It was meant to be a new beginning. Instead, it feels like the beginning of the end for millions of Nigerians.
When the government scrapped fuel subsidies in May 2023, it promised a reset. No more siphoning of public funds. No more middlemen profiting in the shadows. The savings, we were told, would go into roads, schools, and hospitals.
But nearly two years on, the promised benefits remain missing.
Petrol prices jumped overnight from ₦184 to over ₦600 per litre. Today, most Nigerians pay around ₦880 and feel it everywhere. Transport fares have tripled. Small businesses are drowning in diesel costs.
A bag of rice that once sold for N30,000 now hovers near N80,000. Rent in cities like Lagos has surged. The naira, once stronger than Ghana’s cedi, now trades at N1,600 to the dollar, up from N460 before the subsidy removal.
“We are suffering,” said Aisha Lawal, a mother of three in Ojodu-Berger, Lagos. “Everything is
too expensive, food, gas, transport. Nothing is smiling.”
Pain without relief
Inflation hit 34.8 percent in December 2024, the highest in two decades. Though it eased to 23.7 percent by April 2025, food prices remain out of reach, and wages have stagnated. Many middle-class families now live like the poor, skipping meals, cutting transport, scraping by.
The government says it’s making progress. Budget documents show N1.9 trillion was saved in the first six months after subsidy removal. Officials point to spending on roads, agriculture, and a N500 billion palliative fund.
But on the streets of Ogun and Lagos, the gains are invisible.
Infrastructure hasn’t meaningfully improved. In 2024, Nigeria ranked 130th out of 141 countries for infrastructure quality, according to the World Economic Forum. Social investment schemes are struggling.
And the Nigerian National Petroleum Company (NNPC) has only remitted half of its projected savings to the Federation Account, according to the World Bank’s latest Nigeria Development Update.
The rest, it says, is being used to clear legacy debts from past subsidies, a claim critics call opaque.
Where did the money go?
The World Bank report deepens the confusion. It notes that NNPC didn’t begin remitting until January 2025 and even then, only half of the expected savings arrived.
This has blown a hole in government finances. The 2025 budget assumes 70 percent of revenues will come from oil, counting on full remittance of subsidy savings. So far, that hasn’t happened.
Yes, Nigeria earned a credit upgrade from Fitch and repaid its $3.4 billion COVID-era IMF loan.
But for ordinary citizens, these milestones are cold comfort.
“It looks good on paper,” said Faruk Umar, an economist at NISER. “But if people can’t feed their families or get to work, the policy has failed them.”
Broken promises, fraying trust
To cushion the shock, the government proposed and then, later approved a N70,000 minimum wage for federal workers and launched a N75 billion loan scheme for small businesses. Yet the reach is limited.
With 94.6 percent of the workforce in the informal sector, according to the International Labour
Organization, most Nigerians saw nothing. The wage award is temporary. The loan fund, slow
and selective.
According to the National Bureau of Statistics, more than 4 million Nigerians fell into poverty in
2023 alone. The poverty rate has climbed past 40 percent. Urban areas, once economic buffers, are no longer safe. The middle class is shrinking. And confidence in government reforms is wearing thin.
A 2024 Afrobarometer survey found that 62 percent of Nigerians believe subsidy removal has made life worse. Just 18 percent think the savings are being put to good use.
Reform on the edge
Some states tried to help. Lagos offered discounted transport on ferries and BRT buses. Others handed out food vouchers or one-time cash transfers. But the efforts were scattered, poorly funded, and too small to make a national difference.
Few economists dispute that the fuel subsidy needed to go. It was costly, inefficient, and prone to abuse. But even sound reforms need visible results. Without cheaper food, better electricity, or rising wages, the pain continues to eclipse the promise.
“The danger now,” said Idris Oyekan, a capital market analyst, “is that this reform, potentially useful, may end up remembered as a national punishment.”
So, did Nigeria gain anything?
On balance sheets and in international briefings, yes. But in the markets, kitchens, and bus stops where most Nigerians live their lives, the answer still feels like a resounding no.
