger. Maybe the world’s attention has been fixed on the blood spilt above ground, while too little attention has been paid to the extraordinary wealth lying beneath it.
Blaise, a journalist and PR professional, writes from Lagos and can be reached via: bl***********@***il.com
Feature/OPED
What Does Nigeria’s $51bn Reserves Milestone Mean if Most New Foreign Money Can Leave Quickly?
Nigeria’s foreign reserves have climbed to about $51 billion, a decade-plus high, according to the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN). EBC Financial Group (EBC) notes that this reflects stronger investor confidence, but the second half may show whether it holds, as the build rests on three cyclical drivers: oil earnings, short-term foreign money and a narrowing official-to-street naira gap.
Reserves rose from about $32 billion in April 2024, during a dollar shortage, to about $51 billion now, near the CBN’s target. Much came from two cyclical sources, strong oil earnings and money chasing high-yielding naira assets, so EBC expects the pace to slow or reverse. Fitch Ratings, a major international credit rating agency, expects a marginal decline to about $47 billion by the end of 2026, citing higher spending and external pressures.
David Precious, Senior Market Analyst at EBC Financial Group, said, “Nigeria’s reserve build is real but may not be durable yet, because nearly all of the new money is the kind that can leave quickly. Of the $10.37 billion that came in over the first quarter, the overwhelming majority was short-term portfolio funds rather than long-term investment, so a shift in oil prices, global interest rates or confidence in the naira might pull a large part of it straight back out.”
Most New Money Can Still Leave Quickly
The composition of the foreign inflows explains the caution over how long the build can last. The country attracted $10.37 billion in foreign investment in the first quarter of 2026, up 83.83 per cent year-on-year, according to the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS). Of that, $9.86 billion or 95.09 per cent, was portfolio money, largely short-term naira debt such as Treasury bills that investors can sell at the next auction, while foreign direct investment, the long-term kind that builds factories and jobs, was $135.08 million, or 1.30 per cent. Put simply, of each dollar coming in, about 95 cents can leave quickly, and barely one cent stays.
That money supports reserves while it stays. Dollars brought in to buy naira assets add to market supply, letting the CBN hold more reserves and steady the naira. It leaves when conditions change. Nigeria earns most of its export dollars from oil and gas, so lower oil prices mean fewer dollars, and as a member of the Organisation of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC), it cannot simply produce more, output capped by quota and reduced by theft and ageing fields. Higher global interest rates draw money toward safer returns abroad, and a weakening naira prompts investors to sell early. When oil fell in 2016 and 2020, foreign investors withdrew and could not convert naira to dollars as supply dried up, leaving the CBN to clear more than $7 billion in trapped obligations into 2024.
The Oil Boost is No Longer Certain
Oil looked like a dependable source of the dollars behind the reserves only months ago. Earlier in 2026, concern over disruption around the Strait of Hormuz lifted crude prices, and stronger receipts flowed in, with crude oil export earnings of $8.11 billion in the first quarter in the CBN’s balance-of-payments data. That support is now easing. The tension has subsided, and Brent traded near $72 on June 29, down about 24 per cent over the month, back to pre-conflict levels. With the price boost gone and output constrained, reserves are more exposed, leaning on non-oil earnings and investor patience rather than oil.
The Naira Still Trades at Two Prices
The naira has traded at two prices, an official rate and a higher parallel-market rate, and closing that gap into one trusted price is what many investors might watch most. Before committing funds, they may want assurance they can convert naira to dollars at a fair rate when they exit, and a wide gap revives the fear of being trapped that lingers from earlier shortages. The gap has narrowed to roughly N20 to N30, with the CBN’s official rate near N1,380 per dollar on June 26 against parallel-market quotes around N1,400. The International Monetary Fund (IMF) 2026 Article IV review urged Nigeria to depend less on this fast-moving portfolio money and to keep phasing out its multiple exchange-rate practices. The CBN’s Foreign Exchange Manual, in force from 1 June, is intended to make the market clearer, though such rules build confidence only once investors can freely trade dollars at the posted rate.
What could Make the Build Durable
A few signs that may show the build turning durable include a smaller gap between the official and street naira rates, more long-term foreign investment, and steadier oil earnings. A gap that stays small, now roughly N20 to N30, may mean investors trust the official rate and no longer need the street market. A clear rise in foreign direct investment, only $135 million last quarter against $9.86 billion of short-term money, might mean lasting capital is replacing funds that can leave at the next auction. Oil earnings that hold up, rather than sliding from the low $70s, should help keep reserves steady, since oil and gas bring in most of Nigeria’s export dollars.
“Reserves built on money chasing high yields can fall as fast as they rose, as they did after the last two oil shocks, when investors left, and the CBN spent years clearing a foreign-exchange backlog,” Precious added. “What holds through a downturn is slower money, direct investment, steady oil and non-oil export earnings and one credible naira rate, and that is the shift Nigeria has yet to make.”
