On the Frontline With Boma
There are figures that pass as mere statistics, and there are figures that strike like a moral verdict on a nation. The recent report by the World Bank placing about 140 million Nigerians below the poverty line does not sit quietly in the realm of numbers; it echoes loudly in the streets, in the markets, in homes where meals are now rationed not by choice but by compulsion. It is the kind of report that should provoke urgency, not defensiveness; reflection, not dismissal.
According to the report, Nigeria’s poverty rate has climbed to 63 percent in 2025, rising steadily from 56 percent in 2023 and 61 percent in 2024. These are not just percentages; they represent human beings—families whose dreams are shrinking under the weight of economic hardship, young graduates whose aspirations are stalled by unemployment, and elderly citizens who now depend on goodwill rather than a functional social safety net. Much as the figures may appear alarming, they do not come as a surprise to anyone who lives within the Nigerian reality. The truth is visible to the naked eye and audible to the attentive ear. Poverty, today, is not hidden; it is loud, it is pervasive, and it is deeply entrenched.
This is not a conversation designed to glorify or condemn any particular government policy. Rather, it is an appeal to reason, a call to conscience, and a reminder that reports such as this should never be swept under the carpet for political convenience. If anything, they should serve as a mirror, reflecting the lived experiences of millions of Nigerians and compelling those in authority to act with sincerity and urgency. To dismiss the report outright is to dismiss the suffering of the people.
It is important to understand that poverty is not merely about lack of income. It is about lack of access—access to quality education, to affordable healthcare, to decent housing, to opportunities that enable individuals to live with dignity. When these basic necessities are absent or inaccessible, poverty becomes not just an economic condition but a systemic failure.
One of the most effective ways to tackle poverty is through job creation. A nation that does not create jobs is, in essence, manufacturing poverty. Nigeria is blessed with abundant human and natural resources, yet the paradox remains that many of its citizens are unemployed or underemployed. The informal sector continues to absorb a significant portion of the workforce, but without adequate support, it struggles to thrive. What is needed is a deliberate, structured effort to stimulate industries, support small and medium enterprises, and create an enabling environment for businesses to grow. When people are gainfully employed, they are empowered to provide for themselves and their families, thereby reducing dependence on government intervention.
Education is another critical pillar in the fight against poverty. It is often said that education is the great equalizer, but this can only be true when it is accessible and of good quality. For many Nigerian children, especially those in rural areas, education remains a distant dream. Schools are either unavailable, under-resourced, or too expensive for families struggling to survive. If the government is serious about lifting people out of poverty, then it must invest heavily in education—particularly at the basic level. Education should not be a privilege reserved for the few; it should be a right enjoyed by all.
Healthcare, too, plays a vital role. A sick population cannot be a productive population. When individuals spend a significant portion of their income on medical expenses, they are pushed further into poverty. Affordable healthcare is not a luxury; it is a necessity. Governments at both federal and state levels must prioritize healthcare by subsidizing drugs, improving medical facilities, and ensuring that healthcare services are within reach of the average Nigerian.
I recall, quite vividly, an experience from about twenty-one years ago that still resonates with me today. I had been admitted to a government-owned hospital for a caesarean section. At the time, like many Nigerians, I was apprehensive about relying on public healthcare due to frequent strikes and uncertainties. I had even registered at a private hospital as a backup. However, a respected gynaecologist, one of the best in his field, persuaded me to remain at the public facility. I trusted his judgment, and I stayed.
The operation was successful, and my baby was safely delivered. But what happened on the day of my discharge left an indelible mark on my memory. As my family prepared to settle the hospital bills, we requested the invoice. To our astonishment, a nurse informed us that the procedure was free. Free? I asked, almost in disbelief. Was this truly the implementation of a government policy that promised free healthcare for children aged zero to six, the elderly, and pregnant women?
We left the hospital without paying a dime.
On my way home, I kept replaying those words in my mind: “The caesarean section is free; you can go.” It was not just about the money saved; it was about the dignity preserved, the burden lifted, the assurance that government policies were not just empty promises but lived realities. That was a government that matched words with action. That was a government that understood the essence of governance—placing the welfare of the people at the center of its agenda.
Even now, decades later, I remember that experience not just for myself but for the countless women from rural communities and townships who benefited from that intervention. The hospital was filled with women who might otherwise have been unable to afford such care. At a time when economic hardship was also a reality, such policies provided a cushion, a sense of relief, and a glimmer of hope.
It is difficult not to draw a contrast between that experience and the present situation. Today, many Nigerians approach public healthcare facilities with fear rather than confidence. The cost of medical care has risen significantly, and in many cases, it is simply unaffordable. What was once accessible has now become a privilege.
Similarly, social intervention programmes that are meant to alleviate poverty are often entangled in politics. Rather than being implemented as genuine efforts to improve the lives of citizens, they are sometimes used as tools for political gain, particularly in the build-up to elections. Assistance is distributed not as a right but as a favour, creating a cycle of dependency rather than empowerment.
It is also concerning that external factors are often used as convenient explanations for internal failures. While global events undoubtedly have an impact on national economies, they should not be used as excuses for poor governance. Even before tensions such as the US/Israel–Iran tensions escalated, poverty levels in Nigeria were already on the rise. The challenges we face today are not solely the result of external pressures; they are also the consequence of decisions made or not made within our own borders.
Leadership, at its core, is about responsibility. It is about making difficult decisions, prioritizing the needs of the people, and being accountable for the outcomes. Nigerian leaders must begin to see governance not as an opportunity for personal or political advancement but as a duty to serve. The fight against poverty requires more than rhetoric; it demands action—consistent, deliberate, and sustained action.
There must be a renewed commitment to policies that directly impact the lives of the people. Job creation must be prioritized, education must be made accessible, healthcare must be affordable, and social welfare programmes must be transparent and effective. These are not unrealistic expectations; they are basic responsibilities of any government.
The World Bank report, therefore, should not be viewed as an attack but as an opportunity—an opportunity to reassess, to recalibrate, and to redirect efforts towards meaningful change. Ignoring it will not make the problem disappear; if anything, it will only make it worse.
As a nation, we must also begin to ask ourselves difficult questions. What kind of society do we want to build? One where a majority of the population struggles to survive, or one where everyone has a fair chance at a decent life? The answer should be obvious.
In the end, this is not just about numbers or reports; it is about people. It is about the mother who skips meals so her children can eat, the graduate who roams the streets in search of a job, the elderly man who cannot afford his medication. These are the faces behind the statistics, the voices that must not be ignored.
Nigeria stands at a critical juncture. The choices made today will determine the future of generations to come. The burden of poverty is heavy, but it is not insurmountable. With the right policies, the right leadership, and the right commitment, it is possible to turn the tide.
But time is not a luxury we can afford.
If 140 million Nigerians are living in poverty, then 140 million reasons exist for urgent action. The question is no longer whether something should be done; it is whether those in power have the will to do it. History will not be kind to indifference, and the people will not forget neglect.
Let the message be clear: the poor are not statistics to be debated; they are citizens to be served. Let them live—not in perpetual struggle, but in dignity. For in the end, the true measure of any government is not in the promises it makes, but in the lives it transforms.
In the Frontline With Boma is published by The Port Harcourt Telegraph Newspaper authored by the Managing Editor
