“Nigeria’s monetary policy can remain a technocratic exercise, measured in basis points and reserve ratios, or it can rise to Mamuda’s challenge: to stabilize not just prices but lives. The question lingers, urgent and unrelenting: are Nigeria’s policies delivering real relief, or are they leaving too many hungry for something better?”
BY EMMAN USMAN SHEHU
Across Nigeria, a single, stubborn question echoes from bustling markets to quiet kitchen tables: is the money in people’s pockets enough to keep up with the soaring cost of living? This isn’t a question confined to the sterile charts of central bankers or the optimistic forecasts of IMF reports. It’s a question pulsing through the lives of ordinary Nigerians—at pantry shelves, school gates, and pharmacy counters. Chris Mamuda, a sharp-eyed Abuja-based critic of Nigeria’s economic policy, has distilled this frustration into a clarion call: monetary policy must deliver “real relief.” His words strike a chord that reverberates far beyond policy circles, demanding that success be measured not by abstract metrics but by tangible improvements in daily life
Mamuda’s argument is as simple as it is profound: economic policy must make life better, not just look good on paper. In a nation where food inflation often outpaces wage growth, a policy that boasts macro stability but leaves families struggling to afford jollof rice or school fees fails a fundamental moral test. This isn’t about esoteric debates over interest rates or exchange-rate pegs; it’s about accountability—about ensuring that the levers pulled in Abuja translate into fuller plates and brighter futures in Lagos, Kano, and beyond.
The stakes are deeply personal. The cost of living, access to education, healthcare, and stable jobs aren’t just data points—they’re the scaffolding of a family’s dreams. If monetary policy raises headlines but erodes purchasing power, it’s time to rethink what “success” means. Instead of fixating on quarterly GDP growth or inflation targets, policymakers should prioritize real incomes, affordable essentials, and lasting improvements in well-being.
Monetary policy is a slow-moving machine. Changes in interest rates or liquidity measures take months, sometimes years, to ripple through to wages, prices, and jobs. But Nigerians aren’t theoretical constructs—they’re people with finite patience and pressing needs. Mamuda’s critique underscores a critical tension: the public demands relief now, while policymakers often promise stability later, often beyond the horizon of an electoral cycle.
This lag creates a dangerous ambiguity. Without clear communication about when and how relief will arrive, public trust erodes. Unmet expectations can fuel skepticism, even when macro indicators begin to improve. Policymakers must bridge this gap with transparency—laying out realistic timelines, acknowledging risks, and admitting when promises fall short. Otherwise, the narrative of “policy failure” takes root, drowning out any slow-burn progress.
To evaluate monetary policy through Mamuda’s lens of “real relief,” Nigeria needs a new scorecard—one that connects the Central Bank’s actions to the lived experiences of its citizens. Here’s what that might look like: Real household income: Track inflation-adjusted median incomes over 12–24 months to gauge whether families are truly better off.
Purchasing power: Measure per-capita spending, the share of income spent on food, and vulnerability to price spikes for staples like rice or yam. Poverty dynamics: Monitor poverty headcount, depth, and severity, alongside indices of vulnerability to economic shocks. Price pressures: Break down the consumer price index to highlight trends in food, transport, and housing—costs that hit Nigerians hardest. Job quality: Assess unemployment, underemployment, and the quality of new jobs in sectors like agriculture, retail, and tech. Social access: Track affordability of education, healthcare, nutrition, and energy to ensure policies don’t leave the vulnerable behind.
Policy impact: Model how specific actions—like rate hikes or liquidity injections—affect these metrics, accounting for lags and external shocks.
This evaluation demands rigor: a clear baseline before policy changes, robust methods to isolate monetary policy’s effects from fiscal moves or global shocks, and a focus on distributional impacts to reveal who wins and who loses. Numbers alone aren’t enough—qualitative stories from traders, teachers, and small business owners can ground the data in human reality.
To deliver real relief, Nigeria’s monetary policy must zero in on channels that directly lift households: Tame food inflation: Food prices dominate Nigeria’s cost-of-living crisis. Monetary policy should work in tandem with supply-side fixes—like boosting agricultural productivity—to ease pressure on staples. Stabilize the naira: A steadier exchange rate can curb imported cost spikes, making essentials like medicine and fuel more affordable. Unlock credit for small businesses: Simplified loan terms and targeted liquidity can spur job creation in Nigeria’s vibrant informal sector. Sync with fiscal policy: Coordinated subsidies, cash transfers, or infrastructure spending can amplify monetary policy’s impact. Protect the vulnerable: Temporary, well-targeted relief programs can shield households from shocks while policy effects unfold.
Mamuda’s critique is a wake-up call—a reminder that policy earns legitimacy not through glossy dashboards but through better lives. Yet fairness demands balance. Policymakers face real constraints: global commodity spikes, security challenges, and fiscal limits. Critics must acknowledge these while pushing for clear, measurable benchmarks—time-bound goals, regular progress reports, and a willingness to course-correct.
Nigeria’s monetary policy can remain a technocratic exercise, measured in basis points and reserve ratios, or it can rise to Mamuda’s challenge: to stabilize not just prices but lives. The question lingers, urgent and unrelenting: are Nigeria’s policies delivering real relief, or are they leaving too many hungry for something better? The answer will shape not just markets but the nation’s future.
…Dr Shehu is an Abuja-based writer, activist and educator
