Feature/OPED
The Almajiri Question: A Stream Now Watering Northern Nigeria’s Insecurity
By Sani Abdulrazak, PhD
Every civilisation carries within it traditions that define its identity and shape its collective memory. Some traditions withstand the test of time because they continue to serve the purpose for which they were conceived. Others gradually lose their essence, becoming shadows of their original intent, until they begin to produce consequences diametrically opposed to the ideals they once espoused. Wisdom therefore demands that societies periodically interrogate their customs, not with the intention of erasing them, but of preserving their virtues while courageously confronting their deficiencies. Few institutions in Northern Nigeria embody this paradox more markedly than the almajiri system.
For centuries, the system represented discipline, scholarship and spiritual refinement. Young boys travelled from distant communities in pursuit of Islamic knowledge under the tutelage of learned scholars whose influence extended beyond religious instruction to moral formation. Communities embraced the responsibility of caring for these pupils, while the teachers regarded them as their children rather than burdens to be managed. The almajiri system, in its pristine form, produced jurists, judges, administrators, scholars and community leaders whose intellectual contributions shaped the social and religious landscape of Northern Nigeria. What confronts us today, however, is scarcely a reflection of that noble heritage.
It is germane to aver that what many now defend in the name of tradition is, in reality, a tragic mutation of the original institution. Thousands of children roam our streets barefoot, hungry and vulnerable, not because Islam prescribes destitution as a pathway to knowledge, but because decades of poverty, rapid population growth, weak public institutions and societal neglect have gradually transformed an educational model into a humanitarian crisis. We have retained the name but abandoned the substance. We celebrate the tradition while ignoring the conditions that have stripped it of its dignity. The consequences have become too glaring to ignore. Across Northern Nigeria, one encounters children of school age at traffic intersections, markets, motor parks and major highways, stretching out tiny hands for alms instead of reaching for books. Their classrooms have become the streets. Their libraries are the pavements. Their lessons are often dictated not by teachers but by the harsh realities of survival. Every help dropped into their bowls may momentarily satisfy hunger, but it does little to nourish the mind that should ultimately liberate them from the cycle of dependence.
Perhaps the gravest implication of this unfortunate reality lies in its intersection with the insecurity that has continued to plague the region. It would be intellectually dishonest to suggest that every almajiri becomes a criminal. Such a proposition would be unfair, insensitive and patently false. Many have risen from humble beginnings to become respected scholars, professionals and public servants. Yet it would be equally dishonest to deny that large populations of abandoned, uneducated and economically vulnerable children provide fertile ground for recruitment into criminal enterprises. Bandits, terrorists, kidnappers and violent extremists rarely manufacture vulnerability; they exploit it. A hungry child is easier to manipulate than a satisfied one. An ignorant youth is easier to deceive than an educated one. A boy who has never experienced the dignity of opportunity may readily embrace the illusion of belonging offered by criminal networks. This is the painful arithmetic confronting Northern Nigeria today. The stream that once irrigated scholarship is gradually watering insecurity, not because its foundation was defective, but because society abandoned its responsibility to sustain it. The security crisis engulfing Arewa cannot therefore be divorced from the educational crisis confronting the region. Every out-of-school child represents not merely a statistic but a potential casualty of failed governance, economic deprivation and collective negligence. The region has the highest number of out of school children in the world. This frightening population of children outside formal education should disturb every parent, every traditional ruler, every religious leader and every public office holder. It is not simply an educational emergency; it is a national security emergency disguised as a social challenge.
Poverty compounds this tragedy in alarming proportions. Families struggling to secure their next meal often perceive education as a luxury rather than a necessity. Parents burdened by economic hardship relinquish responsibilities they are ill-equipped to shoulder, while many Qur’anic teachers themselves grapple with inadequate resources. The result is a vicious cycle in which deprivation reproduces deprivation across generations. Children born into poverty frequently inherit not only economic disadvantage but educational exclusion, creating an endless conveyor belt of vulnerability.
Culture, too, demands honest interrogation: Respect for tradition is a virtue, but no culture should become impervious to reform when overwhelming evidence demonstrates that its present manifestation inflicts avoidable suffering upon those it was originally designed to uplift. Our forefathers were products of wisdom, not rigidity. They adapted to changing realities without compromising their fundamental values. We dishonour their legacy when we mistake resistance to reform for fidelity to tradition.
The path forward therefore lies neither in abolishing Qur’anic education nor in preserving the status quo. Both extremes are fundamentally flawed. What Northern Nigeria requires is thoughtful integration; an educational model that harmonises religious scholarship with modern knowledge, allowing children to acquire sound Islamic education alongside literacy, numeracy, science, technology and vocational skills. Faith and formal education are not adversaries. They are complementary instruments for developing complete human beings capable of contributing meaningfully to society.
The responsibility for rescuing the North from this precipice cannot be placed upon government alone, though government undoubtedly bears the greatest burden. Parents must reclaim their primary role as the first custodians of their children’s future. No society can outsource parental responsibility indefinitely without paying a devastating price. Bringing children into the world is not merely a biological accomplishment; it is a lifelong commitment to nurturing them intellectually, morally and emotionally. Every father who abandons that sacred obligation contributes, however unintentionally, to the reservoir from which insecurity continually draws its recruits. Religious scholars equally occupy a position of profound influence. The reverence they command across Northern Nigeria places upon them an enormous moral responsibility to champion reforms capable of restoring the dignity of Qur’anic education. There is nothing inherently contradictory about a child memorising the Qur’an while simultaneously learning mathematics, science, languages and digital literacy. Indeed, the earliest Muslim civilisations flourished because they pursued revealed knowledge alongside intellectual inquiry, producing physicians, mathematicians, astronomers, philosophers and jurists whose contributions transformed human civilisation. The false dichotomy between religious and western education has inflicted immeasurable damage upon our society and deserves to be discarded with urgency.
Traditional institutions must also become active participants in this transformation. Emirs, district heads, village chiefs and community leaders remain the custodians of values and possess the moral authority to mobilise their people in ways government policies alone cannot achieve. Throughout history, the North has relied upon these institutions to preserve peace, resolve disputes and safeguard communal interests. The educational future of our children should command the same level of commitment.
Government, on its part, must continue to expand access to free, compulsory and qualitative basic education. Building schools alone will not suffice. Schools must be adequately staffed, properly equipped and strategically located to ensure that no child is denied education simply because of geography or poverty. Teachers must receive continuous professional development and appropriate welfare, for no educational reform can surpass the competence and motivation of those entrusted with delivering it. Beyond infrastructure lies the equally important responsibility of making education attractive enough for parents to embrace and accessible enough for every child to benefit from. Poverty alleviation must accompany educational reforms if lasting success is to be achieved. It is unrealistic to expect families struggling to provide a single daily meal to prioritise education without meaningful economic support. Social investment programmes, school feeding initiatives, conditional cash transfers and vocational empowerment schemes all possess the capacity to reduce the economic pressures that often compel parents to withdraw children from school. The fight against insecurity is therefore inseparable from the fight against poverty. One reinforces the other, just as their solutions complement one another.
Equally imperative is the need for governments at all levels to treat the alarming number of out-of-school children as a national emergency rather than an inconvenient statistic recited during conferences. Every child roaming the streets today represents a future that remains unwritten. Within that child may reside an accomplished surgeon, an innovative engineer, an exceptional teacher or a visionary leader whose potential may never find expression if society continues to look away. Nations are diminished not only by the talents they fail to produce but by the opportunities they fail to provide. Technology, too, offers unprecedented opportunities to bridge educational inequalities. Digital learning platforms, community learning centres and innovative teaching methods can complement conventional classrooms, particularly in underserved rural communities. While technology cannot replace teachers, it can significantly expand access to knowledge and reduce educational disparities if deployed thoughtfully and equitably.
Perhaps the greatest obstacle confronting meaningful reform is neither finance nor policy but our collective reluctance to confront uncomfortable truths. For too long, conversations surrounding the almajiri system have oscillated between sentimental nostalgia and political correctness. We have feared that honest criticism may be interpreted as hostility towards religion or Arewa culture. It is neither. On the contrary, the greatest expression of love for any tradition is the courage to preserve its strengths while correcting its weaknesses. A physician who diagnoses an illness does not hate the patient; he seeks to save him.
Northern Nigeria now stands at a defining moment in its history. The region can continue to watch generations of children drift through lives circumscribed by ignorance, poverty and vulnerability, or it can summon the courage to embrace reforms that reconcile faith with modern education, tradition with progress and cultural identity with contemporary realities. Neutrality is no longer an option. Every year of hesitation condemns another generation to circumstances they did not choose. History is replete with societies that transformed themselves through education. They discovered that classrooms are stronger than prisons, that books are cheaper than bullets and that teachers often accomplish what soldiers cannot. Security agencies can arrest criminals, but only education can reduce the number of those willing to become criminals. Military victories may restore temporary peace, yet enduring peace is cultivated in schools where children are taught not merely to read and write but to think, innovate and hope.
Northern Nigeria has produced some of Africa’s finest scholars, administrators and statesmen. It possesses an enviable intellectual heritage that should inspire confidence rather than despair. Our challenge is therefore not one of capacity but of commitment. We must refuse to surrender our future to a cycle that has already extracted too heavy a toll on our people. We owe our children more than sympathy; we owe them opportunity. We owe them more than charity; we owe them dignity. Above all, we owe them an education capable of liberating both their minds and their circumstances. The almajiri question is not fundamentally about children begging on our streets; it is about the future of Northern Nigeria itself. Every neglected child diminishes our collective tomorrow, while every educated child expands it. The choice before us is remarkably simple, though decisively consequential. We may continue to irrigate the fertile fields of insecurity through neglect, or we may redirect that same stream towards the cultivation of knowledge, productivity and hope. Posterity will judge us not by how passionately we defended inherited systems, but by how courageously we reformed them for the benefit of generations yet unborn.
Long Live Northern Nigeria, Long Live the Federal Republic of Nigeria.
Sani Abdulrazak, PhD, is a researcher, writer and public commentator based in Zaria, Kaduna State.
Feature/OPED
Moving the Stablecoin Conversation From Hype to Utility in Africa’s Next Payments Evolution
By Rajat Mishra
For much of the past decade, discussions around stablecoins have been dominated by cryptocurrency speculation. Increasingly, however, stablecoins are emerging as practical financial infrastructure for moving money across borders, managing liquidity and improving payment efficiency.
The real opportunity lies not in choosing between traditional finance and digital assets, but in building an integrated financial ecosystem where both work together to improve efficiency, broaden financial access and deepen economic connectivity across the continent.
Despite significant advances in financial inclusion and digital payments, moving money across African borders remains far more difficult than it should be. Businesses continue to face challenges when making cross-border payments. Fragmented payment networks, multiple intermediaries, and lengthy settlement processes increase costs and create operational inefficiencies.
Remittance providers, the specialised financial services that millions rely on to send money home, face many of the same structural challenges. These providers play a critical role across the continent. In fact, 19 of Africa’s 54 countries receive remittance inflows equivalent to at least 4% of their GDP. Yet Africa remains the world’s most expensive region to send money to.
These challenges are not a reflection of remittance providers themselves, but of the fragmented banking and settlement infrastructure underpinning international money movement. Financial institutions must often manage liquidity across multiple disconnected currency markets while relying on complex correspondent banking networks and clearing systems. The result is higher costs, slower settlements, and capital that remains unnecessarily locked up.
One of the most immediate opportunities for stablecoins lies in improving cross-border settlement. Consider a Kenyan business importing goods from South Africa. Under traditional settlement models, payments often pass through multiple correspondent banking relationships, involve several foreign exchange conversions, and can take days before funds reach the intended recipient.
Stablecoin-enabled settlement rails have the potential to reduce much of this friction by enabling value to move more efficiently between financial institutions across markets. The result can be shorter settlement times, greater transparency and improved predictability for businesses operating across borders.
The benefits extend well beyond businesses. For millions of Africans working abroad, remittances remain a financial lifeline, helping families pay school fees, healthcare costs and daily living expenses. Yet sending money home often involves navigating a complex chain of money transfer operators, correspondent banks, and local payout partners, with each additional layer introducing costs and delays.
Stablecoins can help streamline the backend movement of funds between institutional participants, reducing settlement costs and improving efficiency across the value chain.
For end users, the advantage is simplicity. Recipients do not need to interact with, or even understand stablecoins directly. They continue to receive money through familiar, trusted channels, whether a local bank account or mobile money wallet, only faster and at a lower cost.
Beyond payments, stablecoins also address one of the less visible but most significant challenges in cross-border finance: liquidity management. Financial institutions operating across multiple markets must constantly ensure they have sufficient funds in the right currency, in the right jurisdiction and at the right time. Today, this often requires pre-funding accounts across multiple countries, a costly practice that traps large amounts of capital and limits financial flexibility.
Stablecoins introduce a new model for moving value across borders in near real time, enabling institutions to manage liquidity dynamically as demand arises. This can reduce the need for large pre-funded balances, improve treasury efficiency and free up capital that can be deployed more productively. Ultimately, these efficiencies can translate into faster settlements, lower costs, and better services for businesses and consumers alike.
However, the true value of stablecoins will not come from isolated blockchain networks operating independently of existing financial systems. Their long-term impact will depend on how effectively they integrate with banks, mobile money platforms, payment service providers and existing payment infrastructure. Interoperability will be critical to ensuring payment flows move seamlessly between systems, markets and currencies. The goal should be to strengthen and modernise today’s payment ecosystem, not replace it.
From experiment to infrastructure: what global moves are telling us
Some of the clearest signals that stablecoins are moving from experimentation to infrastructure are coming from card networks. Mastercard’s reported agreement to acquire BVNK, valued at up to $1.8 billion, points to a strategic investment in the settlement layer connecting stablecoin rails with traditional banking and reflects growing institutional confidence in stablecoin-enabled cross-border payments.
Visa’s expansion of stablecoin-backed cards through Stripe’s Bridge to more than 100 countries reflects a complementary strategy. Rather than acquiring infrastructure outright, Visa is leveraging its existing global network as the final distribution layer for stablecoin-funded payments.
The inclusion of African markets is particularly significant. It signals growing confidence that stablecoin-backed payment instruments can operate alongside, and in some cases complement, the mobile money ecosystems that already dominate wallet-based payments across much of the continent.
Taken together, these developments point to a broader shift. Card payment networks are moving from observing the stablecoin conversation to investing directly in the infrastructure that underpins it. For Africa, the implication is not that stablecoins will replace existing payment rails, but that success will increasingly belong to institutions capable of orchestrating multiple settlement rails – cards, bank transfers, mobile money and stablecoins- within a unified, interoperable ecosystem. Local market expertise, regulatory relationships and last-mile distribution will remain decisive competitive advantages.
Building for scale through trust and regulation
But despite their potential, stablecoins cannot operate outside the boundaries of regulated financial systems. Their long-term viability across Africa depends on clear regulatory frameworks, robust compliance standards and trusted infrastructure that supports transparency, risk management and consumer protection.
We are already seeing this evolution. In markets such as South Africa, institutions facilitating cross-border settlements must navigate increasingly sophisticated regulatory requirements, including approvals for certain offshore crypto-related activities. Globally, initiatives such as the OECD’s Crypto-Asset Reporting Framework (CARF) and expanded Travel Rule obligations are raising expectations around reporting, tax transparency and compliance.
These developments reinforce a simple reality: stablecoin infrastructure does not reduce compliance obligations. It raises the bar for governance, transparency and institutional risk management. The objective is not to bypass regulation, but to build interoperable payment systems that can innovate confidently within it.
From the edges to the plumbing
The stablecoin conversation is steadily moving beyond speculation and towards practical implementation. What once sat at the edges of the payments debate is becoming part of the plumbing of cross-border finance rather than a parallel system to it.
The question is no longer whether stablecoins have a role to play in payments. The question is where they deliver the greatest value. In Africa, that value is increasingly clear: faster settlement, improved liquidity efficiency and more connected cross-border commerce. The winners will not be those that replace existing financial systems, but those that successfully connect stablecoin rails with the banks, mobile money networks and payment providers that already power the continent’s economy.
For pan-African payment networks such as Onafriq, the priority is ensuring that emerging technologies complement the financial infrastructure businesses and consumers already trust, rather than introducing new layers of complexity.
The opportunity lies in connecting stablecoin settlement with banks, mobile money networks and payment providers, ensuring the benefits of this new infrastructure deliver tangible outcomes for African businesses and consumers.
Rajat Mishra is the CPO for Network Product & Deputy Group CPIO at Onafriq
By Sani Abdulrazak, PhD
The irony in governance is that the projects that capture public imagination are often the least difficult to appreciate. A newly commissioned road, a modern school, a renovated hospital or a flyover bridge speaks for itself. Fiscal discipline does not. Yet, behind every lasting development lies an often-overlooked virtue: the prudent management of public resources. Governments are judged ultimately not by the abundance of their income but by the wisdom of their choices in spending that income. Though prosperity is desirable as we all know, we have to admit that stewardship is equally indispensable. When public finance is guided by discipline rather than expediency, governments create not only projects but also the confidence that today’s development will not become tomorrow’s burden.
It is against this backdrop that Kaduna State’s fiscal journey deserves careful reflection.
Governor Uba Sani assumed office in May 2023 at a time when the state, and by extension the country’s economic landscape, was anything but forgiving. The removal of fuel subsidy, exchange-rate volatility, persistent inflation, and rising debt-service obligations placed unprecedented pressure on governments at every level. States were confronted with a difficult reality: revenues were uncertain, the demands of citizens were increasing, and the cost of delivering public services was rising sharply. In such circumstances, leadership is tested less by ambition than by restraint. The challenge is not merely to spend, but to spend wisely.
One of the defining features of Kaduna’s public finance strategy has been its emphasis on fiscal prudence. The evolution of Kaduna’s budgets illustrates this approach. The approved 2023 budget stood at approximately ₦376 billion, with about 64 per cent allocated to capital expenditure. By 2026, the state’s budget had expanded to approximately ₦985.9 billion, with nearly 71 per cent earmarked for capital projects. While a larger budget does not automatically translate into better governance, the increasing share devoted to capital expenditure suggests an intention to invest more heavily in assets capable of generating long-term social and economic value.
It is important to note that Kaduna’s fiscal philosophy appears to rest on the belief that sustainable development cannot be separated from responsible financial management. Whether this approach ultimately delivers all the expected outcomes will be judged by history. But the effort to align expenditure with development priorities represents a significant dimension of governance, one that often receives less public attention than it deserves.
Like most Nigerian states, Kaduna relies on a combination of statutory allocations from the Federation Account and internally generated revenue (IGR). Available fiscal reports indicate that Kaduna has continued efforts to strengthen its internally generated revenue through reforms in tax administration and improved collection mechanisms. While revenue generation alone is not evidence of economic prosperity, it provides government with greater fiscal flexibility and resilience, particularly during periods of national economic uncertainty. Equally important is the principle that expanding the revenue base should not be confused with imposing heavier burdens on taxpayers. The more sustainable path lies in improving efficiency, reducing leakages, and encouraging economic activity that naturally broadens the tax net.
Another pertinently salient aspect of Kaduna’s fiscal approach that deserves attention is the administration’s stated commitment to avoiding new borrowing while continuing to service inherited debt obligations. In a federation where public borrowing has become a common instrument for financing development, such a position reflects a cautious philosophy of public finance. According to official statements, the government has prioritised meeting existing debt commitments while financing new projects through budgetary allocations, statutory revenues, and other available funding sources rather than contracting fresh loans. The most overlooked measure of fiscal discipline is not the size of a budget or even the amount of revenue collected. It is the willingness of a government to treat public funds as a trust rather than an entitlement. Financial prudence is rarely dramatic, but it is often decisive. It is the quiet habit of making difficult choices today so that tomorrow’s opportunities are not compromised by yesterday’s excesses.
There is, pertinently, external evidence to suggest that Kaduna’s emphasis on fiscal discipline is not merely a government narrative. In the 2025 Transparency and Integrity Index of the Centre for Fiscal Transparency and Public Integrity (CeFTPI), Kaduna ranked first among Nigeria’s 36 states for the second consecutive year, scoring 49.08 per cent and recording the country’s highest score; 80 per cent, in the Control of Corruption variable. The assessment covered fiscal transparency, open procurement, human resources, control of corruption and citizen engagement. This was not an isolated recognition. In the 2024 edition, Kaduna again ranked first among the states, ahead of Kano and Kogi, while in the 2023 Transparency and Integrity Index it placed second nationally with 59.7 per cent.
More recently, the 2025 Phillips Consulting State Performance Index placed Kaduna third among the 36 states and awarded it an Excellent Four-Star rating, with fiscal management among the areas assessed. These assessments do not, by themselves, prove that every naira has been optimally spent, nor do they erase the challenges confronting the state. They do, however, provide an important independent corroboration that Kaduna’s efforts in transparency, accountability and public-sector financial management have been noticed beyond the corridors of government. In public finance, therefore, such external assessments are worth considering.
Yet, no appraisal of public finance can be complete without acknowledging its limits. Fiscal discipline, however commendable, is not a panacea for every economic challenge. Kaduna, like every other state in Nigeria, operates within a national macroeconomic environment over which it has limited control. Inflation continues to erode purchasing power, businesses contend with high operating costs, exchange-rate volatility affects production and investment, and many households still struggle with the rising cost of living. These realities remind us that sound state finances cannot, by themselves, insulate citizens from broader economic shocks.
This distinction is important because it separates governance from circumstance. A prudent administration may not be able to determine the value of the naira or the global price of commodities, but it can determine how efficiently public resources are managed, how transparently budgets are implemented, and how wisely limited revenues are allocated. In that sense, fiscal discipline should not be judged by whether every economic hardship disappears, but by whether government responds to those hardships with responsibility and not recklessness.
Kaduna’s experience suggests an appreciation of this responsibility. The emphasis on capital investment, efforts to strengthen internally generated revenue, and the administration’s declared preference for avoiding new borrowing while servicing inherited obligations point to a philosophy that values sustainability over expediency. These choices contribute to a financial culture that seeks to preserve the state’s capacity to invest, grow, and respond to future challenges.
That is not to suggest that the work is complete. Public finance is never a finished project; it is a continuous exercise in adaptation. As Kaduna’s economy evolves, expectations will also rightly rise; citizens will demand greater efficiency in service delivery, stronger budget implementation, improved transparency, broader private-sector participation, and measurable improvements in living standards. Fiscal discipline must therefore remain dynamic, ensuring that every naira spent delivers the greatest possible public value.
Prudent financial management remains the quiet strength of Kaduna’s fiscal discipline and public finance. It is a strength that is rarely seen or acknowledged by the majority; the strength to prioritise sustainability over excess and fiscal adventurism. It is important to note that the loudest achievements may command today’s headlines, but it is often the quiet virtues- prudence, discipline, accountability, and foresight- that shape tomorrow’s verdict. In public finance, as in life, the strongest foundations are rarely the most visible, yet they are almost always the most enduring.
Sani Abdulrazak, PhD, is a writer, researcher and public affairs analyst based in Zaria, Kaduna State.
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.
