18 February, 2026
by Mohammed Bello Doka
A government’s moral compass is revealed not in its speeches but in its spending. In 2025, as millions of Nigerians struggled against collapsing infrastructure, rising transport costs, and deepening poverty, the Tinubu administration released barely ₦2.57 billion—about 1% of the Ministry of Transportation’s ₦256.73 billion capital allocation—yet the same fiscal window accommodated roughly ₦66.36 billion for official vehicles for the Presidency, federal executives, and the National Assembly. This is not a technical budgetary footnote. It is a searing statement of priorities: mobility for the political class over mobility for the nation.
The numbers are stark and sourced. Transport Minister Saidu Ahmed Alkali disclosed during the 2026 budget defence that his ministry received only about 1% of its 2025 capital vote, forcing roughly 70% of projects to roll over into 2026, according to TheCable and The Guardian. In concrete terms, a ministry responsible for highways, rail modernisation, and national transport corridors operated on just ₦2.57 billion. Meanwhile, Nigeria’s roads remained among the deadliest in Africa. Federal Road Safety Corps data show 10,604 crashes in 2023, killing 5,081 people and injuring more than 30,000. National Bureau of Statistics reports recorded 2,662 crashes with 1,471 deaths in Q1 2024 and 2,404 crashes with 1,305 deaths in Q2. Nigeria contributes significantly to Africa’s average road fatality rate of 19.6 per 100,000 people. Each delayed road project is not an abstraction—it is a future collision waiting to happen.
Yet while transport infrastructure starved, elite fleets expanded. The 2025 budget for the State House alone included ₦4.76 billion for motor vehicles (BusinessDay). Additional executive vehicle procurements included about ₦2 billion proposed for cars for special advisers in the Works Ministry (Daily Trust) and roughly ₦2 billion for vehicles and transport assets in the Ministry of Justice. Most striking is the legislature: a procurement cycle worth about ₦57.6 billion for SUVs for federal lawmakers, with unit costs around ₦200 million per vehicle, reported by Punch and Premium Times. Combined, these allocations and procurements amount to approximately ₦66.36 billion for political officeholder vehicles in the same period transport received ₦2.57 billion. The ratio is staggering: official cars for the ruling class costing more than 25 times the capital releases to the ministry tasked with moving the entire country.
This contrast lands hardest in a nation already strained by poverty and inflation. The World Bank estimates that more than 40% of Nigerians live below the national poverty line. Transport costs have surged following fuel subsidy removal, pushing food prices and commuting expenses beyond the reach of many households. When transport infrastructure deteriorates, the poor pay twice: first in fares and second in lost economic opportunity. A broken road is a tax on farmers, traders, and workers. Yet the federal government’s release pattern in 2025 effectively told citizens that official convoys mattered more than public roads.
The administration might argue that vehicle procurement is routine state expenditure. That defence collapses under scale and timing. Routine procurement does not usually exceed the entire capital releases of a core economic ministry by more than an order of magnitude. Nor does routine procurement occur while that ministry confirms that 70% of its projects have stalled for lack of funds. Budget choices are always moral choices: they determine whose safety, time, and dignity count. In 2025, the Tinubu government’s choices elevated the comfort and prestige of political officeholders above the transport lifelines of over 200 million Nigerians.
The implications ripple far beyond asphalt and steel. Transport infrastructure is the backbone of national productivity. The African Development Bank consistently identifies transport deficits as a central constraint on African economies. In Nigeria, poor roads and incomplete rail networks inflate logistics costs, depress agricultural incomes, and discourage investment. Every kilometre of delayed highway locks rural communities deeper into poverty. Yet the ministry mandated to fix these structural barriers received only ₦2.57 billion in releases—barely enough to rehabilitate a few kilometres of dual carriageway—while ₦66.36 billion underwrote official vehicles.
Public trust erodes when citizens see such disparities. Nigerians are already confronting inflation above 30%, currency volatility, and declining purchasing power. They are told austerity is necessary, that fiscal space is tight, that sacrifice is shared. But sacrifice is not shared when convoys expand while highways crumble. Sacrifice is not shared when lawmakers ride in ₦200 million SUVs on roads that kill their constituents. Sacrifice is not shared when the Presidency budgets billions for fleet upgrades as transport projects stall nationwide. Fiscal austerity that flows downward but not upward is not austerity—it is hierarchy.
Supporters may counter that transport funding will recover in later releases or supplementary budgets. Even if that occurs, the 2025 release pattern remains revealing. Budgets are promises; releases are reality. And reality showed that when funds were scarce, vehicle procurement survived while transport infrastructure suffocated. That ordering cannot be explained by bureaucratic delay alone. It reflects political will—what must be funded now versus what can wait. In 2025 Nigeria, roads could wait; official cars could not.
The symbolism is devastating. Nigeria’s development story has long been haunted by elite insulation: leaders moving swiftly in guarded convoys above the gridlock experienced by ordinary citizens. The 2025 spending contrast crystallises that divide in numbers. ₦2.57 billion to move a nation; ₦66.36 billion to move its rulers. One figure speaks to collective mobility, economic inclusion, and safety. The other speaks to privilege, status, and distance from the lived reality of poverty.
Governments are remembered less for rhetoric than for what they chose to fund. The Tinubu administration came to power promising “Renewed Hope.” Hope, however, cannot travel on unrepaired roads. It cannot commute across collapsed bridges. It cannot reach markets or schools without functioning transport systems. When a government allocates tens of billions to official vehicles while releasing a fraction to national transport infrastructure, it sends an unmistakable message about whose movement matters. Nigerians deserved roads. They received convoys.
The 2025 numbers are therefore not just fiscal data; they are a moral ledger. On one side stands ₦2.57 billion for transport—starved, delayed, insufficient. On the other stands ₦66.36 billion for official vehicles—swift, intact, protected. That ledger will shape how history judges the priorities of this administration. For millions navigating potholes, paying crushing fares, and burying loved ones lost on dangerous roads, the verdict is already clear.
Mohammed Bello Doka can be reached via [email protected]
Tags
Opinion