A Story of Everyday Nigerians Under President Tinubu’s Leadership (May 29, 2023 – May 30, 2025)
Two years ago, when President Bola Tinubu stood before us on May 29, 2023, promising to expand our economy and create jobs, many of us dared to hope. We had endured years of economic struggle, watching prices rise while our salaries remained the same. We needed change, and Tinubu promised exactly that.
What we got was change—but not the kind we expected.
I remember May 29, 2023, like it was yesterday. It was Tinubu’s first day in office, and by evening, fuel subsidy was gone. Just like that. No warning, no preparation time—one day we were paying subsidised fuel prices, the next day we weren’t. Confusion and disbelief spread across the country as families and workers scrambled to adjust.
“Fuel don cost three times the normal price overnight,” my neighbour told me the next morning. He was a commercial driver, and I could see the worry in his eyes. Within days, okada and keke fares doubled. Bus fares tripled. The cost of everything—from tomatoes at the market to school fees—began climbing like they were racing to the sky.
By late 2024, inflation soared to 34.6%—the highest in three decades. Food inflation reached 35%. These weren’t just numbers on government reports; they were our reality. A bag of rice that cost N30,000 in 2023 now costs over N50,000. Families began skipping meals. Children dropped out of school because parents couldn’t afford fees and transportation.
In Abuja, small business owners like Josephine Akiga, who runs a restaurant in Wuse, are barely holding on:
“Sales have dwindled significantly. The cost of ingredients has skyrocketed, and customers are cutting back. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep the business afloat.”
When our money lost its value
If the fuel price increase was a slap, the exchange rate unification in June 2023 was a knockout punch. Tinubu merged all the different dollar rates into one “market-driven” rate. The international community praised it, but we felt its sting immediately.
Our naira lost over 100% of its value against the dollar between October 2023 and October 2024. Suddenly, everything imported became twice as expensive. Medicines, electronics, even basic items we depended on became luxuries. My friend who owns a small electronics shop in Computer Village had to close down—he couldn’t afford to restock, and customers couldn’t afford his prices.
“The reforms are good for business, but they don’t help the average person,” a man from Delta State posted on social media, capturing what many of us felt.
Online, Nigerians like @OlukayodeOlubo3 asked tough questions:
“No one is disputing that. but what modalities have been put in place FIRST to cushion the effects on the people before removing it? Countries without subsidy, their minimum wages are way higher than ours o… anyhow sha, this is Nigeria, we are used to suffering & smiling.”
Living in fear: When farming became a death sentence
For those of us in rural areas, especially in the North, life became even more dangerous. The killings by herdsmen and bandits that we hoped would decrease under new leadership only got worse.
“Kidnappings have surged in our area. We live in constant fear, and the government’s efforts seem insufficient to protect us,” said Abdulrasheed Isa Gora from Zamfara.
“We cannot go to our farms anymore. The government must do more to protect us,” cried a farmer from Kaduna.
“Higher costs have reduced my profits, making it harder to sustain my family,” added a farmer from Oyo State.
The irony is bitter: in a country that should feed itself and export food, we’re importing rice and other basics because farmers can’t farm safely or affordably.
The Yacht that broke our hearts
We learned that 137 million of us live in extreme poverty, yet the government allocated N5.095 billion for a “presidential yacht.” N5 billion! Do you know how many schools that could build? How many hospitals? How many roads?
Even when officials later said the yacht was for the Navy and not personal use, and even when the House of Representatives rejected it, the damage was done. It showed us how disconnected our leaders are from our reality.
“We are suffering. The government must listen to us,” protesters in Abuja declared, speaking for millions of us across the country.
The ballooning cost of the VP house repair
Amid all this so-called cost-saving, the government undertook a ballooned repair of the Vice President’s official residence, which many argued was already completed except for furnishing. The extravagant spending raised questions about priorities when millions of Nigerians face daily hardship.
The debt that will burden our children
While we struggled to feed our families, the government was borrowing money at an unprecedented rate. In Tinubu’s first year alone, they borrowed N20.1 trillion from domestic sources—a 117% increase from the previous year. In May 2025, they sought approval for another $21.5 billion in foreign borrowing.
Nigeria’s total debt reached N144.7 trillion by December 2024. Our debt service-to-revenue ratio exceeded 130%, meaning we spend more than our entire revenue just to service debts. This isn’t just numbers—it means less money for healthcare, education, infrastructure, and the social programs we desperately need.
Our children will inherit this debt. They’ll pay for our generation’s struggles through their taxes, reduced government services, and limited opportunities.
Different regions, same pain
The pain of Tinubu’s policies reached every corner of Nigeria, though it manifested differently:
Lagos and other cities: Demonstrations in Lagos captured the economic distress. Protesters chanted:
“We are hungry! The cost of living is unbearable. The government must address our suffering.”
North: Murtala Abubakar, coordinator of the Arewa Defence League, stated:
“Many families in the northern region can no longer afford three meals a day due to the sudden removal of fuel subsidies. The government’s actions have plunged us into deeper poverty.”
Rural areas nationwide: Farmers across the country shared similar stories of increased input costs, reduced profits, and in many cases, the inability to even access their farms due to security concerns.
Oil-rich South: Even in traditionally prosperous areas, the reforms’ benefits remained invisible to ordinary people. The exchange rate changes might help oil companies, but they didn’t put food on our tables or reduce our transportation costs.
The reality check: Promises vs. performance
Tinubu promised to redirect fuel subsidy savings to infrastructure, education, and healthcare. Two years later, we’re still waiting to see these investments. The promised jobs haven’t materialized—youth unemployment remains critically high, with two-thirds of our young people either unemployed or underemployed.
More than half of Nigeria’s 220 million people now live in severe poverty, with an additional 13 million joining us below the poverty line in 2025. These aren’t just statistics—they represent families like yours and mine struggling to survive.
The government talks about increased revenue (from 7% to nearly 12% of GDP), but we don’t see it in better schools, hospitals, or roads. We see it in more borrowing, more debt, and more promises of better days ahead.
Hope struggling against reality
Despite everything, many of us still hold onto hope. “Things are really bad, but… we hope for better days,” posted Chinedu, a Lagos resident, capturing the resilience that defines us as Nigerians. We understand that some of these reforms might be necessary for long-term economic stability, but we needed safety nets to cushion their impact.
We needed gradual implementation, not shock therapy. We needed social programs to help the most vulnerable. We needed honest communication about the temporary nature of hardships, not promises that things would improve immediately.
What we’ve learned about leadership
Two years of Tinubu’s presidency taught us hard lessons about leadership and reform:
Bold doesn’t always mean wise: Removing fuel subsidies and unifying exchange rates were bold moves, but implementing them overnight without adequate preparation or safety nets showed poor judgment.
Reform without protection is punishment: Economic reforms that don’t protect the most vulnerable aren’t reforms—they’re punishments for being poor.
Promises are cheap, implementation is expensive: It’s easy to promise 6% economic growth and job creation; it’s harder to deliver when your policies are pushing more people into poverty.
Disconnect has consequences: When leaders lose touch with ordinary people’s reality, they make decisions that sound good in economic textbooks but devastate real lives.
When you said, “I will hit the ground running,” we didn’t expect to be run over.
Our message to leadership
As we mark two years of this administration, our message is simple: We understand that change is difficult, and some reforms might be necessary. But reform without compassion is cruelty. Growth without inclusion is meaningless. Progress that leaves millions behind isn’t progress—it’s abandonment.
We need leaders who remember that behind every economic statistic is a human face, a family struggling to survive, a dream deferred or destroyed. We need policies that consider not just macroeconomic indicators but the microeconomic realities of putting food on the table, paying school fees, and affording transportation to work.
We are resilient, but our resilience shouldn’t be taken for granted. We are patient, but our patience isn’t unlimited. We are hopeful, but our hope needs nourishment through tangible improvements in our daily lives.
The next phase of this presidency will determine whether we look back at these two years as the necessary growing pains of national transformation or as a cautionary tale of reform without humanity. The choice, as always, remains with our leaders.
But the consequences, as we’ve learned over these past two years, remain with us—everyday Nigerians trying to survive, thrive, and hope for better days ahead.
Don’t forget to leave us a comment, what has been your experience?
