There’s something quietly tragic about a nation that starts to reward its heroes in another man’s currency. When President Bola Tinubu handed out cash rewards to the Super Falcons and the FIBA team recently, he didn’t announce it in naira he announced it in dollars. One hundred thousand dollars each. Not one hundred thousand naira. Dollars. As if to say, the naira no longer measures value. And in that moment, without realizing it, the presidency echoed what many Nigerians have been whispering for years, we no longer trust our own money.
Defenders called it a ‘token of appreciation,’ but when a token speaks a foreign language, it tells on the giver’s heart.
The gesture was meant to be generous, celebratory even, but it revealed a deeper sickness one that’s been festering in every sector of our economy. From hotels and private schools to government agencies and real estate companies, everyone now quotes in dollars. You want to rent an apartment in Lagos? They’ll tell you “it’s five thousand dollars per annum.” A private university? “Ten thousand dollars a session.” Even some government establishments now transact in dollars. Our legal tender has become a mere reference point, an afterthought, a courtesy translation for those who still believe the naira has meaning.
Why do we reward our people in Dollars and betray the Naira?
The same nation that asks its citizens to keep faith in the naira now honours its heroes in foreign currency. The same people who built their dreams on the green and white now measure success in greenbacks. Every dollar gift, every dollar price tag, every dollar announcement feels like a quiet betrayal not of policy, but of pride. It says, our best moments no longer speak our language.
The Naira is slowly dying a quiet death.
Currencies don’t just die in banks, they die in the hearts of their people. The naira’s death, if we’re honest, is not sudden it’s been a slow unravelling, a daily erosion of trust. Each time a Nigerian business says “five thousand dollars” instead of “four million naira,” a little part of our national soul withers. And when even our government rewards greatness in dollars, it isn’t just the economy that has collapsed, it’s belief itself.
How did we get here, to a place where our worth must first be converted before it can be counted?
It’s tempting to call this an inferiority complex, a colonial hangover of sorts. But this is more than that. This is what happens when a people lose confidence in the very paper that bears their national coat of arms. It’s not about psychology anymore, it’s about survival. The naira has been beaten, bruised, and devalued so many times that Nigerians no longer see it as safe. When the same currency that buys you bread today can barely buy you crumbs tomorrow, people will reach for stability even if that stability comes printed with the face of a man in Washington instead of the seal of their own Central Bank.
Still, there’s something unsettling about how easily we’ve surrendered. Businesses that operate within Nigeria, earn in naira, pay their workers in naira, and sell to Nigerians, now quote their prices in dollars. It’s not just economic logic anymore, it’s manipulation. Many use it as a cover to overcharge. They peg their prices to fluctuating black-market rates and laugh all the way to the bank while ordinary Nigerians drown in the arithmetic of survival. When a product is priced at “$100,” it means the seller will always win because when the naira falls again tomorrow, the price automatically rises, even if nothing else changes.
But what’s worse is that this quiet dollarization has official endorsement. The government that should defend the naira is itself flirting with the dollar. You cannot ask citizens to believe in their currency when their leaders reward excellence in another. You cannot call it patriotism when your national honour comes wrapped in greenback. Every time a public institution publishes fees or grants or awards in dollars, it signals one thing that even those in charge have given up faith in the naira’s worth.
The naira, for all its weaknesses, is more than a medium of exchange, it’s a symbol of identity. It carries our story our independence, our sovereignty, our pride. To strip it of that dignity is to strip the nation of its reflection. Once upon a time, people took pride in earning and spending in naira. Today, even in polite conversation, you hear people say “I have $500 savings,” never “₦500,000.” It’s a quiet betrayal that says more about our loss of confidence than any inflation statistic could ever measure.
This collapse of trust didn’t start with citizens. It started with the state. When policies are inconsistent, when corruption erodes accountability, when inflation gallops unchecked, and when public officials themselves transact in dollars, how can the average trader, student, or business owner have faith in the naira? Trust is not a decree it is earned. And the naira, like any national institution, cannot regain dignity until the system that governs it begins to act with discipline, transparency, and respect for its own laws.
The Central Bank Act makes it clear that the naira is the only legal tender in Nigeria. Yet, we all see the blatant violations every day rent, tuition, hotels, luxury services all boldly priced in a foreign currency. The government looks away, and so do the regulators. In the process, we normalize illegality and call it “standard practice.” But legality aside, the moral message is worse, we’ve learned to equate value with foreignness, worth with distance, quality with anything but ourselves.
A friend of mine recently had a visa interview at the American embassy. While planning his trip, he checked hotels near the embassy on Booking.com all priced in naira. But when he arrived in person to make a reservation, the story changed. The same hotel that listed its rooms in naira online now charged him using the black-market dollar rate. And you know what that means the price had quietly jumped several times over, as though the naira no longer mattered.
In Abuja, a realtor recently told a young civil servant that rent in his estate was ‘five thousand dollars a year no negotiation.’ The young man laughed bitterly because his salary, paid by the same government, was in naira.
When the presidency pays national teams in dollars, it’s not just a gesture, it’s a policy statement, a cultural signal, a quiet surrender. It tells the market, the citizens, and the world that Nigeria itself doubts its own coin. And once that doubt becomes habit, it spreads faster than inflation ever could. Because the moment people stop believing in their money, they stop believing in their nation’s word.
There’s still time to fix this but only if we start from the top. The next time we reward excellence, let it be in naira. Let the presidency, the ministries, and every public institution lead by example. Let the CBN enforce its own laws and punish those who insist on dollar transactions within Nigeria. Let the government stabilize the macroeconomy, not through empty assurances, but through credible reforms that restore value to our currency and confidence to our people.
Because this isn’t just about money. It’s about national pride. It’s about the right of a people to believe that their own currency, no matter it’s current weakness, still carries the promise of their collective worth. The day we start believing again in the naira is the day we start believing again in ourselves.
Stephanie Shaakaa
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