Asiwaju Bola Ahmed Tinubu

By Isah Kamisu Madachi

The furore over whether the tax laws should be implemented has passed. The nationwide discussions about the discrepancy between the gazetted version and the version passed by the National Assembly have also faded. January 1 has come and gone, and many changes, especially around digital transactions, are already beginning to manifest, as provided for under the new tax law. The consolidated tax laws under the tax reform regime are now in force, and as a citizen, I hope they are backed by strong accountability mechanisms and oversight to ensure that collected taxes are used for the right purposes.

However, I observed a major policy gap in the final moments of the law’s implementation, which, if left unaddressed, could not only undermine the law’s effectiveness but also cause greater harm to its objectives. If I were to estimate, I would say that less than 5% of Nigerians understand what the new tax law contains, how it works, and what it does not do. This knowledge gap has created a fertile ground for misinformation, disinformation, and fake news. 

In the past few days, I have personally encountered many people who told me they had withdrawn all the money saved in their bank accounts and converted it to cash. They said they no longer trust cashless transactions. Some were told that every transaction, regardless of the amount, would incur a flat ₦50 fee. 

Others were also told that keeping money in their accounts would result in monthly deductions, or that 5% of their savings would be deducted each month for tax. None of these claims could be traced to any provision of the law, yet they are widely shared with absolute confidence.

Another unfortunate experience was my encounter with a young and vibrant POS agent from whom I regularly withdraw cash. He told me he had shut down his business. According to what he was told, every ₦500,000 transaction would attract ₦15,000 in tax, every ₦5 million would attract ₦250,000, and any transaction above ₦1,000 would automatically be charged ₦50. 

He was also told these deductions would be accumulated and collected at the end of the month, and that’s what frightened him most. He used to make transactions averaging ₦50 million per month. With this information, he now chose to abandon his livelihood. Whether these claims are true or false is not the most important when one considers the damage such misinformation is already causing.

There is also a growing narrative, particularly on social media, that every transaction must now be clearly explained in the narration section. People are being told they must specify whether the money is for savings, shopping, gifts, rewards, profit, or salary. A counter-narrative exists saying this is false. Sadly, the average Nigerian does not know which version to believe. In an environment where official clarity is weak, rumours travel faster than facts.

If I were to document all the misinformation circulating about the new tax law, it would take more than a newspaper opinion. New versions emerge almost every hour. The most alarming outcome of this misinformation is how people are altering their economic behaviour. Businesses are being abandoned. Trust in digital finance is being eroded. People are deserting the cashless system out of fear, believing their money is no longer safe in the banking system.

The only effort I am aware of to address this information gap is the reported engagement of social media influencers to enlighten the public. If this effort has begun, it is not enough. If it has not, then it is urgently needed. But beyond influencers, one must ask: what happened to local radio stations? Radio remains the primary source of information for millions of Nigerians, especially in rural areas. The law should be broken down and discussed in local languages on local radio. 

There are also a proliferation of online television platforms operating across social media spaces. The tax reform committee should collaborate strategically with them to explain the law in simple, creative ways. Influencers alone cannot carry this burden. Public communication must be broader, more structured, and more deliberate.

The Federal Ministry of Information also plays a central role here. There is an urgent need for a simplified version of the tax law, as well as translations into local languages, and for their dissemination in collaboration with state ministries of information. Students, heads of households, community leaders, traders, and small business owners must all be deliberately engaged. Town hall meetings, especially in peri-urban communities, should be organised. They are necessary to counter the scale of misinformation already circulating.

When people are largely unaware of what a law entails, dysfunction is inevitable. The law may exist, but its implementation will be undermined by fear, resistance, and unintended consequences. By the look of things, those who understand the new tax law are currently the fewest in Nigeria, even among the highly educated. If this gap remains wide open, the law may struggle to achieve its intended outcomes.

Now that it’s here, I hope, and I genuinely pray, that if effectively implemented and properly communicated, the new tax laws will become one of the long-awaited channels for fixing many of Nigeria’s challenges. But without deliberate public education, I doubt if the policy can yield the desired result.

Isah Kamisu Madachi is a public policy enthusiast and development practitioner. He writes from Abuja and can be reached via: isahkamisumadachi@gmail.com.

By Professor Abdussamad Umar Jibia

The year 2023 was a remarkable year in Nigeria’s history. Just like the year 1993, an election was held that generated a win for a Muslim candidate with another Muslim as his running mate.

In both 1993 and 2023, the presidential candidates were warned against choosing a Northern Christian as a running mate. Christians constitute not just a tiny minority in the North, but many of them have also proven to be very bad neighbours in their relations with their Muslim compatriots.

Wherever Christians constitute the majority, they display an unforgivable hate and marginalisation against their Muslim neighbours. A handy example is Plateau state, the home state of the current APC Chairman. The way Muslims are sidelined in Plateau state is enough to show what we should expect if Christians were the majority in Nigeria.

His Excellency Peter Obi was misled into believing that a combination of Igbo and Northern Christians could make him the President, and he moved from one church to another to campaign, only to end up in third place. 

The 2023 election was thus a religious census in disguise that showed the numerical superiority of Muslims over Christians in Nigeria. 

But no sooner had Bola Ahmed Tinubu won the 2023 presidential election than he began to sideline Muslims, the very group that brought him to power, in his appointments. Last year, we saw him personally going to the Vatican with what the state house described as a “bragging right of 62% Christian appointees”. 

We watched as he appointed a Northern Christian as the SGF. Of course, President Muhammadu Buhari did the same. President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua appointed a Northern Christian to lead the National Assembly. They did not deserve any of these, given their small number. However, Muslims gave them out of magnanimity. Or is it foolishness? They would never do the same if they were in our position. 

Many of us became disappointed when we saw a Northern Christian being chosen to lead the ruling party. This means two of the most important positions at the federal level have been given to Christians from the North Central, a geopolitical zone that is overwhelmingly Muslim. Worse still, our politicians in and outside the ruling party, our emirs and Islamic scholars are silent. When have we become animals who only care about eating food and sleeping with women?

As if that is not enough, speculation is that the President wants to drop his VP and choose a Northern Christian as his running mate in next year’s election. I commend the Honourable Minister of Culture, Hajiya Hannatu Musawa, for publicly telling the truth to Mr President. But it shouldn’t have reached this level. The decision of the President to appoint Northern Christians as SGF, Party Chairman and INEC Chair should have been opposed in the first place.

We are still expecting Mr President to correct the imbalance that favours the very tiny Northern Christians. North Central is predominantly Muslim. The only Christian majority states, where, of course, Muslims have been marginalised, are Plateau and Benue. Niger, Nasarawa, Kogi and Kwara are Muslim states. That Muslims in those states have been left out by Mr President in the above-mentioned strategic appointments is unfortunate.

Professor Abdussamad Umar Jibia wrote from the Department of Mechatronics Engineering, Bayero University Kano, via aujibia@gmail.com.

By Ali Tijjani Hassan 

On December 19, 2025, President Bola Tinubu presented Nigeria’s 2026 budget to the National Assembly. As a health advocate, I was curious about sector allocations, especially in health, aligned with his Renewed Hope Agenda to revitalise Nigeria’s healthcare system. I hope the administration commits to the 2001 Abuja Declaration, in which African leaders pledged to allocate at least 15% of their budgets to health to address chronic underfunding and improve health sector outcomes. Nigeria proposed spending 2.82 trillion naira, only 4.26% of its 2026 budget.

 I was nearly buried in shame when I heard the president repeating that “this health allocation represents approximately 6% of the total budget net of liabilities.” Meaning that, excluding the net liabilities, the health sector’s take-home after deduction of debt servicing of almost 15 trillion Naira from the gross budget will be only 4.26%. Which makes me pause and ask myself, “Is this allocation holistic toward changing the narrative of the dilapidated healthcare system in Nigeria?” 4.26% against the 15% is relatively less than one-third of the Abuja Declaration—a beacon of hope to combat the ravages of HIV/AIDS, tuberculosis, malaria, and other scourges plaguing our continent.

Yet here we are in 2025, over two decades later, and Nigeria, the self-proclaimed Giant of Africa, continues to stumble in the darkness of illusion, allocating a paltry 4-6% to health in the just-presented 2026 budget. How can a nation so rich in oil, talent, and potential treat its people’s health like an afterthought?

This is not just negligence; it is a disappointment that endangers millions, especially as the United States government slashes its global health aid, leaving citizens exposed to infectious diseases, non-communicable ailments like chronic kidney disease (CKD), and a rapid population boom that threatens to overwhelm our fragile systems. The Abuja Declaration was no mere rhetoric; it was a collective vow by African Union members to prioritise health financing, recognising that without robust funding, diseases would continue to feast on our people like vultures on carrion.  Nigeria is a party to this decree, but history shows we’ve never come close to honouring it. From 2001 to now, our health allocations have hovered below 10%, peaking at around 5.95% in recent years before dipping again in the 2026 proposal of ₦2.48 trillion out of ₦58.18 trillion—a measly 4.26% when liabilities are included.

Our leaders always cite debt servicing, infrastructure, and security as excuses, but I want to ask a single question: “Is the life of a Nigerian child not worth more than another flyover or armoured vehicle?”

Although they are relatively important, one thing is certain: no nation can grow beyond the quality of its people. Apology to President Tinubu.

I can’t comprehend how we can parade ourselves as Africa’s economic powerhouse yet fund health like beggars at the roadside. In comparison to our African brothers, who have shown what true commitment looks like. Rwanda, rising from the ashes of genocide, consistently meets or exceeds the 15% mark, allocating up to 18% in recent budgets, which has built a universal health coverage system envied across the continent. 

In Botswana, with its prudent diamond revenues, which hit 15-17%, investing in HIV programs that have slashed infection rates. On the other hand, the Côte d’Ivoire joined this elite club, channelling funds into preventive care that keeps NCDs at bay. Even Tanzania briefly touched the target in 2011. While we proclaimed the giant of Africa’s band, these nations have long proved it’s possible by prioritising health as a national security issue, not an optional charity. The Giant of Africa lags behind most West African peers, where allocations average below 10%. 

We boast the largest GDP in Africa, yet our per capita health spending is a shameful $15-20 annually, far below Rwanda’s more than $50. This comparative disgrace isn’t just numbers; they represent the lives lost. While Rwanda’s life expectancy climbs to 69 years, ours stagnates at 55, a gap widened by our funding failures. The consequences are alarming, starting with the relentless burden of infectious diseases that stalk our land like ghosts in the night. 

Nigeria bears the heaviest malaria load globally, with millions infected annually and economic losses of $1.1 billion each year from treatment and lost productivity. In 2025 alone, Lassa fever has claimed 195 lives, with over 1,069 confirmed cases amid 9,041 suspected—a fatality rate hovering at 18.5%, higher than previous years. Cholera surges during rains, diphtheria ravages unvaccinated children, and HIV/AIDS affects millions, with Nigeria hosting the second-largest HIV population worldwide. These figures aren’t abstract statistics; they are the number of our brothers dying in rural clinics without drugs and mothers burying infants from preventable fevers.

Underfunded surveillance systems mean outbreaks explode before a response, as seen in the 2025 Lassa resurgence, which cost billions in emergency measures. If we met the 15% pledge, we could bolster primary health centres, stockpile vaccines, and train more community health workers—turning defence into offence against these microbial invaders. But wait, the horror deepens with non-communicable diseases (NCDs), silent killers creeping up as our lifestyles urbanise. Chronic kidney disease (CKD) exemplifies this scourge, with prevalence rates of 10-19% among adults, yet awareness is abysmally low. 

In Lagos alone, hypertension affects 29% of adults, fueling CKD and cardiovascular woes.  NCDs now cause 73.6% of deaths in developing nations like ours, surpassing infectious ones. Diabetes and cancer add to the tally, with households spending fortunes on out-of-pocket care—up to ₦384 billion annually, pushing families into poverty. The double burden is real: As we fight malaria, the CKD dialysis costs bankrupt families, while public facilities are overwhelmed. In armed conflict zones of Northern Nigeria, NCD prevalence hits 15% for hypertension and diabetes, compounding the trauma of insurgency. Without the pledged funding, proper disease-screening programs remain dreams, and preventive education is scarce. 

Compared to Botswana, where 15% allocation funds are for NCD clinics, reducing mortality by 20% in a decade. Exacerbating Nigeria’s demographic tsunami. Our population stands at 237.5 million in 2025, growing at 2.5-3% annually, and is projected to hit 380 million by 2043 and 440 million by 2050. Nearly half are under 15, a youthful bulge that could be a dividend but risks becoming a curse without health investment. More mouths mean more disease vectors: crowded slums breed cholera, and rapid urbanisation spikes NCDs driven by poor diets and pollution. By 2050, we’ll add 130 million souls, straining hospitals already at breaking point.

Rwanda, with controlled growth and high health spending, harnesses its youth; we risk a generation crippled by untreated ailments. And now, the dagger twist: US funding cuts. In early 2025, the Trump administration froze billions in global aid, slashing USAID programs by 23-40%. Nigeria lost over $600 million—a fifth of our health budget—crippling HIV treatment for millions, dropping coverage from 1.1 million to 350,000. Malaria and TB programs falter, with NGOs downsizing and lives lost estimated in the thousands.

We’ve long relied on foreign donors for 30-40% of health funding; now, with cuts, the gap yawns wider. Botswana and Rwanda, self-reliant through domestic pledges, weather this storm; we scramble with supplements like ₦4.8 billion for HIV packs, mere band-aids.

To redeem ourselves, the government must urgently ramp up to 15% by redirecting funds from wasteful subsidies, tax evasion loopholes, and corruption black holes. Invest in primary care: build 10,000 more health centres and train 50,000 midwives and doctors annually. Prioritise prevention: free CKD screenings, anti-malaria campaigns, and NCD education in schools. Forge public-private partnerships, like Rwanda’s with tech firms for telemedicine. Address demographic needs through family planning integrated into health services. And hold leaders accountable—civil society, demand audits; lawmakers, reject budgets below 10% as a start.

My compatriots, the clock ticks. It’s high time to hold our leaders accountable for their words and actions. If we sleep on this, infectious outbreaks will merge with NCD epidemics amid population surges, turning Nigeria into a health wasteland.

But with resolve, we can honour the spirit of the Abuja Declaration, outshine our peers, and build a nation where health is a right, not a lottery.

Arise, O Nigerians—demand better, for our future’s sake!

Ali Tijjani Hassan is a public health enthusiast, civil society actor, and public affairs analyst. He writes from Potiskum, Yobe State, and can be reached at alitijjani.health@gmail.com.

By Oladoja M.O

Nigeria’s new tax law arrives at a moment when questions of domestic resource mobilisation have moved decisively from the margins of fiscal discourse to its centre. The reform is ambitious in both scope and intent. It consolidates previously fragmented statutes, modernises tax administration, strengthens compliance mechanisms, and expands the state’s technical capacity to mobilise revenue in an increasingly constrained macroeconomic environment. 

Read on its own terms, the law represents a serious effort to stabilise public finance and reduce long-standing inefficiencies in the tax system. But tax laws, particularly of this magnitude, should not be mere instruments of collection, but rather reflections of what a state understands taxation to be for. 

When examined from the perspective of national health financing, Nigeria’s new tax law reveals not hostility to health, nor ignorance of its importance, but striking institutional restraint, a deliberate decision to keep taxation largely neutral to the direct financing of public health.

This neutrality is especially significant because it runs counter to the evolving global understanding of domestic resource mobilisation. In contemporary public finance, DRM is no longer conceived simply as the ability of a state to raise revenue, but as its capacity to do so in a manner that deliberately underwrites social protection, safeguards human capital, and reduces long-term economic vulnerability, where health occupies a central place. 

Ill-health is not a random misfortune but a predictable social risk, one that drives household impoverishment, reduces labour productivity, and places sustained pressure on public finances. For this reason, many countries have increasingly integrated health financing into their tax systems, whether through general taxation, earmarked levies, or hybrid arrangements that link tax administration directly to social insurance and prevention financing.

It is against this backdrop that Nigeria’s new tax law must be read. 

The law unquestionably strengthens the means of mobilisation. A unified tax administration framework, enhanced enforcement powers, clearer compliance obligations, and improved data coordination substantially upgrade the state’s fiscal machinery. In theory, this expanded administrative capacity could support innovative approaches to financing social sectors, including health. In practice, however, the law exercises marked caution. Health appears within the tax framework, but only at the margins, and only in forms that preserve the traditional separation between revenue mobilisation and social sector financing.

This pattern becomes evident when examining how health-related elements are treated across the law. Contributions to the national health insurance scheme are recognised as allowable deductions for personal income tax purposes. This recognition is not insignificant; it affirms health insurance contributions as socially legitimate expenditures deserving of fiscal relief. Yet the logic remains passive. The tax system responds only after individuals have already contributed. It does not actively mobilise resources for health, nor does it deploy its collection infrastructure to expand coverage, pool risk, or subsidise access. The fiscal relationship ends at recognition, not generation.

A similar logic governs the treatment of consumption taxes. Essential medicines, pharmaceuticals, and certain medical equipment continue to benefit from favourable VAT treatment. These provisions are defensible on equity grounds, particularly in a system where out-of-pocket spending remains high. But from a financing perspective, their effect is limited. They shield households from additional burden, yet they do not generate fiscal space for the health system. Again, health is insulated from taxation, not financed through it.

The clearest illustration of this restrained approach lies in the treatment of excise duties on tobacco, alcohol, and sugar-sweetened beverages. These taxes are frequently framed as “sin taxes,” ostensibly justified by their potential to alter harmful consumption patterns. In principle, excise taxation is meant to operate through a behavioural channel: higher prices reduce consumption, lower consumption reduces disease burden, and reduced disease burden lowers long-term health expenditure. In Nigeria’s case, however, this logic remains largely theoretical.

First, the excise rates themselves are modest. The levy on sugar-sweetened beverages, for instance, is widely recognised as too low to produce a meaningful price shock that would alter consumption behaviour. Similar concerns apply to alcohol and tobacco, where cultural entrenchment, affordability, and illicit trade further blunt the intended deterrent effect. 

Second, there is no publicly available evidence demonstrating that consumption of these products has declined since the introduction or adjustment of excise duties. On the contrary, available market indicators and anecdotal trends suggest that consumption has increased. Crucially, the state does not appear perturbed by this outcome. Higher consumption translates into higher excise revenue, and excise duties, in practice, function as reliable inflows to the general federal pool.

This reveals a deeper truth about how sin taxes are governed in Nigeria. Despite their rhetorical association with public health, excise duties are not treated as health instruments. They are treated as revenue lines. There is no systematic effort to measure behavioural change, no routine publication of consumption data linked to tax policy, and no formal evaluation of health impact. In policy terms, a behavioural instrument that is not measured is indistinguishable from a revenue instrument. 

The absence of evidence of reduced consumption is not merely a data gap; it indicates that behavioural change is not being actively pursued as an objective.

From a health financing perspective, this has serious implications. Excise taxes generate revenue, yet none of that revenue is structurally linked to health financing. No portion is dedicated to prevention programmes, health insurance subsidies, or system strengthening. The public bears the health consequences of continued consumption, rising non-communicable diseases, increasing treatment costs, and productivity losses, while the fiscal gains accrue centrally, unconnected to the sector that absorbs the burden. In effect, Nigeria taxes harm, tolerates its persistence, and finances neither its prevention nor its consequences through the tax system.

This outcome is unlikely to be accidental. The new tax law is too carefully constructed for its silences to be incidental. Rather, it reflects a broader fiscal philosophy that prioritises flexibility, central discretion, and revenue pooling over sector-specific commitments. Earmarking, even in its softer forms, constrains the treasury’s freedom to allocate resources across competing priorities. From a public health financing standpoint, this caution is costly. It leaves health structurally dependent on discretionary budgets, weak insurance enforcement, donor support, and household spending, even as the state’s revenue-collection capacity improves.

The result is a growing asymmetry. Nigeria now possesses an increasingly sophisticated tax apparatus, but lacks a corresponding approach to financing social risk. Revenue mobilisation is advancing, but allocation logic remains largely unchanged. Health remains acknowledged but peripheral, recognised, accommodated, and indirectly supported, yet excluded from the core architecture of taxation.

None of this implies that the new tax law should have transformed itself into a health financing statute. No! Tax laws cannot, and should not, bear the full weight of social policy. But in an era where domestic resource mobilisation is increasingly framed as a means of financing development rather than merely sustaining government, the continued treatment of health as fiscally incidental is striking. The administrative infrastructure now exists to do more than collect revenue efficiently. What is missing is the institutional decision to deploy that capacity deliberately to protect households from the economic consequences of ill-health.

The most important lesson of Nigeria’s new tax law for national health financing, therefore, lies not in what it includes, but in what it leaves unresolved. The law strengthens the state’s ability to mobilise resources, yet remains silent on whether that capacity should be harnessed to address one of the most predictable and economically damaging social risks. As Nigeria deepens its commitment to domestic resource mobilisation, the critical question will not simply be how much revenue can be raised, but how intentionally that revenue is aligned with protecting human capital. A tax system that improves efficiency without strengthening social purpose risks becoming technically impressive but socially thin.

Oladoja M.O writes from Abuja and can be reached at: mayokunmark@gmail.com.

By Zayyad I. Muhammad 

During President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s official visit to the United Arab Emirates to participate in the 2026 edition of Abu Dhabi Sustainability Week (ADSW), Nigeria announced that it will co-host Investopia with the UAE in Lagos, Nigeria, in February. The initiative aims to attract global investors and accelerate sustainable investment inflows into Nigeria.

Nigeria has also concluded a Comprehensive Economic Partnership Agreement (CEPA) with the UAE to deepen cooperation across key sectors, including renewable energy, infrastructure, logistics, and digital trade. The agreement is expected to significantly strengthen trade relations and deliver tangible benefits for Nigerian businesses, professionals, and workers.

Overall, this expanding trade and economic relationship between Nigeria and the UAE represents a welcome development for both countries, with the potential to drive growth, job creation, and long-term economic collaboration.

However, on the international security front, the UAE is increasingly viewed through a more complex lens. Over the past decade, the country has pursued a more assertive foreign policy, particularly in parts of the Middle East and Africa.

The UAE has faced allegations and scrutiny from some governments, international organisations, media outlets, human rights groups, and analysts regarding its involvement in conflict-affected and politically fragile environments. These debates often centre on whether UAE actions have influenced or intensified existing crises, especially in several Muslim-majority countries.

In Sudan, various reports have alleged that the UAE was involved in the supply of weapons, including drones, to actors in the ongoing conflict. Some accounts claim that arms transfers were routed through neighbouring countries such as Chad, Libya, and Uganda, and that humanitarian operations served as logistical cover. Emirati authorities have denied these allegations, maintaining that the UAE supports humanitarian relief efforts and political solutions to the crisis.

In Yemen, the UAE was a key member of the Saudi-led coalition opposing the Iran-aligned Houthis. At the same time, analysts have pointed to UAE support for the Southern Transitional Council (STC), which seeks greater autonomy or independence for southern Yemen. Critics argue that this support contributed to political fragmentation, while others describe it as a pragmatic response to local security challenges and counter-terrorism objectives.

In Libya, the UAE has frequently been cited in international reports as a major external supporter of forces led by Khalifa Haftar and the Libyan National Army. Allegations include the provision of military assistance during operations against Tripoli-based authorities. UAE officials have consistently rejected claims of direct military involvement, emphasising their support for stability and counter-extremism.

In Somalia and the wider Horn of Africa, some observers have raised concerns about the UAE’s engagement with regional authorities and security actors, particularly in Puntland and Somaliland, suggesting that this involvement may have influenced internal political and security dynamics.

More recently, the Federal Government of Somalia announced the cancellation of all agreements with the UAE, including deals covering port operations, security cooperation, and defence. Somali authorities cited alleged violations of national sovereignty as the reason for the decision. The UAE, however, maintains that its activities in Somalia and the region are conducted within frameworks of cooperation, development assistance, and mutual security interests.

In 2022, the United States Treasury sanctioned six Nigerian individuals for allegedly raising funds in the UAE to support Boko Haram. This followed earlier actions by UAE authorities in 2021, when individuals were arrested and prosecuted for operating a fundraising network linked to the group. Despite these incidents, Nigeria–UAE relations remain largely focused on investment, trade, and broader economic cooperation.

Zayyad I. Muhammad writes from Abuja via zaymohd@yahoo.com.

By Muhammad Abubakar

Abba Atiku Abubakar, son of former Vice President Atiku Abubakar, has joined the ruling All Progressives Congress (APC) to mobilise support for the re-election of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu.

Abba Atiku was received Thursday evening in Abuja by the Deputy President of the Senate, Barau Jibrin, and the APC National Vice Chairman (North East), Mustafa Salihu.

He also announced the renaming of his political group to Haske Bola Tinubu Organisation, a body originally founded in 2022 as the Atiku Haske Organisation.

Reacting, Atiku Abubakar described his son’s decision as entirely personal, noting that such choices are normal in a democracy, even within families.

While reaffirming his democratic principles, he criticised the APC over what he described as poor governance and worsening economic and social conditions, pledging to continue working with others to offer Nigerians an alternative path to relief, hope, and progress.

By Muhammad Abubakar

The Nigeria Revenue Service (NRS) has officially unveiled its new institutional logo, formally marking its transition from the Federal Inland Revenue Service (FIRS) to a newly established revenue authority.

The unveiling ceremony took place in Abuja on Wednesday and was announced in a statement by Dare Adekanmbi, special adviser to the chairman of the NRS.

Speaking at the event, Zacch Adedeji, executive chairman of the NRS, described the new brand identity as a major milestone in the ongoing reform of Nigeria’s revenue administration framework, reflecting a renewed mandate and institutional vision.

Adekanmbi noted that the service became operational after President Bola Tinubu signed the Nigeria Revenue Service Establishment Act 2025 in June, paving the way for the transition from FIRS to NRS.

The new logo, officials said, symbolises efficiency, accountability, and a modernised approach to revenue generation in Nigeria.

By Isah Kamisu Madachi

For over a week now, flipping through the pages of Nigerian newspapers, social media, and other media platforms, the dominant issue trending nationwide has been the discovery of significant discrepancies between the gazetted version of the Tax Laws made available to the public and what was actually passed by the Nigerian legislature. Since this shocking discovery by a member of the House of Representatives, opinions from tax experts, public affairs analysts, activists, civil society organisations, opposition politicians, and professional bodies have been pouring in.

Many interesting events that could disrupt the pace of the debate have recently surfaced in the media. Yet the Tax Law discussion persists because public interest is deeply entrenched in the contested laws. However, while many view the issue from angles such as a breach of public trust, a violation of legislative privilege by the executive council, the passage of an ill-prepared law and so on, I see it from a different, narrower, and governance-centred perspective.

What brought this issue to public attention was an alarm raised by Hon. Abdulsammad Dasuki, a Member of the House of Representatives from Sokoto State, during a House plenary on 17 December 2025. He called the attention of the House to what he identified as discrepancies between the gazetted version of the Tax Laws he obtained from the Federal Ministry of Information and what was actually debated, agreed upon, and passed on the floor of both the House and the Senate. He requested that the Speaker ensure all relevant documents, including the harmonised versions, the Votes and Proceedings of both chambers, and the gazetted copies, are brought before the Committee of the Whole for scrutiny. The lawmaker expressed concern over what he described as a serious breach of his legislative privilege.

Beyond that, however, my concern is about how safe and protected Nigerians’ interests are in the hands of our lawmakers at the National Assembly. This ongoing discussion raises a critical question about representation in Nigeria. Does this mean that if Dasuki had also been indifferent and had not bothered to utilise the Freedom of Information Act 2011 to obtain the gazetted version of the laws from the Federal Ministry of Information, take time to study it, and make comparisons, there would have been no cause for alarm from any of Nigeria’s 360 House of Representatives members and 109 senators? Do lawmakers discard the confidence we reposed in them immediately after the election results are declared?

This debate serves a latent function of waking us up to the reality of the glaring disconnect between public interest and the interests of our representatives. The legislature in a democratic setting is a critical institution that goes beyond routine plenaries that are often uninteresting and sparsely attended by the lawmakers. It is meant to be a space for scrutiny, deliberation, and the protection of public interest, especially when complex laws with wide social consequences are involved. 

We saw Sen. Ali Ndume in a short video clip that recently swept the media, furiously saying during a verbal altercation with Sen. Adams Oshiomhole over ambassadorial screening that “the Senate is not a joke.” The Senate is, of course, not a joke, and neither should the entire National Assembly be. Ideally, it should not be a joke to the legislators themselves or to us. Therefore, we should not shy away from discussing how disinterested those entrusted with the task of representing us, and primarily protecting our interests, appear to be in our collective affairs.

It is not a coincidence that, even before the current debate over the tax reform law, it has continued to generate controversy since its inception. It also does not take quantum mechanics to understand that something is fundamentally wrong when almost nobody truly understands the law. Thanks to social media, I have come across numerous skits, write-ups, and commentaries attempting to explain it, but often followed by opposing responses saying that the authors either did not understand the law themselves or did not take sufficient time to study it.

The controversy around the gazetted Tax Reform Laws should not end with public outrage or media debates alone. It should prompt deeper reflection on how laws are made, scrutinised, and defended in Nigeria’s democracy. A system that relies on the alertness of a single lawmaker to prevent serious legislative discrepancies is neither resilient nor reliable. Representation cannot be occasional, and vigilance cannot be optional. 

Nigerians deserve a legislature that safeguards their interests, not one that notices breaches only when a few individuals choose to be different and look closely. If this ongoing debate does not lead to formidable internal checks and a renewed sense of responsibility among lawmakers, then the problem is far bigger than a flawed gazette. When legislative processes fail, it is ordinary Nigerians who bear the cost through policies they did not scrutinise and consequences they did not consent to.

Isah Kamisu Madachi is a public policy enthusiast and development practitioner. He writes from Abuja and can be reached via: isahkamisumadachi@gmail.com.

By Muhammad Abubakar

The National Identification Number (NIN) issued by the National Identity Management Commission (NIMC) will automatically function as a Tax Identification Number (Tax ID) for Nigerians starting from January 2026, the Federal Inland Revenue Service (FIRS) has announced.

According to the FIRS, the policy is part of broader efforts to harmonise government databases, improve tax administration, and expand the country’s tax net. By linking tax records directly to the NIN, authorities aim to reduce duplication, enhance compliance, and make it easier for individuals and businesses to fulfil their tax obligations.

Officials said the integration would streamline identification across government services while strengthening transparency and efficiency in revenue collection.

Nigerians are therefore encouraged to ensure their NIN details are accurate and up to date ahead of the January 2026 implementation.

The move aligns with ongoing digital reforms by the Federal Government to modernise public administration and improve service delivery nationwide.

By Ahmed Usman

As the year 2025 draws to a close, moments of reflection naturally set in, especially for an economy that has endured sharp shocks, painful adjustments, and cautious reforms. In an era of global economic turbulence marked by uneven commodity prices, persistently tight financial conditions, rising geopolitical tensions, regional insecurity, and an international retreat from development aid, many emerging economies have suffered currency instability, capital flight, and fiscal distress. 

For Nigeria, however, the year presents an unusual picture. Amid global uncertainty and domestic strain, key economic indicators are beginning to stabilise, prompting a deeper question about whether the country is merely ending the year on a fortunate note or finally turning a policy-driven corner.

The International Monetary Fund (IMF) projects that Nigeria’s economy will grow by about 3.9 per cent in 2025, with growth expected to strengthen modestly to around 4.1 per cent in 2026, driven by macroeconomic stabilisation and reform efforts across key sectors. While these numbers may not yet place Nigeria among the world’s fastest-growing economies, they mark a notable improvement from the passive growth of recent years and signal a gradual return of confidence.

One of the most significant recent developments is Nigeria’s GDP rebasing, which revealed that the economy is about 30 per cent larger than previously estimated. This adjustment is not merely a statistical exercise. It reflects the growing importance of services, digital trade, creative industries, and telecommunications, sectors that employ millions of Nigerians, particularly young people.

For households, a larger and more diversified economy is essential because it reduces overdependence on oil and expands opportunities for income outside traditional sectors. For policymakers, it improves Nigeria’s standing in global markets and provides a clearer picture of where growth is coming from, enabling more targeted policies.

The rebasing has also reshaped Nigeria’s debt profile. The debt-to-GDP ratio now stands at about 40 per cent, well below the levels seen in many peer emerging economies. More importantly, debt service as a share of government revenue has fallen to below 50 per cent, from much higher levels in previous years. This easing of fiscal pressure means the government now has slightly more flexibility to allocate resources to infrastructure, education, healthcare, and social protection. However, the challenge remains that Nigeria’s revenue base remains among the weakest globally, making sustained revenue mobilisation critical.

Perhaps the most tangible improvement for households and businesses has come from the foreign exchange market. After years of volatility and sharp depreciation, recent months have seen a reduction in exchange rate volatility, a narrowing of the gap between official and parallel market rates, and a gradual buildup of external reserves, now estimated at over $36 billion. This stabilisation has practical consequences. It helps slow imported inflation, reducing pressure on food, fuel, and medicine prices. Foreign portfolio inflows have also picked up, reflecting renewed investor confidence.

Nigeria’s capital markets are also telling a positive story. The stock market is enjoying its strongest rally in nearly two decades, with the All-Share Index posting record gains. This surge reflects expectations of improved corporate earnings and better macroeconomic coordination. Similarly, Nigeria’s bond market has entered a bullish phase, with falling yields and strong demand from both domestic and foreign investors. Lower bond yields reduce government borrowing costs and can eventually translate into lower interest rates for businesses and households seeking credit.

After reaching painful highs, inflation (food inflation) has begun to ease, FX conditions have improved, and supply pressures have eased. Although prices remain elevated, the slowdown in food prices offers some relief to households whose purchasing power has been severely eroded over the past two years.

Perhaps the most encouraging fiscal development is the sharp rise in government revenue. This improvement reflects tax administration reforms, subsidy removal, and better compliance. Higher revenue is central to Nigeria’s long-term stability. It reduces reliance on borrowing, strengthens public services, and allows targeted social spending to cushion vulnerable households from reform-related shocks.

Despite these gains, Nigeria’s resilience should not be mistaken for strength. The economy remains vulnerable to oil price swings, climate shocks, global financial tightening, and domestic security challenges. Monetary pressures, fiscal constraints, and external risks continue to interact in ways that could quickly reverse progress.

However, resilience built on sound fiscal management, credible monetary policy, and structural reform is fundamentally different from resilience driven by temporary luck. Strengthening domestic revenue, managing debt prudently, investing in human capital, and deepening diversification are not optional; they are essential.

Is the question whether Nigeria’s current resilience is the product of good policies or good luck? The evidence increasingly points toward policy-driven stabilisation, though aided by favourable timing and improved coordination.

The fundamentals are improving, confidence is returning, and the economy is stronger than it has been in years. The challenge now is to convert this fragile resilience into inclusive and durable growth, growth that raises living standards, creates jobs, and restores hope for millions of households.

Ahmed Usman wrote via ahmedusmanbox@gmail.com.