Despite a dramatic increase in federal allocations to states and local governments in recent years, millions of Nigerians continue to grapple with worsening poverty, inflation and a declining standard of living.

Across markets, offices, motor parks and homes, many citizens say the rising government revenues have done little to improve their daily realities. While states now receive significantly higher allocations through the Federation Account Allocation Committee (FAAC), families are struggling to afford food, transportation, housing and healthcare.

The growing concern has raised questions about how public funds are being managed and whether the benefits of economic reforms are reaching ordinary Nigerians.

The Rise In FAAC Allocations

Over the years, allocations from the Federation Account have steadily increased. In May 2022, FAAC shared N680.78 billion among the three tiers of government, representing a 6.94 per cent increase over the previous month. By July 2022, the amount had risen to N954.1 billion, while N990.19 billion was shared in December 2022.

The trend continued after the removal of fuel subsidy and the floating of the naira in May 2023. According to available data, the 36 states collectively received N3.35 trillion in 2022. By 2025, that figure had increased to N8.19 trillion, nearly tripling within three years.

Several states recorded substantial increases:

– Kano State: N99.31 billion in 2022 to N279.69 billion in 2025-

– Lagos State: N161.29 billion to N531.51 billion

– Taraba State: N51.74 billion to N157.56 billion

– Zamfara State: N56.62 billion to N167.20 billion

– Kogi State: N60.78 billion to N176.24 billion

– Akwa Ibom State: N314.18 billion to N497.98 billion

In March 2026 alone, FAAC distributed N2.04 trillion among the federal, state and local governments, reflecting a further increase in government revenue.

Analysts attribute the growth to tax reforms, improved revenue collection by agencies such as the Federal Inland Revenue Service (FIRS), higher crude oil earnings and policy changes directing more revenue into the Federation Account.

A Different Reality for Nigerians

While government revenues continue to rise, many Nigerians say their living conditions are moving in the opposite direction.

In Kano, civil servant Musa Abdullahi says his monthly salary can no longer sustain his family.

“Food prices have doubled. We hear that allocations are increasing, but we are not seeing the impact in our daily lives,” he said.

For traders, the story is much the same. Zainab Sani, a petty trader, said customers now buy less because household incomes have been stretched beyond their limits.

In Lagos, many families have been forced to make difficult adjustments. Dayo Oluwa, a resident, explained that items such as meat and fish have become luxury goods in many homes.

“Before, N2,000 could cook a decent pot of stew. Today, even N5,000 may not be enough,” she said.

Workers say transportation costs have also become unbearable. Some civil servants now limit their movement or seek additional jobs just to meet their basic needs.

In Kogi State, several workers have reportedly taken up commercial transportation, farming and small-scale businesses to supplement their incomes. Similar stories have emerged from Taraba, Zamfara and Akwa Ibom states, where residents describe an economy that continues to squeeze the average citizen.

Poverty Amid Rising Revenue

The contradiction between increasing government revenue and growing hardship has become one of Nigeria’s most pressing economic concerns.

According to the World Bank, about 140 million Nigerians were living in poverty by 2025, representing approximately 63 per cent of the population. Earlier reports by the National Bureau of Statistics also showed that millions of Nigerians lacked adequate access to food, healthcare and decent housing.

Economic experts argue that while subsidy removal boosted government earnings, inflation and currency depreciation have significantly weakened the purchasing power of citizens.

As prices continue to rise, salary increases and government interventions have struggled to keep pace with the cost of living.

The Accountability Question

The increase in allocations has also renewed calls for transparency and accountability.

Experts insist that the issue is no longer about whether governments have enough money, but whether those resources are being effectively utilised.

Development economists have repeatedly argued that increased revenue should result in better roads, improved healthcare services, stronger educational systems, job creation and targeted support for vulnerable populations.

Civil society groups have also urged citizens to take a greater interest in how public funds are spent. They argue that taxpayers have a right to know how government revenues are allocated and utilised.

The editorial position expressed by several policy analysts is clear: rising allocations should not merely exist as figures on paper; they should translate into measurable improvements in people’s lives.

Beyond the Numbers

The growing FAAC allocations represent a positive development for Nigeria’s public finances. They demonstrate that revenue generation has improved and that the country is gradually diversifying beyond its traditional dependence on oil earnings.

However, for millions of Nigerians struggling to afford daily necessities, the true measure of success is not how much money enters government accounts, but how effectively those funds improve the quality of life of citizens.

As governments continue to receive larger allocations, expectations will continue to rise. Nigerians increasingly want evidence that public resources are being invested in meaningful development, economic opportunities and social welfare.

Until the benefits of rising revenues are reflected in households, communities and businesses across the country, many citizens will continue to ask the same question: if government allocations are increasing, why is life becoming more difficult?

Written By: Mfe Mesuur Perpetual (Abuja),
200 level student of Development and strategic communication, University of Abuja.

By Auwal Sani

Stories have a curious way of finding the places we pretend no longer exist. A few nights ago, I settled in to watch Saheeba, the ongoing Hausa mini series that has quietly earned a place in the hearts of many viewers. I expected to follow the lives of its characters. Instead, somewhere between the pauses, the longing, and the things left unsaid, I found myself confronting a story I have been carrying since 2018. By the time the episode ended, I was no longer thinking about the people on my screen. I was thinking about the quiet spaces within me.

I have always loved love stories. Not because they always end happily, as many of them do not, but because they reveal something profound about the human heart. It is perhaps the only part of us that refuses to become entirely logical. It believes after disappointment, hopes after silence, and waits even when waiting appears unreasonable. Love stories remind us that the heart possesses a resilience that the mind often struggles to understand.

There is a kind of loneliness that rarely announces itself. It is not the loneliness of being surrounded by no one. Rather, it is the loneliness of having family, friends, meaningful work, and personal achievements, yet still sensing that one important space remains unoccupied. It quietly accompanies you to weddings, birthdays, and ordinary evenings. It reminds you that some places within us cannot be filled by ambition, success, or the passage of time.

That has been my reality since 2018.

People often say that time heals all wounds. I have come to believe otherwise. Time, by itself, does not heal. It simply teaches us how to carry what has not healed. Over the years, I have questioned myself more than I have questioned fate. Perhaps my expectations of love are unrealistic. Perhaps I desire too much in a generation that seems increasingly comfortable with temporary connections and convenient relationships. Or perhaps I simply long for a kind of love that still believes commitment is worth choosing every single day.

What I know with certainty is that love has always been my greatest vulnerability. I have never learned the mathematics of guarded affection. I do not know how to give ten percent when my heart insists on giving everything. It has always seemed ironic to me that we encourage people to pursue their dreams without reservation, yet advise them to ration kindness, vulnerability, and love. More than once, I have discovered that not every heart knows what to do with genuine affection. Some admire it, some misunderstand it, and others receive it without ever intending to give anything in return.

Perhaps that is why love remains such a mystery. We write poems about it, compose songs because of it, and build entire futures around the hope of finding it. Yet no definition has ever been large enough to contain all that it is. Those who understand love most deeply are not always those who found it. Sometimes, they are those who have lived through its absence. They know what it means to smile while carrying invisible disappointments, and they understand that loneliness is not merely the absence of people, but the absence of the one person with whom silence would have been enough.

Watching Saheeba reminded me that love is rarely sustained by grand declarations or dramatic sacrifices alone. More often, it survives through patience, consistency, understanding, and the quiet decision to keep choosing someone even after the excitement has faded. The series is still unfolding, and perhaps that is why it resonates so deeply with me. Like life itself, its ending has not yet been written. Every episode quietly reminds us that uncertainty is part of every meaningful journey.

The human heart has an astonishing ability to survive what should have broken it. It remembers tenderness after betrayal, imagines tomorrow after years of unanswered prayers, and continues to believe long after experience suggests it should stop. There was a time when I considered hardening my heart because it seemed safer. After all, disappointment cannot wound a heart that no longer expects anything. But I eventually realised that the opposite of heartbreak is not peace. It is indifference. And indifference is far more frightening because it asks us to stop feeling altogether. I would rather carry hope than become indifferent.

Perhaps that is the greatest lesson Saheeba has offered me. Not that love is guaranteed, or that every story reaches the ending we imagine, but that there is quiet courage in remaining emotionally available despite life’s disappointments. To continue believing after years of waiting is its own form of resilience. Hope is not weakness. It is evidence that the heart has refused to surrender.

So I still love love stories. Not because they promise happy endings, but because they remind me that every ending is also the possibility of another beginning. They remind me that hope is never foolish, and that the heart’s willingness to believe again is one of the quiet miracles of being human.

Perhaps the greatest miracle is not finding love. Perhaps it is refusing to let disappointment convince us that love is no longer worth finding. And maybe, just maybe, the most beautiful chapter of my own story has not been written yet.

Auwal Sani is a Lecturer in the Department of Development and Strategic Communication, University of Abuja. He writes on communication, society, culture, and the quiet experiences that shape everyday life.

By IFEANYICHUKWU PRECIOUS KANU

When news emerged in April 2025 that dozens of migrants had died while attempting to cross the Mediterranean Sea from Libya to Europe, the reactions were predictable. Social media erupted with outrage, international organisations renewed warnings about irregular migration, and governments promised to intensify efforts against human trafficking and migrant smuggling. Yet, after the headlines faded, the dangerous journeys continued.

According to the International Organization for Migration (IOM), more than 2,300 migrants died or went missing on Mediterranean migration routes in 2024, making it one of the world’s deadliest migration corridors. Thousands of these migrants originated from African countries, including Nigeria, Ghana, Senegal and Eritrea.

This raises an important question: Why do young Africans continue to risk everything despite knowing the dangers?

The answer goes beyond the activities of traffickers. It lies in the widening gap between the aspirations of Africa’s growing youth population and the economic realities they face at home.

In Nigeria, the phenomenon popularly known as “Japa” has evolved from a slang expression into a national conversation. What initially described the migration of highly skilled professionals has become a broader aspiration among students, graduates and young entrepreneurs seeking economic security abroad.

The numbers reflect this trend. Data from the estimates that over 16,000 Nigerian doctors have left the country in the last decade, while the reported issuing more than 15,000 verification certificates in 2023 alone to nurses seeking employment abroad. These figures illustrate a sustained migration of skilled professionals.

Economic conditions help explain this movement. High youth unemployment, persistent inflation, rising living costs and insecurity have made stable livelihoods increasingly difficult. Many graduates spend years searching for employment, while small businesses struggle with rising operating costs and unreliable infrastructure.

At the same time, success stories from abroad dominate conversations. Families celebrate relatives who send money home from Canada, friends post milestones achieved in the United Kingdom, and classmates announce permanent residency in Germany. Such stories spread rapidly through social media, while accounts of exploitation, detention and death receive far less sustained attention.

This information imbalance creates fertile ground for traffickers.

Nigeria’s foremost anti-trafficking agency, the (NAPTIP), has documented numerous cases involving victims lured with false promises of employment, education and better living conditions overseas. Although states such as Edo have witnessed progress through stronger enforcement and awareness campaigns, trafficking networks have adapted by shifting recruitment to digital platforms. Fake recruitment agencies, fraudulent visa offers and carefully managed social media accounts now serve as powerful tools of deception.

The trafficker’s greatest weapon is not violence; it is hope. Victims often believe they are pursuing legitimate opportunities until they become trapped in systems of debt bondage, forced labour, sexual exploitation or extortion.

Libya remains the clearest example of this crisis. Since the collapse of state authority in 2011, the country has become a major transit point for migrants attempting to reach Europe through irregular routes. The United Nations, the International Organization for Migration, and Amnesty International have repeatedly documented abuses including arbitrary detention, torture, forced labour, sexual violence and ransom demands against migrants held by armed groups and criminal networks.

The persistence of this route demonstrates that awareness campaigns alone cannot solve the problem. Many migrants are already aware of the risks. Their decisions are shaped less by ignorance than by the belief that remaining at home offers even fewer opportunities.

For this reason, human trafficking should not be viewed solely as a criminal justice issue. Arresting traffickers and strengthening border controls remain essential, but they address only the symptoms of a much deeper problem.

Effective responses require governments to invest in labour-intensive sectors capable of creating sustainable employment, improve technical and vocational education, expand access to affordable financing for young entrepreneurs, strengthen social protection programmes and improve public confidence in governance. Equally important is expanding safe and legal migration pathways so that desperate young people are less vulnerable to traffickers who exploit irregular routes.

Ultimately, the continued movement of African youth through Libya is not merely a migration story; it is a reflection of unmet aspirations. People do not willingly cross deserts, endure detention camps and risk drowning because traffickers are persuasive. They do so because they believe that dignity, opportunity and security are more attainable elsewhere.

Until African governments create environments where young people can realistically build prosperous futures at home, trafficking networks will continue to exploit hope, and the route from West Africa through Libya to the Mediterranean will remain one of the continent’s most enduring humanitarian tragedies.

IFEANYICHUKWU PRECIOUS KANU
200 Level, Department of Development and Strategic Communication
Abuja, Nigeria