Nigeria’s Tax Reforms and the Diaspora, by Boniface Ihiasota

For Nigerians living abroad, tax policy at home has often felt distant, until the recent overhaul of Nigeria’s tax framework brought it sharply into focus. The passage of the Nigeria Tax Act, which took effect from January 1, 2026, triggered anxiety across diaspora communities, fuelled largely by fears that earnings abroad or personal remittances would now attract Nigerian tax. A closer reading of the reforms, however, shows that Nigeria is not charting a radical or punitive course against its diaspora. Instead, it is aligning more closely with internationally accepted principles of taxation based on residency and income source.

At the heart of the reform is a clearer definition of tax residency. Under the new framework, individuals who spend 183 days or more within Nigeria over a 12-month period, or who maintain a permanent home or substantial economic ties in the country, are considered tax residents. Only such residents are liable to tax on their worldwide income. Nigerians who live and work abroad and do not meet these conditions remain non-residents and are taxable in Nigeria only on income sourced within the country. This distinction is critical because it dispels the widespread notion that citizenship alone now triggers tax liability.

The Federal Government, through the Presidential Fiscal Policy and Tax Reforms Committee, has repeatedly clarified that income earned abroad by non-resident Nigerians is not subject to Nigerian tax, even when such income is remitted home. Remittances sent to family members for upkeep, education, healthcare or personal support are not classified as taxable income. This position is particularly significant given that Nigeria received an estimated $20.5 billion in diaspora remittances in 2023, according to World Bank data, making it one of Africa’s largest recipients. Taxing such flows would not only have been impractical but economically counterproductive.

When viewed in a global context, Nigeria’s approach is far from unusual. Most countries operate either a residence-based or source-based tax system. In the United Kingdom, for instance, non-residents are taxed only on UK-sourced income, such as rental income from property located in Britain. Canada applies similar rules, taxing non-residents only on income earned within Canada, while residents are taxed on worldwide income. China also follows a residency threshold of 183 days, beyond which global income becomes taxable. Nigeria’s reforms fit squarely within this international pattern.

Only a handful of countries take a different approach. The United States is the most prominent example, taxing citizens on their worldwide income regardless of where they live. U.S. citizens abroad are required to file annual tax returns and comply with foreign account reporting rules, though credits and exclusions exist to mitigate double taxation. Eritrea operates a similar system, levying a two per cent diaspora tax on its citizens overseas. Nigeria has explicitly rejected this model, opting instead for a system that balances revenue generation with global mobility and fairness.

Where tax obligations do arise for Nigerians in the diaspora is in relation to Nigerian-sourced income. Rental income from property in Abuja or Lagos, dividends from Nigerian companies, or profits from businesses operating within Nigeria remain taxable, regardless of where the individual resides. In many cases, such taxes are collected through withholding mechanisms and treated as final, reducing administrative burdens on non-residents. This is consistent with global practice and reflects the principle that income should be taxed where economic value is created.

The reforms also strengthen Nigeria’s use of Double Taxation Agreements, which the country has signed with several nations including the United Kingdom, Canada, China and South Africa. These treaties are designed to prevent the same income from being taxed twice and to provide clarity on taxing rights between countries. For Nigerians abroad who may still qualify as tax residents due to time spent at home or strong economic ties, these agreements offer essential safeguards.

Beyond individual taxation, the reforms signal a broader shift in Nigeria’s fiscal strategy. By simplifying tax laws, adjusting personal income tax thresholds and expanding digital compliance systems, the government aims to widen the tax net without placing undue pressure on vulnerable groups or discouraging diaspora engagement. For Nigerians abroad, this clarity matters. Many invest in property, startups and family enterprises back home, and uncertainty around taxation has long been a deterrent.

Ultimately, the significance of Nigeria’s tax reforms for the diaspora lies not in new burdens, but in clearer rules. They reaffirm that Nigerians abroad are not taxed simply for being Nigerian, nor for supporting families at home. Instead, tax obligations are tied to presence, economic activity and income source, in line with global norms. For a country whose diaspora plays a vital role in economic stability and development, this alignment is not just sensible policy, but a necessary reassurance.

The Electoral Act and the Crisis of Electoral Confidence, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman

Nigeria’s electoral laws have always mirrored the country’s uneasy relationship with democracy itself: hopeful in intention, fragile in execution, and controversial in outcome.

From the annulled June 12, 1993 election to the disputed polls of 2003, 2007, 2019 and, more recently, 2023, electoral legislation has remained both a tool of reform and a battlefield of political interest. The Electoral Act 2022, currently at the centre of renewed controversy, was enacted to correct decades of systemic flaws, but its implementation and the subsequent attempts to amend it have reopened old wounds about trust, transparency and the true commitment of Nigeria’s political elite to credible elections.

The Electoral Act 2022 replaced the Electoral Act 2010 (as amended), which had governed Nigeria’s elections for over a decade. The 2010 Act was widely criticised for being outdated in the face of evolving electoral manipulation techniques, weak in enforcing penalties for offences, and largely silent on the use of modern technology.

Between 1999 and 2019, election tribunals nullified hundreds of election results across all levels of government, presenting how deeply flawed the process had become. According to data from the National Judicial Council, more than 40 per cent of governorship elections conducted between 1999 and 2015 ended up in court, with several overturned. This pattern exposed the limits of electoral administration under existing laws and created an urgent demand for reform.

Against this background, the Electoral Act 2022 was introduced as a reformist statute designed to restore confidence in Nigeria’s electoral process. It introduced innovations such as the legal backing for electronic accreditation of voters through the Bimodal Voter Accreditation System (BVAS), the possibility of electronic transmission of results, stricter timelines for party primaries, clearer campaign finance limits, and stiffer penalties for certain electoral offences. For the first time, Nigerian electoral law appeared to acknowledge that technology could serve as a bulwark against manipulation rather than a threat to sovereignty.

Yet, even at birth, the Act was controversial. Section 84, which barred political appointees from voting or being voted for at party primaries unless they resigned their appointments, generated intense legal and political resistance. While reform advocates argued that it would curb abuse of state power during primaries, opponents saw it as discriminatory. The provision was eventually nullified by the courts, making a recurring weakness in Nigeria’s electoral reform efforts: ambitious laws that collide with entrenched political interests and constitutional ambiguities.

The controversy surrounding the Act deepened after the 2023 general elections. Although BVAS significantly reduced incidents of over-voting, with INEC reporting that accreditation figures matched votes cast in most polling units, the failure to consistently upload polling-unit results to the INEC Result Viewing Portal in real time ignited nationwide outrage. INEC blamed technical glitches and connectivity challenges, but many Nigerians interpreted the delay as evidence that old habits had merely adapted to new tools. According to observer reports by the European Union Election Observation Mission, while BVAS improved transparency at the polling unit level, the collation process remained vulnerable to manipulation, particularly where results were moved physically without immediate electronic verification.

It is within this climate of suspicion that the National Assembly’s recent attempts to amend the Electoral Act have drawn fierce public scrutiny. Central to the controversy is the issue of electronic transmission of results. The Act currently empowers INEC to determine the manner in which results are transmitted, a provision that reformers argue is too discretionary. Civil society organisations, opposition parties and segments of the electorate insist that mandatory electronic transmission from polling units should be explicitly stated in the law to eliminate human interference during collation. Their argument is rooted in history: most electoral fraud in Nigeria has occurred not at the polling unit, where party agents and observers are present, but during result collation at ward, local government and state levels.

Supporters of legislative discretion counter this argument by pointing to Nigeria’s uneven infrastructure. They note that, according to the Nigerian Communications Commission, broadband penetration stood at 43.71% as at December 2023,, with significant disparities between urban and rural areas. From this perspective, making electronic transmission mandatory without addressing connectivity and power supply challenges could disenfranchise voters in remote communities. This disparity between ideal reform and practical constraints lies at the heart of the Electoral Act debate.

Beyond technology, the Act also touches on the persistent problem of electoral offences. Vote-buying, ballot snatching and voter intimidation have become entrenched features of Nigeria’s elections. During the 2023 elections, Yiaga Africa documented widespread vote trading across several states, with prices reportedly ranging from ₦2,000 to ₦10,000 per vote. The Electoral Act prescribes fines and prison terms for such offences, yet enforcement remains weak. Nigeria has recorded very few convictions for electoral crimes since 1999, a fact acknowledged by INEC itself.

The implications of these legal controversies for future elections, particularly the 2027 general elections, are profound. Electoral credibility is not built on election day alone; it depends on clarity and stability of the legal framework long before ballots are printed. INEC is required by law to release its election timetable at least 360 days before a general election. Persistent uncertainty about the final shape of the Electoral Act complicates planning, procurement and training. It also increases the likelihood of pre-election litigation, which has already become a defining feature of Nigerian politics.

In the 2023 election cycle, INEC recorded over 1,200 pre-election cases, many of which stemmed from ambiguities in party primaries and candidate selection rules.

Public trust is another casualty of the ongoing controversy. Voter turnout in Nigeria has been declining steadily, dropping from about 69 per cent in 2003 to roughly 27 per cent in 2023, according to INEC figures. This decline reflects growing voter apathy driven by the perception that votes do not count. When electoral laws appear malleable or subject to political bargaining, they reinforce cynicism and disengagement. For a country where over 60 per cent of the population is under 30, sustaining such distrust poses long-term risks to democratic stability.

Still, it would be unfair to dismiss the Electoral Act 2022 as a failure. The Act represents the most comprehensive attempt at electoral reform Nigeria has undertaken since 1999. The legal recognition of technology in voter accreditation marked a decisive break from the past, and the reduction in over-voting during the 2023 elections is a measurable achievement.

The clearer timelines for party primaries and candidate nominations have also improved internal party discipline, even if enforcement remains inconsistent. Compared to elections conducted under the 2010 Act, the 2022 framework has narrowed some avenues for manipulation, even as it exposed others.

The negative side, however, lies in what the Act leaves unresolved. Ambiguity in critical areas creates room for discretion, and discretion in Nigeria’s electoral history has rarely favoured transparency. The absence of decisive enforcement mechanisms for electoral offences undermines deterrence. The tendency to amend election laws close to election seasons fuels suspicion that reforms are driven by immediate political calculations rather than long-term democratic consolidation.

Nigeria’s electoral journey is ultimately a reflection of its broader governance challenges. Laws alone cannot guarantee credible elections, but weak laws almost certainly guarantee flawed ones. The controversy surrounding the Electoral Act is therefore less about technical clauses and more about political will. Countries such as Ghana and Kenya, which have faced similar challenges, have shown that sustained reform, backed by enforcement and civic education, can gradually rebuild trust. Ghana’s consistent improvement in election credibility since 2000, for instance, has been supported by clear electoral rules and visible consequences for violations.

As Nigeria looks ahead to future elections, the Electoral Act remains a pivotal instrument. Whether it becomes a foundation for democratic consolidation or another missed opportunity depends on how sincerely it is implemented, clarified and respected.

Electoral reform is not an event but a process, and Nigeria is still very much in the middle of that process. What is at stake is not just the outcome of the next election, but the credibility of the democratic project itself. In that sense, the controversy over the Electoral Act is not a distraction from Nigeria’s democratic journey; it is the journey, unfolding in real time, with all its contradictions, hopes and unresolved questions.

Examining Nigeria’s Health System and Preventable Deaths, by Alabidun Shuaib AbdulRahman 

My last week’s column, ‘The Agony of a Columnist,’ was written from a place I never expected to occupy. It was not an attempt at catharsis, nor was it designed to elicit sympathy. It was simply an account of what happened when a citizen encountered the Nigerian healthcare system at its most critical moment and found it wanting. The death of my eight-month-old daughter occurred within a public hospital that, on paper, appeared functional. What followed exposed a gap between appearance and capacity that deserves closer scrutiny rather than sentiment.

This week’s column is broader. It is about structure, policy, and outcomes. It is about what the data says and what lived experience confirms about the state of healthcare delivery in Nigeria, a system that reflects not only underperformance but failure at its most consequential moments.

Considering another recent case that captured national attention, that of Ifunanya Lucy Nwangene, a 25-year-old Abuja-based singer who was bitten by a cobra in her home. She sought emergency care immediately, moving from one health facility to another, and struggled to obtain antivenom and appropriate treatment before it was too late.

Accounts vary on the specifics, but the tragedy is indisputable. Her death, amid circumstances that could have been preventable, echoes the avoidable loss of my own child and reflects the same systemic weaknesses that place ordinary citizens at risk every day. Reports indicate that approximately half of Nigerian hospitals lack the capacity to manage snakebite cases effectively and that nearly all facilities experience difficulties in administering antivenom, the only treatment recognized by the World Health Organization for venomous bites. Such deficits in treatment capacity, emergency response, essential medicines, and clinical training are not anomalies; they are the predictable outcome of chronic systemic weakness.

Nigeria’s healthcare system is structured across primary, secondary, and tertiary levels. According to the latest facility registry data, there are roughly thirty-eight thousand six hundred forty-five operational health facilities nationwide, a figure that includes both public and private establishments, translating to approximately eleven facilities per one hundred thousand people in a population exceeding two hundred and twenty million. Primary care facilities account for nearly eighty-eight per cent of all facilities, secondary care roughly twelve per cent, and tertiary facilities less than one per cent.

On paper, the distribution seems extensive, but quantity does not equal quality or functionality. The majority of primary healthcare centers, which form the first line of defence, are unable to deliver essential services consistently due to shortages of trained personnel, drugs, water, power, and equipment. Only about twenty per cent of primary facilities are considered fully functional, leaving millions of Nigerians dependent on emergency care that is often delayed or unavailable.

Health outcomes are determined by human resources as much as infrastructure, yet Nigeria’s health workforce is severely strained. The doctor-to-population ratio remains well below the World Health Organization’s recommended threshold of one doctor per six hundred people, with practical estimates ranging from one doctor per four thousand to one per five thousand citizens, and some areas experiencing ratios as low as one per nine thousand eight hundred.

Nurses and midwives are similarly scarce and unevenly distributed, favoring urban centers over rural and peri-urban areas. Absenteeism and burnout are systemic risks exacerbated by poor remuneration, unsafe working conditions, and limited career progression. The migration of trained health professionals abroad not only represents a loss of public investment but reduces the system’s capacity to respond to emergencies, increasing the likelihood that predictable crises result in preventable deaths.

Funding is a primary driver of these gaps. Nigeria is a signatory to the 2001 Abuja Declaration, committing to allocate at least fifteen per cent of annual budgets to health, yet the highest allocation recorded in any year remains below six per cent. By comparison, global benchmarks suggest public health spending should constitute at least five per cent of GDP to achieve basic universal health coverage, while Nigeria currently allocates approximately half a per cent. Per capita health expenditure ranges between ten and fifteen US dollars annually, which is insufficient to ensure functional hospitals, reliable emergency response, or the availability of essential drugs and equipment.

The inadequacy of public funding shifts the burden to households. Out-of-pocket payments account for nearly seventy to seventy-five per cent of total health spending, meaning that patients and families finance care at the point of illness rather than through pooled systems. Less than ten per cent of Nigerians are covered by any functional health insurance, and coverage is largely limited to formal sector employment. As a result, families often delay care, ration treatment, or avoid facilities altogether until conditions deteriorate beyond recovery.

The human consequences of these systemic failures are evident in national health indicators. Nigeria continues to have one of the highest maternal mortality ratios in the world, exceeding eight hundred deaths per one hundred thousand live births, and accounts for approximately twenty per cent of global maternal deaths despite representing less than three per cent of the world population. Infant and under-five mortality remain high, with recent surveys showing roughly sixty-seven deaths per one thousand live births and one hundred and ten per one thousand respectively. Many of these deaths result not from rare or complex conditions but from the inability of the health system to provide timely, skilled intervention for preventable or manageable illnesses. Malaria, pneumonia, childbirth complications, and neonatal distress often escalate into fatalities that could have been avoided had emergency care been available, adequately staffed, and well-supplied.

Infrastructure alone does not solve the problem. Hospitals are renovated, equipment procured, and wards repainted, but functionality depends on staffing, reliable power, water, supply chains, and governance. Electricity supply is particularly critical, as hospitals depend on continuous power for monitoring, oxygen delivery, laboratory diagnostics, and refrigeration of vaccines and essential medicines. Yet many facilities rely on intermittent generators with uncertain fuel supply, leaving patients exposed to system failures that no renovation or new building can correct.

Primary healthcare centers, despite their numbers, are frequently unable to provide preventive and early intervention services, meaning that conditions that should be addressed at the community level escalate to secondary facilities that themselves are overstretched.

Accountability within the health system is diffuse. Budget allocations are announced, but utilization and outcomes are weakly monitored. Staffing requirements are often unmet, and enforcement is inconsistent. Failures rarely attract consequences proportional to their impact, leaving citizens, including vulnerable infants and young adults, to bear the cost. Hospitals are frequently evaluated on the wrong metrics, such as bed count or physical infrastructure, rather than whether care is actually delivered. Time-sensitive emergencies cannot wait for policy announcements or cosmetic compliance; delays and absenteeism in these circumstances are measured in lives lost.

Both my personal experience and the case of the young singer illustrate these realities. My daughter was taken to Suleja General Hospital where initial symptoms did not appear severe, yet she required urgent intervention. Medical review was delayed, oxygen was administered without a definitive diagnosis or treatment plan, and a requested transfer to another facility was not effected in time. In the singer’s case, urgent antivenom administration was critical to survival, yet the system’s gaps prevented timely care, and the result was fatal. These outcomes are not anomalies; they are predictable expressions of systemic failure.

Nigeria does not lack reform frameworks. Initiatives exist to revitalize primary healthcare, expand health insurance, and improve maternal and child health outcomes. Some interventions have produced measurable gains in targeted areas, but they remain uneven and insufficiently scaled, often undermined by governance failures and weak operational oversight. The result is a system that prioritizes form over function, presenting the appearance of readiness while leaving emergency response and routine care vulnerable to failure. The consequences are borne not by policy-makers or administrators, but by citizens whose lives hang in the balance.

The purpose of revisiting last week’s column is not to relive personal grief but to insist on institutional reflection. Every preventable death, whether of a child in a public hospital or a young adult succumbing to a snakebite or otherwise, represents a failure of policy, funding, and governance. Healthcare is not an area where delays, absenteeism, or cosmetic compliance can be absorbed without consequence. Systems either respond, or they fail. In Nigeria, the record shows repeated, predictable failures. Mortality data, budget analyses, facility assessments, and lived experience all converge to the same conclusion: when the health system is tested, it often cannot deliver.

The crisis is visible, documented, and persistent. Nigeria’s hospitals function intermittently, supply chains are fragile, essential medicines are inconsistently available, and health workers are overstretched. Until outcomes, rather than infrastructure announcements, become the primary measure of success, preventable deaths will continue.

Tragically, the cost is measured not only in statistics but in lives that could have been saved. My daughter’s loss was personal, and the death of Ifunanya Nwangene was public. Both expose the same reality: a healthcare system that cannot guarantee timely, competent response in emergencies is not merely underperforming; it is failing its most fundamental obligation.

The reality requires less rhetoric and more reform, less emphasis on appearances and more attention to function. Budget allocations must be credible and linked to measurable outcomes, staffing requirements must be enforced, essential medicines and equipment must be reliably supplied, and emergency systems must be consistently operational. Until these conditions are met, Nigeria will continue to produce tragic but predictable stories of lives lost to systemic weakness, and citizens will continue to confront a healthcare system that appears reassuring until it is tested at its most critical moments.