The World Bank’s recent acknowledgement of the limited reach of Nigeria’s $800 million conditional cash transfer programme has reignited concerns about the credibility and efficacy of the country’s approach to social welfare. Launched under the administration of President Bola Tinubu, the scheme was intended to serve as a buffer against the economic hardship triggered by his government’s abrupt removal of fuel subsidies and the floating of the naira in 2023. The government pledged to support 15 million vulnerable households, each receiving ₦75,000 (approximately $60) over a three-month period.

However, the reality fell far short of the promise. By the end of 2023, only 1.5 million households had received any payments, representing less than 10 percent of the intended beneficiaries. Of those, a mere 37 percent received even a single tranche. This startling underperformance is not a reflection of funding limitations, after all, the World Bank released the full $800 million but of deep institutional dysfunction that continues to undermine development policy in Africa’s largest economy.

Nigeria’s failure lies not in its ambition to alleviate poverty but in the architecture and execution of its social policy. Unlike other countries that have implemented conditional cash transfers with measurable success, Brazil, Mexico, and Colombia among them, Nigeria has not invested in the infrastructure required to make such schemes effective. The heart of the problem is the country’s opaque and outdated “social register”, a list of supposed vulnerable citizens that lacks transparency, verification, and consistent methodology.

In Brazil, the Bolsa Família programme has operated for nearly two decades with remarkable results. Anchored by the Cadastro Único, a unified social database, Bolsa Família has helped reduce poverty by up to 16 percent and inequality by over 20 percent. Importantly, it is tied to verifiable conditions: children must attend school and families must visit health centres regularly to continue receiving support. By linking cash transfers to human capital development, Brazil has avoided the trap of cultivating dependency and instead created incentives for long-term empowerment.

Mexico’s Prospera programme (formerly Oportunidades) similarly built a legacy of institutional rigour and integrated oversight, ultimately becoming a model for dozens of developing countries. Colombia’s Familias en Acción is another example where decentralised administration and data validation play key roles in maintaining public confidence and ensuring delivery to the most disadvantaged.

Nigeria, by contrast, has repeatedly stumbled over the same structural hurdles. The Buhari administration, which pioneered the current iteration of cash transfers, reportedly spent over ₦619 billion between 2016 and 2020 under the National Social Investment Programme (NSIP). Despite this substantial allocation, poverty indicators worsened during the same period. Corruption allegations plagued the initiative, culminating in the January 2024 interrogation of two former officials, the erstwhile Minister for Humanitarian Affairs, Sadiya Umar Farouk, and NSIPA head, Halima Shehu, over the disappearance of ₦37.1 billion in public funds.

That the Tinubu government chose to double down on this questionable legacy, rather than learning from its deficiencies, reflects not only policy inertia but a troubling tolerance for inefficacy. In pursuing the same model without rectifying its foundational flaws, it effectively burnt through $800 million of borrowed money, saddling the country with debt and delivering little of the promised relief.

What makes this miscalculation even more egregious is the opportunity cost. That sum, equivalent to over ₦1.2 trillion, could have catalysed far-reaching impact had it been invested in productive sectors. Nigeria’s small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs), which account for over 84 percent of employment and contribute nearly half of GDP, are starving for capital. Strategic support to this sector could have multiplied economic activity, created jobs, and built resilience from the ground up. Similarly, targeted subsidies for agricultural inputs, infrastructure for local food production, and support for public health could have yielded more sustainable and inclusive outcomes.

Equally worrying are the regional imbalances in disbursement. Reports indicate that the Southeast region of Nigeria received support for fewer than 400,000 households, while the Northwest received over 1.2 million. This geographic skew, coupled with a lack of transparent selection criteria, raises questions about whether these transfers were driven more by political calculus than by demographic evidence.

Even more unsettling is the passive role played by Nigeria’s development partners. The World Bank and IMF, both of whom have maintained close engagement with the Nigerian government, were well aware of the governance vulnerabilities that have plagued social spending in the country. Yet they proceeded with the funding, only to raise concerns about implementation after the fact. Such institutional contradictions risk undermining trust in the multilateral system and send confusing signals to reform-minded policymakers.

To move forward, Nigeria must fundamentally reimagine its approach to social protection. The first step is the creation of a credible, data-driven, and independently verified social register, ideally built in partnership with local governments, civil society, and community networks. Cash transfers, if pursued, must be conditional, time-bound, and tied to measurable improvements in education, healthcare, and nutrition. They must also be integrated with broader economic policy rather than existing as isolated handouts that breed dependency.

Furthermore, anti-corruption safeguards must be embedded into all social spending programmes. Real-time digital disbursement tools, audit trails, and open-access dashboards can help restore public confidence. Without such transparency, cash transfers will remain a euphemism for political slush funds, rather than instruments of inclusive development.

Nigeria is at a crossroads. With nearly 40 percent of its population living below the poverty line and inflation eroding household incomes, social policy cannot afford to fail. But that failure will persist if the state continues to chase short-term solutions over long-term outcomes. If this episode proves anything, it is that poverty cannot be alleviated by misdirected charity. It requires competent governance, bold reform, and an unflinching commitment to public accountability.