In this context, the recent fiscal reports from organizations like BudgIT present a confounding picture. They celebrate Zamfara as a leader in fiscal improvement, boasting an astronomical 240.22% growth in Internally Generated Revenue (IGR) from ₦6.51 billion in 2022 to ₦22.16 billion in 2023, with further growth to ₦25.46 billion in 2024. The state is lauded for reducing its dependence on federal allocation, with IGR now constituting 10.31% of total revenue.
This is the narrative of a government touting prudent management and economic renaissance. Yet, for the civil servant receiving a salary that fails to meet the national minimum wage, for the farmer who cannot access his land, and for the trader whose market is closed, this "fiscal improvement" feels like a cruel mirage. The disconnect between the government's celebrated balance sheets and the people's debilitating balance of suffering forms the heart of a profound and troubling crisis.
This crisis is most starkly embodied in the government’s spending priorities. While households survive on near-zero income and the state fails to implement the full ₦70,000 minimum wage—a critical injection for the local economy—the administration has chosen to focus its resources on an aggressive and extraordinarily expensive road construction campaign.
The figures are not merely high; they are stratospheric, defying both national benchmarks and global standards. Reports indicate that Zamfara is awarding road contracts at a cost of approximately ₦2.57 billion per kilometer. To contextualize this, typical road construction costs in Nigeria range from ₦400 million to ₦1 billion per kilometer, depending on complexity and terrain. The Zamfara price tag is therefore two to six times the upper limit of the national norm. This is not marginal overspending; it is a fundamental distortion of public procurement and value for money.
The rationalization for such exorbitant costs remains opaque. The government may cite terrain difficulties or superior specifications, but the sheer scale of the premium invites intense scrutiny and skepticism. A simple comparative analysis reveals the staggering opportunity cost of this approach. Consider a hypothetical 6-kilometer road. At the reported rate of ₦2.57 billion/km, the total cost balloons to ₦15.42 billion. If the same project were awarded at a more conventional, yet still robust, rate of ₦400 million per kilometer, the cost would be ₦2.4 billion.
Even at a premium rate of ₦1 billion per kilometer, the cost would be ₦6 billion. The differential, ranging from ₦9.42 billion to ₦13.02 billion for just one 6km stretch, represents wealth of transformative potential that is being diverted. This is money that could fund agricultural input subsidies for thousands of farmers, establish secure, localized markets, provide grants for small and medium enterprises, and significantly boost social welfare programs aimed directly at poverty alleviation. Instead, it is being poured into asphalt at a rate that suggests not just inefficiency, but a systemic failure of fiduciary duty.
This spending pattern transcends poor judgment; it morphs into what can only be described as an institutionalization of corruption and a fundamental breach of public trust. When a government operates in a state with extreme poverty and security challenges, its primary moral and economic imperative must be the immediate alleviation of human suffering. The circulatory system of Zamfara’s economy is broken.
The highest percentage of monthly FAAC allocation circulates through the labour market when civil servants receive their salaries. When these salaries are suppressed and the populace is too impoverished or insecure to engage in productive activity, the entire market economy seizes up. No amount of beautifully constructed roads can revive an economy where the people have no purchasing power, no goods to transport, and no security to travel. Prioritizing astronomically priced infrastructure over human capital and immediate economic relief is to put the cart before a horse that is not only missing but starving.
The argument that infrastructure development is a long-term strategy for growth is valid, but it is not absolute. It must be balanced with urgent, life-saving interventions. In Zamfara’s case, the imbalance is catastrophic. The government’s focus seems to be on tangible, ribbon-cutting achievements—concrete and asphalt that can be photographed and showcased—while the intangible, deepening misery of its citizens is ignored. This creates a perverse reality where the state is "fiscally improving" by collecting more revenue while simultaneously presiding over the economic immiseration of its people.
The revenue growth, partly fueled by VAT redistributed from more productive states (Zamfara receives over 500% of what it contributes), becomes not a tool for development, but a pool of resources to be channeled into questionable contracts. It is a cycle that enriches a few while impoverishing the many, using the veneer of development to mask the pillaging of public funds.
Therefore, this situation must not go unchallenged. The good and long-suffering citizens of Zamfara have a right and a responsibility to demand accountability. They must wake up and ask the hard questions: How are these contract costs determined? Who are the beneficiaries? Why is poverty alleviation not the paramount, overriding budget line item in a state with such dire needs?
Concerned citizens, community leaders, traditional rulers, civil society organizations, and the media must unite to form a coalition for transparency. This is not merely about one overpriced road; it is about a governing philosophy that appears to value contracts over citizens and infrastructure over income. They must demand a re-ordering of priorities: a Marshall Plan for agriculture and security, a credible and funded poverty eradication strategy, and the immediate implementation of the national minimum wage to inject liquidity into the paralyzed local economy.
The path Zamfara is on is unsustainable. Building the most expensive roads in Nigeria through a landscape of hunger and fear is not an achievement; it is an indictment. True development is human-centered. It begins with ensuring people are safe, fed, and economically active. Until the government of Zamfara recognizes that its greatest infrastructure deficit is the crushing poverty of its people and directs its resources—especially those saved from equitable and transparent contracting—toward that end, the impressive IGR growth figures will remain a hollow echo in the vast, hungry silence of a state waiting for salvation. The time for polite inquiry is over; the time for concerted, peaceful, and persistent demand for a fundamental shift in priority is now. The soul of Zamfara depends on it.
