By Prof. Chiwuike Uba, Ph.D
When a government rejects poverty data, it risks rejecting reality itself.
The recent rejection of the World Bank’s poverty report by the Nigerian Presidency raises more questions than it answers. According to the Presidency, the World Bank’s figures are merely “analytical constructs” and not “real-time headcounts.” The government argues that the global poverty line of $2.15 per person per day, set in 2017 purchasing power parity (PPP) terms, should not be interpreted literally. When converted to roughly ₦127,000 per month at today’s exchange rate of ₦1,420 to the dollar, the figure exceeds Nigeria’s new minimum wage of ₦70,000. By this reasoning, the World Bank’s benchmark is said to be detached from “local income realities.”
At first glance, this may sound like a patriotic defense of national context. Yet underneath lies a familiar pattern of denial that risks deepening the country’s disconnect from its economic reality. If anything, the fact that Nigeria’s new minimum wage stands at ₦70,000, and that many workers still earn less or wait months to be paid, reveals the depth of the problem, not its absence.
Internationally, those earning around the minimum wage are often classified as the “working poor.” According to the International Labour Organization (ILO), the working poor are individuals who are employed but still live below the poverty line. At Nigeria’s new minimum wage of ₦70,000, the daily equivalent is about $1.55—below the World Bank’s extreme poverty threshold of $2.15. In other words, the issue is not with the World Bank’s benchmark but with the inadequacy of local earnings to meet even the most basic global standards of human welfare.
Poverty in Nigeria is not abstract; it has names, faces, and unending bills. According to the National Bureau of Statistics (NBS), headline inflation stood at 20.12% in August 2025, food inflation at 21.87%, and core inflation at 20.33%. Yet even these figures, though suggesting a slowing trend, fail to capture the daily struggle in markets where food prices soar, transportation costs remain high, and purchasing power erodes weekly. The statistical decline in inflation has not translated into cheaper living.
A worker in Nigeria, for instance, earns ₦70,000 but often waits two or three months to be paid. By the time the salary arrives, it barely buys a bag of rice and some cooking oil. This story mirrors millions who, though employed, live in quiet deprivation—the invisible working poor.
The Presidency’s argument collapses under its own logic. The World Bank’s poverty line is not meant to be a literal headcount but an analytical tool for global comparability, a way to assess how far daily income can stretch toward basic human needs. It allows nations to track progress against a common yardstick. The problem is not with the methodology but with Nigeria’s inability to produce and sustain reliable, homegrown data to complement global assessments.
Here lies the deeper crisis: the politicisation of data. In Nigeria, statistics—especially when generated by external institutions—are too often treated as political statements rather than diagnostic tools for reform. Instead of disputing data, governments should interrogate what they reveal about social welfare, inequality, and policy effectiveness. Dismissing uncomfortable evidence only erodes public trust at a time when credibility is most needed.
Nigeria’s National Bureau of Statistics remains chronically underfunded, making it difficult to conduct regular household surveys that underpin poverty measurement. In many cases, such surveys depend on the support of the World Bank, UNDP, or UNICEF. Without consistent domestic investment in data collection, economic planning becomes guesswork, like driving through fog, blind to obstacles ahead. The underfunding of the NBS doesn’t just delay reports—it blinds policymakers to the lived conditions of citizens. Without credible data, poverty becomes invisible in Abuja’s corridors while it multiplies in rural communities and urban slums.
More importantly, Nigeria’s informal sector, which employs over 80% of the labour force, remains largely undocumented. Most workers in this sector earn far below the minimum wage, often without stable income or benefits. Using the official wage as a benchmark for prosperity ignores this broader reality. The issue is not what the minimum wage is, but how many people actually earn it—and how consistently.
The World Bank estimates that over 139 million Nigerians live below the $2.15 poverty line, while the NBS’s own 2022 Multidimensional Poverty Index put the figure at 133 million, or 63% of the population. These figures are not contradictory; they represent different perspectives on the same grim reality. Across the world, countries that have made progress against poverty, including Kenya, Ghana, and Rwanda, did not do so by disputing global data but by building independent, transparent, and harmonized statistical systems. They understood that data is the compass of reform.
To be fair, the Tinubu administration has embarked on bold and necessary reforms: the removal of the fuel subsidy, the unification of exchange rates, fiscal consolidation, and renewed social investment programmes. These measures aim to correct structural distortions and lay the foundation for sustainable growth. However, reforms cannot succeed in an environment where data is dismissed or selectively interpreted. For many Nigerians, the real question is not whether reforms are underway, but whether they are working fast enough to put food back on the table.
Even when inflation slows, prices do not automatically fall, because the underlying drivers—energy costs, exchange rate instability, and food supply inefficiencies—remain unresolved. For most Nigerians, the inflation rate is less relevant than the price of garri, rice, or fuel. When workers spend over 70% of their income on food and transport, a nominal wage increase does little to lift them above poverty.
This is not the first time Nigeria has challenged international poverty estimates. Previous administrations, from Goodluck Jonathan to Muhammadu Buhari, voiced similar objections, insisting that global models failed to capture local nuances. Yet none provided credible domestic alternatives. Denial, however eloquent, does not erase deprivation. When leaders dismiss poverty statistics, they are not disputing data—they are erasing lives. Each percentage point represents families skipping meals, children withdrawn from school, and dreams deferred by economic neglect. The civic cost of denial is despair. When people feel unseen, they lose faith in governance itself.
Poverty is not merely about income; it is about access to food, healthcare, housing, education, and opportunity. Minimum wage earners who cannot afford essential services remain poor, no matter what global or national indicators say. And when salaries are delayed or eroded by inflation, poverty becomes institutionalized.
In truth, both sides of this debate—the World Bank and the Nigerian government—highlight the need to reconcile statistical frameworks with lived realities. But leadership demands more than argument; it demands courage, the courage to confront uncomfortable truths and to act upon them. The solution lies not in semantic disputes but in systemic reform: strengthening data governance, ensuring fiscal transparency, and expanding social protection. With less than 15% of Nigerians covered by formal safety nets, compared to over 40% in South Africa, any claim of progress rings hollow.
Nigeria must therefore rebuild trust in its data by granting greater autonomy and funding to its statistical institutions, ensuring that economic policies are linked to measurable social outcomes. Transparent monitoring and regular publication of poverty indicators would demonstrate accountability and reinforce confidence. Growth figures must translate into visible welfare gains for citizens.
At the heart of this matter is trust. When citizens believe that government decisions are guided by evidence and genuine concern for public welfare, they are more likely to endure short-term hardship for long-term benefits. But when data is politicized or dismissed, cynicism grows. Facts are not the enemy of reform; they are its foundation.
Poverty statistics are not just numbers; they are mirrors of policy outcomes. Whether produced by the World Bank, NBS, or academia, they tell a story of how policy choices shape real lives. Rather than viewing these reports as threats, Nigeria should see them as tools for improvement. The Tinubu administration has a unique opportunity to promote a culture of data-driven governance, one that values evidence over emotion and progress over pride.
Ultimately, addressing poverty in Nigeria requires courage—not just the courage to implement difficult reforms, but also the courage to face inconvenient truths. Real leadership is not defined by rejecting uncomfortable data but by using it to build a fairer, more prosperous nation.
God is with us.
About the Author
Prof. Chiwuike Uba, Ph.D, is a development economist, researcher, and public finance management and governance expert. His work focuses on fiscal policy reforms, poverty reduction, and institutional accountability. He is the Chairman of the Amaka Chiwuike-Uba Foundation (ACUF) and the ACUF Initiative for Policy and Governance.