The Lagos State House of Assembly’s allocation of ₦6.2 billion to purchase 40 properties for its members, valued at ₦155 million each, has ignited widespread public anger and accusations of profound insensitivity as citizens grapple with severe economic hardship.
By Nij Martin
In a move that has starkly highlighted the chasm between Nigeria’s political class and its citizens, the Lagos State House of Assembly has allocated a staggering ₦6.2 billion in its 2025 budget to acquire 40 properties for its members. This translates to a ₦155 million house for each of the 40 lawmakers, a sum that represents a life-changing fortune for the average Lagosian barely surviving the country’s harsh economic realities. According to the state’s second-quarter budget performance report, ₦1 billion of this sum had already been spent by June, signaling a firm commitment to this controversial expenditure.
This allocation is not an anomaly but a recurring indulgence. In 2023, the Assembly spent ₦1.131 billion of a ₦1.22 billion allocation for the same purpose—a 92% performance rate. While the budget document is silent on whether these properties benefited the ninth Assembly members whose terms concluded that year, the pattern suggests a well-established tradition of self-enrichment. The legality of this practice is deeply uncertain. Nigeria’s 1999 Constitution, under Section 124(5), permits state assemblies to legislate pensions only for governors and their deputies, with no explicit provision for such lavish benefits for legislators.
The public reaction to this revelation has been a torrent of justified fury and disillusionment. Across social media and public discourse, Nigerians have expressed their outrage at what they perceive as a profound betrayal and “abuse of power at its peak.” The common sentiment is one of utter disbelief at the priorities of their leaders. As one citizen lamented, “₦155 million houses for lawmakers while we struggle to pay rent, feed our families, and survive inflation…” This sentiment echoes the daily struggle of millions for whom affordable housing is a distant dream.
The criticism extends beyond mere anger to a pointed critique of governance priorities. Many argue that such a colossal sum could revolutionize the state’s crumbling public infrastructure. One comment questioned, “I really think they should channel the money into other sectors of the economy. Education and health care are there and a whole lot is lacking.” This reflects a desperate need for investment in sectors that directly impact the welfare of the populace, rather than servicing the comfort of a privileged few.
The controversy also resurrects the ghost of previous clashes over political entitlements. In 2019, former Bayelsa Governor Seriake Dickson refused to assent to a similar “life pension” bill for lawmakers, correctly arguing that it overreached constitutional limits. More recently, states like Abia and Benue have taken steps to repeal generous pension laws for ex-governors. Even in Lagos, Governor Babajide Sanwo-Olu’s 2021 pledge to repeal the pension law for former governors and deputies resulted only in a 50% reduction, not abolition, after the Assembly intervened.
This episode has severely damaged public trust, reinforcing a cynical view of government as a vehicle for personal enrichment. The comment, “This is why Nigeria is a country no one takes serious,” captures the international embarrassment and domestic despair such actions foster. It underscores a painful truth: while lawmakers secure ₦155 million parting gifts, “ordinary Lagosians can’t even afford rent.” The allocation of ₦6.2 billion for lawmakers’ houses is more than a budget line; it is a symbol of a broken compact between the government and the governed, a painful reminder of the immense gap between those who rule and those who simply struggle to survive.