*Nigeria’s Broken Scale of Value
When the Super Falcons clinched their record-extending tenth Women’s Africa Cup of Nations title in July 2025, the Presidency rolled out the red carpet. The players received national honours, three-bedroom apartments in Abuja and the promise of the naira equivalent of $100,000 each. The financial rewards were eventually fulfilled in November 2026. Barely had that celebration settled when another Nigerian women’s team made history. The Flamingos conquered the world, becoming the first African country to win the FIFA U-17 Women’s World Cup. Once again, the presidential purse swung open: ₦100 million for each player, secured in savings certificates because of their young age, ₦100 million in cash for the coach and ₦50 million for each member of the technical crew. The Senate also announced a separate ₦100 million reward.
Let us be clear: nobody begrudges these young girls their glory. They trained hard, carried the green-and-white flag with pride and earned their moment in the sun. Their achievement deserves recognition, and the decision to preserve their rewards in savings instruments rather than hand enormous sums directly to teenagers is commendable.
The problem is not that the government rewards sporting excellence. It is what the speed, scale and enthusiasm of these announcements reveal about the Nigerian state’s priorities. There is a disturbing arithmetic to our national life: hundreds of millions for 90 minutes of football, and peanuts, sometimes outright silence, for a lifetime of service.
See the contrast in Abuja. When a trophy arrives at the Presidential Villa, the government can announce substantial financial commitments, organise receptions and put together carefully structured reward packages. Even the decision to protect the Flamingos’ money through savings certificates demonstrates an ability to think ahead and make financial arrangements in the interest of young beneficiaries.
Yet, outside the celebratory atmosphere of the Villa, citizens encounter a different government, one that appears to require endless negotiations, industrial threats and public agitation before certain obligations receive the attention they deserve.
The contrast extends beyond workers and pensioners. Consider the survivors of the Yelewata massacre in Benue State. Having lost family members, homes and livelihoods to violence, many displaced residents continue to struggle with food, healthcare, decent shelter and other basic necessities. Investigations into conditions in Benue’s displacement camps have documented irregular food distribution, inadequate sanitation, poor healthcare facilities and families struggling to secure even one proper meal a day.
These are Nigerians whose lives have been shattered by violence. They are not asking for presidential honours or millions in savings certificates. They need food, shelter, healthcare, security and a credible pathway back to their communities. Their suffering deserves more than occasional visits and promises of intervention.
How does a government demonstrate such speed and enthusiasm in celebrating sporting victories while citizens displaced by violence continue to struggle for the basic necessities of human existence? The question is not whether the Flamingos deserve their rewards. It is why the suffering of other Nigerians appears to command so much less urgency.
Take the Academic Staff Union of Universities. For years, ASUU has been locked in exhausting negotiations with successive governments over lecturers’ welfare, university funding, earned allowances and working conditions. The December 2025 agreement was reached after years of disputes, yet by September 2026, the union was again threatening nationwide industrial action over what it described as incomplete and haphazard implementation, unpaid salary arrears and unremitted deductions.
There is something fundamentally wrong with a country where university lecturers must repeatedly threaten to withdraw their services before agreements reached with their government receive adequate attention. These are the people training the doctors, engineers, scientists, lawyers and other professionals upon whom the country’s future depends. Their contribution may not produce a trophy for television cameras, but it is indispensable to national development.
Then comes organised labour. The Nigeria Labour Congress has had to engage the Federal Government in prolonged negotiations over workers’ welfare and the crushing cost of living. The eventual agreement provides a monthly transport intervention of ₦70,000 for six months, beginning in November 2026.
That is ₦420,000 over six months. Workers have had to negotiate for months to secure temporary assistance with the cost of getting to work. Even this intervention followed threats of industrial action and repeated meetings between government representatives and organised labour.
The question is not whether workers should receive the same reward as footballers. They are different categories of expenditure, serving different purposes. The question is why the welfare of people who keep the machinery of government running so often requires prolonged bargaining, while celebratory financial commitments can be announced with such speed and enthusiasm.
But perhaps the most painful illustration of our broken scale of value is the treatment of pensioners.
Imagine spending 30 or 35 years of your life in public service, teaching children, treating patients, maintaining public institutions and contributing to the development of your country. You retire believing that the years you have given to the nation will afford you some measure of security and dignity. Instead, you find yourself protesting, pleading and waiting for entitlements that should never have required a street demonstration.
On August 31, 2026, Lagos pensioners took to the streets to protest outstanding pension adjustments, wage awards and other entitlements. Their union alleged that more than 2,000 pensioners had died while waiting for their outstanding payments. The protesters included elderly citizens whose ability to afford healthcare and other basic necessities had been severely affected by the delays. Some were reportedly dispersed with teargas.
These were not people demanding gifts. They were demanding what they had earned.
A pension isn’t a presidential favour or an act of charity; it is a debt owed for decades of service. These elderly citizens were not begging for alms. They were asking for their own money, earned over decades of labour.
And here lies another uncomfortable question. How do you justify committing ₦100 million to each of these young footballers, some barely 14 or 15 years old, while pensioners who devoted 35 years to public service are struggling to obtain the money they need to buy food and medication?
These young stars have virtually their entire lives ahead of them. The pensioners have already given the country the best years of theirs. Must we celebrate the future while abandoning those who helped build our present? Must we find hundreds of millions to reward young champions while elderly citizens struggle to afford a single meal?
There is nothing wrong with rewarding young talent. They deserve every recognition that comes their way. But what kind of society finds the resources to celebrate teenage champions while allowing its elderly citizens to endure the indignity of begging for money they have already earned?
Whether the responsibility lies with the Federal Government or a state government, the principle remains the same: a government that accepts the service of its workers must honour its obligations to them.
What is particularly troubling is the message this sends to younger Nigerians. What conclusions might a young person draw from watching a country celebrate sporting achievements with extraordinary financial rewards while teachers, lecturers, researchers and other professionals struggle to secure the benefits of their labour?
Are we building a society that values excellence in every field, or one in which the most visible recognition is reserved for achievements that bring international applause?
I want Nigerian children to play football. I want them to win world championships and return home to a grateful nation.
The post Hundreds of million for 90 minutes, peanuts for a lifetime of service, by Stephanie Shaakaa appeared first on Vanguard News.