The Other Side of Nigeria’s Economic Story

By Hanniel Sebatie Noboh

On paper, Nigeria is booming. The World Bank says the economy is growing. The GDP has bounced back from its pandemic dip, about five years ago. Reports from the National Bureau of Statistics look positive, and global institutions like the IMF sound hopeful.

But step outside those reports, and a different picture begins to form—one most Nigerians are living every day. Yes, our GDP is growing. The economy posted a 2.98 percent growth rate this year and is projected to reach 3.6 percent this year. A new minimum wage of ₦70,000 is being implemented.

The Naira, at least recently, has shown signs of stabilising. In theory, this all points to progress. But for many, if not most, Nigerians, life feels heavier. Costlier. More uncertain. The price of food continues to soar. Rent is becoming unaffordable. Healthcare and education are slipping beyond reach.

Even with the wage increase, many civil servants still cannot get through the month without taking side jobs or loans. Many government workers now ride okada after work to make ends meet. They earn a stable salary, yet still cannot survive on it alone.

A university student put it simply but painfully: “Food now takes most of my allowance. Things that used to be small treats—cereals, snacks, juice—now feel like luxuries.” That is the reality for many students, families, and professionals. Economic growth, they’re told, is happening. But they can’t feel it. They can’t touch it.

The problem isn’t the statistics themselves. It’s what they don’t show. They don’t capture inequality. They don’t reflect who benefits and who is left behind. The wealthiest 1 percent in Nigeria hold a massive share of the country’s resources. Meanwhile, over 200 million others are expected to survive on an average of $824 a year.

The gap between these numbers is not just economic—it is moral. This disconnect is rooted in policy. For too long, decisions have favoured a few. Tax cuts benefit the rich. Deregulation weakens safety nets. Opportunities remain out of reach for women, for those in rural areas, for young people without connections.

This isn’t about hard work versus laziness. It is about a system that holds some down while lifting others up. We also cannot ignore how much we still depend on oil. A single global shock, like the COVID-19 pandemic, slashed demand and dragged our economy into crisis.

Yet years later, little has changed. Oil still dominates. Refineries are still broken. Promises to diversify into agriculture or manufacturing remain mostly promises. Meanwhile, millions of Nigerians can’t read or write. With 62 million people illiterate, especially in the northern regions, we are limiting not just growth, but safety and security.

Poverty feeds frustration. Frustration feeds instability. No nation can thrive when its people are left in the dark. So yes, we are growing. But growth that leaves people behind is not success. It is a warning. What we need now is leadership that asks the right questions. Who benefits from our policies? Who is left out? How do we close the gap?

That answer must include everyone. It means fairer taxation. More investments in education. Stronger protections for the vulnerable. And a complete rethink of how we measure progress. True growth is not about numbers. It is about people. It is about whether a mother can afford food for her children.

Whether a graduate can get a job. Whether a pensioner can live with dignity. Until those realities match our statistics, we will keep living two versions of the same country. And only one of them is real.

Hanniel Sebatie is a Mass Communication student at Nile University, Abuja. She is currently interning with PRNigeria. She can be reached at: [email protected]