It is another payday, but there’s no excitement. Just a feeling of despair. It feels like money is passing through you but never really stays with you.
This is a kind of poverty that does not always look like poverty. It doesn’t come with torn clothes, patched lips, an empty stomach that everyone can see, or sitting by the roadside begging for alms.
These days, poverty wears corporate outfits, carries a laptop bag, drives a car, lives in a decent apartment and shows up at work every morning with a smile.
It has a salary alert, pays bills, occasionally eats at a nice restaurant and might even take pictures at beautiful locations. From the outside, everything seems to be working. But behind the appearance of stability is a financial reality many working-class Nigerians would rather not discuss: they are earning, but they are barely surviving.
Welcome to the new face of poverty.
It is the poverty of the employed but financially exhausted. The poverty of people who have jobs, qualifications, responsibilities and regular income, yet struggle to afford the very things their employment is supposed to make accessible.
For many Nigerians, having a job is no longer a guarantee of financial security. It is simply a means of managing one crisis until another arrives.
The salary comes in, and before the average worker has time to appreciate it, it has already been divided. Rent is waiting. Electricity bills are waiting. Transportation is waiting. Food prices have no sympathy. School fees(for people with children), medical expenses, family obligations, debt repayments and other unexpected responsibilities are standing in line.
By the time all these obligations have taken their share, what remains is often insufficient to comfortably sustain the person until the next payday.
And then the cycle begins again.
One of the reasons this form of poverty is easily overlooked is that society has become accustomed to measuring people’s financial well-being by what they can see.
The Illusion of comfort.
What car do you drive? How do you dress? Where do you live? Which restaurants do you visit? What kind of phone do you use?
These things have gradually become social indicators of success, even though they tell us very little about a person’s actual financial condition.
Someone can wear expensive-looking clothes and still be struggling to afford three decent meals a day. Someone can own a smartphone worth hundreds of thousands of naira and have almost nothing left in their bank account. Someone can live in a beautiful apartment but be constantly worried about how to raise the next rent.
The truth is that appearances can be misleading.
Some people are maintaining a lifestyle they can no longer comfortably afford, not necessarily because they are extravagant, but because society has made it increasingly difficult to admit that things are not going well.
There is pressure to look successful, even when survival has become a daily negotiation.
For some, looking good is part of their professional image. For others, it is a way of preserving their dignity. Nobody wants to be treated as a failure simply because their finances are struggling.
So they smile, dress well, go to work and keep up appearances.
Nobody sees the calculations happening in their heads every time they enter a supermarket or receive a bill.
There was a time when having a stable job represented a certain level of security. You could reasonably expect that working hard, earning a regular income and managing your finances responsibly would allow you to meet your basic needs, save something and gradually improve your standard of living.
But, for many workers today, that expectation has become increasingly difficult to fulfil.
Imagine someone earning ₦300,000 monthly. On paper, that might sound like a reasonable income to someone who earns less. But consider the cost of accommodation, transportation, feeding, utilities, healthcare and family responsibilities.
Suddenly, that salary does not look so impressive.
The average Nigerian worker may spend a significant portion of their income simply getting to work and returning home. Another portion goes towards feeding. Rent, which may have taken months of saving to pay, hangs over their finances. Then there are relatives who need assistance, children who need school supplies and parents who depend on them.
What happens when the car breaks down? What happens when someone falls sick? What happens when the landlord increases the rent?
There is often no financial cushion to absorb these shocks.
This is the reality of people employed with regular income, yet, are financially vulnerable.
They are working, but their earnings are not translating into economic stability.
Perhaps one of the most painful aspects of this situation is the shame attached to financial struggles.
Imagine being a 35-year-old professional who cannot comfortably afford a medical check-up. Imagine having a good job but postponing dental treatment because you cannot justify the expense. Imagine attending a friend’s wedding and worrying about the cost of transportation, clothing and the expected financial contribution.
Imagine being hungry at work but deciding to wait until you get home because buying lunch would affect the money you have carefully set aside for something else.
These experiences are more common than many people realise.
Some working-class Nigerians have become experts at making excuses. They decline invitations because they cannot afford them. They postpone purchases because the money has already been allocated elsewhere. They avoid social gatherings because they do not want to explain why they cannot contribute financially.
Some have stopped visiting friends and family because every visit seems to come with an expectation to spend money.
Others have mastered the art of saying, “I’m fine,” when what they really mean is, “I’m trying to hold things together.”
Financial struggles are not always loud. Sometimes, they manifest in anxiety, sleepless nights, irritability, withdrawal and the constant fear of an unexpected expense.
And because these people are employed, society often assumes they should be doing fine.
In Nigeria today, financial responsibility often extends beyond the individual.
For many working-class people, earning an income means becoming responsible for parents, siblings, extended family members, children and sometimes relatives who are unemployed.
There is an unspoken expectation that once you secure a job, you have automatically become financially available to others.
You may be struggling to pay your own rent, but someone needs help with school fees. You may be trying to clear a debt, but a family member needs money for hospital bills. You may be planning to save, but there is always another emergency.
The difficult part is that these responsibilities are not necessarily unreasonable. They are often genuine needs involving people you love.
But what happens when the person everyone depends on is also struggling?
Who takes care of the breadwinner when the breadwinner can barely take care of themselves?
This is one of the most overlooked dimensions of working-class poverty: people who are financially stretched but cannot afford to stop being generous, responsible or dependable.
They carry obligations that their income can no longer comfortably support.
Another reality behind the new face of poverty is the growing dependence on borrowing.
Some people are using loans, salary advances, credit purchases and money borrowed from friends to maintain their daily lives.
They borrow to pay rent, repay previous loans, settle medical bills or handle emergencies. Some borrow simply to make it to the next payday.
The danger is that borrowing can create an illusion of financial stability.
A person may appear to be living comfortably, but a significant portion of their future income already belongs to creditors.
The salary arrives, loan repayments begin, and the available balance becomes even smaller.
It is a vicious cycle.
And while borrowing is sometimes necessary, a life in which every month begins with outstanding financial obligations is hardly a life of financial freedom.
Poverty is not only about what a person cannot afford. It is also about what constant financial pressure does to their emotional well-being.
It can affect relationships, self-esteem, decision-making and personal ambitions.
Couples argue over money. Parents feel guilty when they cannot provide certain opportunities for their children. Young professionals feel inadequate when they compare their progress with that of their peers. People postpone marriage, starting families, further education and personal projects because they cannot afford the financial commitment.
Some people are not living the lives they imagined when they started working. They are simply trying to avoid falling further behind.
There is also the exhaustion that comes from constantly calculating.
Can I afford this? Will I have enough until payday? Should I pay this bill now or postpone it? What happens if another emergency comes up?
Imagine having to make these calculations every single day.
Financial stress can rob people of the ability to enjoy what they have because they are constantly worried about what they might lose.
And perhaps that is one of the cruelest things about this new face of poverty: even when people have something, they are too anxious about losing it to enjoy it fully.
Employment is no longer Financial Security
Having a job is important, but employment alone should not be used as proof that someone is financially comfortable.
A person’s salary should ideally provide more than the ability to remain alive until the next payday. It should offer room for basic needs, savings, healthcare, emergencies and some quality of life.
When someone works full-time and still cannot comfortably afford food, housing, transportation and healthcare, we need to look beyond individual spending habits.
We need to ask questions about wages, inflation, the rising cost of living, housing affordability, economic opportunities and the purchasing power of ordinary workers.
Yes, financial discipline matters. Budgeting matters. Living within one’s means matters.
But personal financial discipline cannot magically make an inadequate income sufficient. You cannot budget your way out of every economic problem.
There is a difference between living beyond your means and earning too little to meet reasonable basic needs.
We must be careful not to turn every financial struggle into a lecture about poor money management.
Perhaps it is time to rethink how we define poverty and financial success.
Not everyone who looks comfortable is comfortable. Not everyone who has a job is financially secure. Not everyone who appears successful has money left after meeting their obligations.
Some of the people we admire for their lifestyle are quietly struggling to maintain it. Some of the colleagues who seem to have everything under control are one unexpected bill away from financial distress.
The person wearing the designer outfit may be struggling with rent. The colleague driving to work may be servicing a loan. The neighbour who travels occasionally may have sacrificed savings to afford that experience.
We should not assume that people are financially comfortable simply because they do not look poor.
And perhaps we should create a society where people do not have to hide their financial struggles to preserve their dignity.
This new face of poverty is not found in crowded slums or among people visibly begging for assistance. These days, it sits in an office, attends meetings, pays taxes, meets deadlines and collects a salary every month.
It is the teacher who cannot afford the school fees of their own child. The civil servant who borrows before payday. The journalist who works hard but struggles to maintain a decent standard of living. The nurse who cares for patients but cannot comfortably afford healthcare for their family. The young professional who earns a salary but has no meaningful savings.
These are people who are participating in the economy but are not necessarily benefiting from it.
They are not lazy. They are not necessarily irresponsible. Many are hardworking people doing everything they know how to do, yet struggling to make their income stretch far enough.
And that raises an uncomfortable but important question:
What does it really mean to be doing well in Nigeria today?
Is it having a job, or being able to live decently from the income that job provides?
Is it owning a car, or being able to maintain it without sacrificing your basic needs?
Is it looking successful, or actually having the financial freedom to make choices without fear?
Perhaps we need to stop celebrating the appearance of success and start paying attention to the reality of people’s lives.
Not everyone who looks comfortable is comfortable. And not everyone who is struggling looks poor.
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