When the Federal Government announced with much fanfare that it had disbursed a colossal N330 billion in cash transfers to poor Nigerians, I paused in disbelief. Where, exactly, is the evidence of this money?
The Yoruba socio-cultural group, Ìgbìnmó Májékóbájé Ilé-Yorùbá, has openly challenged President Bola Tinubu to publish the names of the supposed beneficiaries of the N330 billion. The group alleged that those who benefited were largely members of the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC), dismissing the government's claim as propaganda.
The irony becomes sharper when set against the stark numbers. As of 2024, the World Bank estimated that 56 per cent of Nigerians, about 129 million people, live below the national poverty line. Poverty wears a harsher face in the rural areas, where three out of every four dwellers (75.5 per cent) are poor, compared to 41.3 per cent in urban centers. By multidimensional standards, 63 per cent of Nigerians, or about 133 million people, are poor.
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And yet, against this grim backdrop, the government claims to have poured N330 billion into the hands of the poor. Last Wednesday in Abuja, the Minister of Finance and Coordinating Minister of the Economy, Wale Edun, proudly declared that 8.1 million households had benefitted under the National Social Safety Net Programme (NASSP). He explained that the initiative was funded through an $800 million World Bank facility and implemented by the National Social Safety-Net Coordinating Office (NASSCO). According to him, payments were made digitally into bank accounts and mobile wallets to ensure transparency and prevent fraud.
On paper, it all sounds tidy and impressive. But let's strip this claim bare. N330 billion is no small change. Spread even thinly, it could pay N50,000 each to over 6.6 million households, enough to put food on their tables, pay some school fees, or restart small businesses battered by inflation. If that kind of cash injection truly happened, Nigeria's poorest communities would not be as invisible in relief as they are today. Prices in local markets would show a ripple of improved demand, children's school attendance would rise, and testimonies of beneficiaries would ring louder than government press statements. But none of this is evident.
The federal government leans heavily on the "social register," a database that supposedly identifies poor households. Yet, this register has long been criticized as flawed, exclusionary, and riddled with ghost entries. Millions of genuinely poor Nigerians in remote villages have no National Identification Number (NIN), no Bank Verification Number (BVN), and no digital trail. This makes it easy for fraudulent names to make the list while the truly vulnerable remain locked out.
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The truth is, impact speaks louder than announcements. If N330 billion genuinely coursed into the veins of Nigeria's poorest, it would not need defending; it would be visible in fuller kitchens, busier markets, and brighter schools.
Until the Federal Government provides verifiable data, independent audits, accessible records, and open beneficiary lists, this N330 billion claim remains a story that stretches the limits of believability. Nigerians deserve not just figures thrown into the air, but proof that public funds are reaching those for whom they are intended. If not proven, the claim remains yet another mirage of relief in a nation where poverty continues to ridicule government pledges.
Blaise Udunze, a journalist based in Lagos, can be reached via: [email protected]
