In the gloomy theatre of global poverty, Nigeria under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu has emerged—not as a spectator—but as the lead actor, tragically outshining war-torn nations and disaster-stricken economies. According to the World Bank’s Africa’s Pulse report of April 2025, Nigeria now harbours the world’s largest population of extremely poor people. Not just in Africa. Not just in Sub-Saharan Africa. But globally. This isn’t a footnote in history; it’s a national emergency written in bold, bleeding letters.
When Tinubu declared the removal of fuel subsidy on May 29, 2023, barely hours into his administration, he promised economic revival. What Nigerians have received instead is a front-row seat to misery. The so-called “sacrifice” has become a death sentence for over 106 million Nigerians now trapped below the poverty line, living on less than $2.15 a day. That’s nearly half the country, their lives reduced to a struggle for crumbs and clean water in the face of an administration that calls their pain “a necessary adjustment.”
The numbers are not just sobering—they’re damning. Nigeria accounts for a staggering 19% of Sub-Saharan Africa’s extremely poor, ahead of the Democratic Republic of Congo, Ethiopia, and even conflict-ridden Sudan. These figures don’t lie. They strip away the government’s propaganda and expose a naked truth: President Tinubu’s economic policies have turned Nigeria into a poverty capital, a global epicentre of human suffering.
It’s not just that people are poor. It’s that more and more are falling into extreme poverty by the day. The World Bank has painted a grim portrait of the years ahead, forecasting a deeper descent into destitution by 2027 under the same economic doctrine that’s brought nothing but anguish. The government’s attempt to stabilise the economy by yanking off the fuel subsidy and floating the naira has, ironically, destabilised households and wrecked livelihoods.
What use is macroeconomic stability when the stomach is empty? When parents skip meals to feed children? When transport fares are higher than daily wages? Tinubu’s policies are the equivalent of burning the house to roast a goat. And now, with the roof caving in and the fire out of control, the government insists the smoke is a sign of progress.
Last week, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) joined the chorus of caution, stating plainly that Tinubu’s reforms, though technically sound on paper, have failed to translate into real-world relief for ordinary Nigerians. Poverty and food insecurity, the IMF declared, remain widespread. In truth, the government’s “vision” has been nothing but a mirage in the desert—promising water but delivering dust.
In August 2024, when thousands took to the streets in a 10-day nationwide protest, it wasn’t just hunger that brought them out—it was desperation. It was rage. It was the anguish of a people abandoned by those elected to serve them. But instead of listening, Mr. Tinubu hardened his stance, telling the nation that these pains were “temporary sacrifices.” A tone-deaf declaration that only added insult to injury.
Sacrifice, Mr. President, is when leaders forgo luxury to shield the vulnerable. Not when the masses bear the brunt while the political elite sip champagne in bulletproof convoys and commission white elephant projects. This is not sacrifice; it is systemic cruelty wrapped in a ribbon of economic jargon.
Let’s not forget that these policies didn’t just fall from the sky—they were deliberate decisions. In removing subsidies and unifying exchange rates without a safety net, the Tinubu administration effectively pulled the rug from under millions. What followed was a tidal wave of inflation, unemployment, and collapsed businesses. The streets are teeming with the jobless, the hopeless, and the homeless. Yet the corridors of power remain as aloof and insulated as ever.
Nigeria is now a country where hard work no longer guarantees a meal. Where university graduates ride okadas and pensioners beg on the streets. Where children die of malnutrition in IDP camps while politicians fly private jets to economic summits. The disconnect between Abuja and the rest of the country is no longer a gap—it is a canyon.
The Tinubu government’s fondness for quoting foreign institutions when they praise Nigeria must now be matched by the courage to heed their warnings. The World Bank and IMF have sounded the alarm. But will the deafening drums of political arrogance drown out the truth once again?
No nation can climb out of poverty while ignoring the cries of its poor. The government’s refusal to implement meaningful social protections or invest in critical sectors like education, health, and agriculture is tantamount to economic sabotage. Nigerians are not asking for miracles. They’re asking for leadership with a conscience.
President Tinubu must remember: power is transient, but legacy is permanent. And as things stand, his legacy is being written not in gold but in the blood, sweat, and hunger of millions. If he fails to change course, history will remember him not as a reformer, but as the leader who drove the most populous Black nation on earth into the valley of despondency.
The time for speeches and roundtables is over. The country needs action—bold, immediate, and compassionate. Economic policies must be restructured to put people first. Public trust must be restored. And the government must get off its high horse and into the trenches, where real Nigerians live, suffer, and survive.
Until then, Tinubu’s “Renewed Hope” agenda remains a cruel joke, one whose punchline is buried beneath the rubble of broken dreams and empty pots. The numbers are in. The world is watching. And the Nigerian people are waiting—not for another promise, but for redemption.
Stanley Ugagbe is a Social Commentator. He can be reached via stanleyakomeno@gmail.com
