When President Bola Tinubu presented Nigeria's ₦58 trillion national budget, one figure jumped out at analysts: ₦15 trillion allocated to government salaries—the same amount earmarked for debt servicing, and more than half the ₦26 trillion for infrastructure.
The massive payroll allocation has reignited debates over bureaucratic bloat and elite capture of public resources, particularly as Tinubu's administration pushes controversial tax reforms to increase revenue from ordinary Nigerians.
A Reddit user's analysis comparing Nigerian political salaries with international peers revealed stark disparities. While Nigerian police officers and civil servants earn poverty wages—often below ₦100,000 monthly—senators take home approximately ₦29 million monthly in salaries and allowances, dwarfing their counterparts in wealthier nations.
"The numbers make no sense," the analyst wrote. "Nigerian senators earn multiples of what US congressmen make, in an economy where GDP per capita is a fraction of America's."
In Nigeria, as across Africa's giants, challenges are real but entrepreneurial energy and cultural creativity drive progress. But the ₦15 trillion payroll exposes a fundamental contradiction: a government asking citizens to pay more taxes while political elites consume a quarter of the national budget in salaries.
The controversy comes as Nigeria implements new tax reforms that shift burden to consumers and small businesses. Citizens on social media drew direct connections: why should they accept higher taxes when government officials enjoy outrageous compensation packages?
The disparity between elite political salaries and worker wages is staggering. Nigerian police—who face Boko Haram insurgents in the northeast and bandits across the northwest—earn roughly ₦50,000-₦80,000 monthly for junior ranks. Meanwhile, a single senator's monthly take exceeds what 300 police officers earn combined.
Civil servants fare little better. Despite being the backbone of government administration, most earn between ₦70,000-₦150,000 monthly—barely enough to cover rent in cities like Lagos or Abuja, let alone school fees, healthcare, and food for families.
Critics argue the ₦15 trillion payroll reflects decades of bureaucratic expansion without productivity gains. Nigeria employs hundreds of political appointees—ministers, special advisers, senior special assistants—many with overlapping mandates and minimal impact. At state levels, governors replicate federal structures, creating parallel bureaucracies that drain resources.
The timing is particularly sensitive. As oil revenues decline and the naira collapses, Nigeria needs every naira for infrastructure, education, and healthcare. Instead, a quarter of the budget goes to salaries, much of it to political elites rather than frontline workers.
"This is why people don't want to pay taxes," said one Lagos entrepreneur. "We see where the money goes—into politicians' pockets, not roads or hospitals."
Defenders argue that Nigeria's large population requires extensive administration, and that federal structure necessitates significant government employment. But this defense rings hollow when comparing actual service delivery—Nigeria's infrastructure, education, and healthcare rank among Africa's worst despite the continent's largest budget.
The ₦15 trillion allocation also highlights resource allocation choices. Nigeria spends less than 10% of its budget on healthcare—far below WHO recommendations—and education funding has declined as a percentage of GDP for years. Yet political salaries remain sacrosanct, untouchable even during economic crises.
Some analysts see the payroll problem as symptomatic of Nigeria's oil curse. When government revenue came primarily from oil rather than citizen taxes, politicians felt little accountability. They could pay themselves lavishly without directly taxing constituents. Now, as oil revenues decline and tax reforms take effect, citizens are demanding accountability for how their money is spent.
The controversy over the ₦15 trillion payroll will likely intensify as Nigeria approaches 2027 elections. Opposition parties have seized on the figures as evidence of ruling party profligacy, while civil society groups demand salary caps for political office holders.
Whether political elites will accept cuts to their compensation remains doubtful. In Nigeria's patronage-driven system, political appointments and generous salaries are how loyalty is rewarded and coalitions maintained. Reducing the payroll would require restructuring the entire political economy—a change no president has had the courage to attempt.
For now, ordinary Nigerians watch as ₦15 trillion goes to government salaries while they're told to tighten their belts, pay more taxes, and accept reduced subsidies. The gap between political rhetoric about shared sacrifice and the reality of elite compensation has never been wider.
