Few policy moments in Nigeria’s recent history have generated as much anxiety, anger, and confusion as the economic reforms initiated under President Bola Ahmed Tinubu. Fuel subsidy removal and the flotation of the naira were announced as painful but necessary steps—long delayed corrections to a distorted economic order. Yet, nearly two years into these reforms, a persistent question continues to echo across the country: where is the money?

Public frustration has been amplified by claims that the federal government is simultaneously running multiple budgets, embarking on aggressive tax reforms, and presiding over an economy where inflation erodes incomes daily. For many Nigerians, the reforms feel less like national salvation and more like collective punishment. To assess whether this sense of catastrophe is justified, it is necessary to move beyond polemics and disentangle rhetoric from fiscal reality.

The Myth and Meaning of “Three Budgets at Once”

The assertion that the Tinubu administration will be “running three budgets at the same time” by 2026 has gained traction largely because it resonates emotionally. In practical terms, however, this framing is misleading. What is being described is not three independent fiscal frameworks, but overlapping budget execution—a common feature of modern public finance.

In Nigeria, capital projects routinely span several fiscal years. A road approved in the 2024 budget may still be under construction in 2025 or even 2026, with funds released in tranches depending on revenue inflows. This is neither unusual nor inherently reckless. Countries with large infrastructure deficits, from India to Brazil, operate similarly.

The real problem lies elsewhere. Nigeria has long struggled with poor budget discipline and low capital-budget implementation. In many years, less than 60 percent of capital allocations are actually executed. Projects are abandoned, re-awarded, or endlessly revised. Thus, the danger is not that multiple budgets overlap, but that appropriations do not reliably translate into completed schools, hospitals, roads, or power infrastructure.

This structural weakness predates Tinubu. What his administration inherits is a system where budgets have often been instruments of political signaling rather than binding plans for service delivery. Framing this as a unique fiscal madness obscures the deeper continuity of Nigeria’s governance failures.

Subsidy Removal and the Illusion of a Cash Windfall

Fuel subsidy removal has perhaps generated the greatest sense of betrayal. For decades, Nigerians were told that subsidy was a drain on public finances, enriching smugglers and cartels while starving social sectors. Its removal, citizens were assured, would free up resources for development.

What many expected, therefore, was a visible pool of “subsidy savings” that could be tracked, audited, and allocated transparently. This expectation, while understandable, rests on a misunderstanding, if not ignorance, of how subsidy removal works.

Subsidy removal does not create a vault of cash waiting to be spent. Instead, it halts a continuous fiscal hemorrhage. Prior to 2023, Nigeria was spending trillions of naira annually to keep fuel prices artificially low, much of it financed through Central Bank overdrafts known as Ways and Means. These off-budget borrowings fueled inflation, weakened the naira, and deepened fiscal opacity.

By removing subsidies, the government reduced future obligations and curtailed the need for monetary financing. In effect, it stopped digging the hole deeper. But stopping a leak is not the same as suddenly having surplus funds.

That said, the government’s failure is not economic logic but public accountability. Nigerians were promised transparency mechanisms—dashboards, audits, and clear reporting on how fiscal space would be used. These did not materialize. In a country where trust in public institutions is already thin, silence breeds suspicion.

FAAC Allocations and the Problem of Subnational Opacity

Monthly FAAC (Federation Account Allocation Committee) disbursements to states have increased significantly since subsidy removal. This has become another flashpoint in public discourse, often cited as evidence that “the money” has simply been shared among elites.

What is frequently overlooked is that FAAC allocations are governed by constitutional formulae. When revenues rise—whether from oil receipts, subsidy savings, or FX reforms—states are legally entitled to their shares. The federal government does not have the authority to withhold or micro-manage these funds.

This reveals a deeper and more uncomfortable truth: Nigeria’s accountability crisis is not confined to Abuja. Governors control vast resources with minimal oversight. Many states still struggle to publish detailed budgets, procurement records, or audited accounts. Citizens direct their anger upward while state and local governments operate as fiscal black boxes.

If FAAC inflows increase and living conditions remain stagnant, the failure is distributed across all tiers of government. Focusing solely on the federal center allows subnational elites to escape scrutiny.

Naira Floatation and the Dangote Misconception

Another popular claim is that the Dangote Refinery—not government policy—is responsible for stabilizing the naira. This argument conflates long-term structural effects with short-term currency dynamics.

The flotation of the naira in 2023 triggered a sharp depreciation, which many Nigerians experienced as immediate impoverishment. But this collapse did not originate with the policy itself. It exposed years of accumulated distortions: multiple exchange rates, suppressed demand, FX backlogs, and speculative hoarding.

Dangote Refinery’s contribution lies in the future. By reducing Nigeria’s dependence on imported fuel, it lowers long-term FX demand. This supports currency stability over time, but it does not replace macroeconomic policy. To credit Dangote alone is to misunderstand the scale and complexity of national monetary systems.

The more pertinent question is whether the government can complement the naira float with policies that boost exports, energy security, and domestic production. Without these, currency liberalization becomes an exercise in exposure without protection.

Tax Reform Amid Inflation: A Dangerous Balancing Act

Tax reform under conditions of high inflation and shrinking incomes is perhaps the most politically explosive aspect of the current reform agenda. Nigeria’s tax-to-GDP ratio is among the lowest in the world, often cited as justification for reform. Yet this statistic masks a crucial distinction: Nigeria does not suffer from excessive taxation, but from unequal taxation.

The formal sector bears the brunt of compliance, while vast informal and elite economic activities remain undertaxed or entirely exempt. If reform simply intensifies extraction from already compliant citizens and businesses, it will deepen resentment and erode legitimacy.

Successful tax reform requires visible reciprocity. Citizens must see roads repaired, schools improved, healthcare expanded. Without this feedback loop, taxation becomes indistinguishable from extortion.

Is Nigeria Experiencing Fiscal Recklessness?

Labeling the current moment as outright fiscal recklessness is tempting but imprecise. What Nigeria is experiencing is high-risk reform in a low-trust environment. The policies themselves—subsidy removal, FX liberalization, tax reform—are orthodox and widely endorsed by economists. What undermines them is sequencing, cushioning, and credibility.

Nigeria deferred adjustment for nearly two decades, financing consumption through debt, monetary expansion, and fiscal illusion. The bill has now come due. No government could have avoided pain entirely. But pain without fairness feels like punishment.

Conclusion: Reform Without Legitimacy

At its core, the Nigerian crisis is not simply about subsidy savings or overlapping budgets. It is about legitimacy. Citizens are asked to endure hardship while political elites appear insulated. Communication is poor, transparency inconsistent, and sacrifice unevenly distributed.

This is why even necessary reforms are experienced as catastrophe. Nigerians are not rejecting reform; they are rejecting reform that demands endurance from the many while protecting the few.

Until governance visibly aligns sacrifice with accountability, the question “Where is the money?” will persist—not because the answer is entirely hidden, but because trust itself has been exhausted.

That, more than any single policy, is the real danger confronting Nigeria today.