Health
Living on less: How Nigerian families are redefining survival
The first question is no longer, “What do we need?” It is, “What can we afford today?” Across Nigeria, that simple calculation now shapes millions of households as inflation steadily outpaces incomes. Families are buying less food, postponing dreams, taking second jobs and leaning on faith and community to survive one of the country’s toughest economic periods in recent years. Behind the statistics are ordinary Nigerians making extraordinary sacrifices to keep their families afloat, EFECHA GOLD reports
The morning sun had barely risen over Okpanam Market in Delta State when Prophetess Blessing Obi arranged baskets of fresh tomatoes on her wooden stall. The fruits looked ripe and inviting, but unlike years ago, customers no longer hurried toward them.
Instead, many paused, asked for the price, sighed softly and walked away.
A basket of tomatoes that once sold for a fraction of today’s price now costs between N20,000 and N30,000, depending on the season. For many households, even the smallest quantity—about N2,000 worth—is all they can afford.
From behind her stall, Blessing has become more than a trader. Each day, she witnesses Nigeria’s economic hardship reflected in the faces of her customers.
“Almost everything has increased,” she said. “The way people buy food has completely changed. Before, people bought enough for their families. Now they buy only what they can afford for that day.”
Her experience is echoed in homes and markets across the country.
As food, transportation, rent and electricity costs continue to climb, millions of Nigerian families are rewriting their household budgets, abandoning old dreams and making painful sacrifices simply to get by. For many, life has become less about living comfortably and more about surviving one day at a time.
For Kenneth Obieh, a civil servant in Delta State, every month begins with careful calculations.
Even before his salary arrives, he already knows where every naira will go: food, rent, transportation, school expenses, medical bills, support for his widowed mother and his younger brother’s university education.
By the time every obligation is accounted for, almost nothing is left.
“What we spend on food today is far more than what we spent two years ago,” he said.
“My salary alone cannot meet my family’s needs anymore. If not for additional sources of income and careful planning, things would have been extremely difficult.”
Like many Nigerians, Kenneth hoped the recent salary increase for workers would provide some relief. Instead, inflation quickly erased the gains.
“The salary increase was good, but prices rose even faster. At the end of the day, we are simply surviving by God’s grace,” he said.
His family’s shopping habits have changed dramatically. Rather than buying food every week, they purchase rice in bulk through their cooperative society whenever possible. They also stock up on onions and other staples whenever prices appear relatively stable.
The thinking is simple: buy today because tomorrow may cost more. Even that strategy has its limits.
One sacrifice, in particular, still weighs heavily on Kenneth. He can no longer afford private lesson teachers for his children.
“Previously, I paid teachers to help them after school. Now I teach them myself,” he said quietly.
Each evening, despite returning home exhausted from work, he sits with his children, guiding them through mathematics, English and other schoolwork in preparation for their examinations.
It is more than a way to save money.
It is his way of ensuring that hardship does not rob them of their future.
Even entertainment has become a luxury.
The family’s GOtv subscription has been downgraded to the cheapest package available.
“We only keep it because of the news and educational programmes,” Kenneth explained.
What was once considered a luxury is now carefully weighed as a necessity.
Across town, Patrick Mgbodo is confronting the same economic realities.
Before he got married, he imagined gradually building a comfortable life for his wife and the family they hoped to raise. Those dreams have not faded—they have simply become harder to pursue.
“My dreams are still alive. What has changed is the strategy,” Patrick said.
Today, a significant portion of his income goes to rent. Transportation costs continue to rise, fuel prices remain high, and running a generator is no longer a decision families make without careful thought. Even a simple outing now requires a conversation about whether it can fit into the budget.
Perhaps the biggest change, Patrick said, is how he and his wife approach their finances.
Every expense is scrutinised. Every purchase is discussed. Every decision is made together.
“Marriage is a partnership,” he said. “We sit together and discuss everything—feeding, rent, transport, savings. One hand cannot wash itself clean.”
While Patrick worries about providing for his young family, Doris faces an even tougher reality.
A single mother and casual staff member at a federal ministry in Asaba, she tries to make a monthly budget of about N150,000 stretch across her family’s needs. But each month, rising prices upend even the most careful plans.
Food becomes more expensive, transport fares rise, rent becomes more affordable, and unexpected expenses emerge.
“The biggest challenges are feeding and rent. They take almost everything,” Doris said.
Her child has gradually adapted to the family’s new reality.
There are fewer treats, fewer impulse purchases and more lessons in patience.
“The best I can do is continue going to work every day so I can provide for us,” she said.
Still, moments of kindness sometimes offer a lifeline.
She recalled occasions when her supervisor called her after work and offered financial assistance.
“It may be N10,000,” she said with a smile. To some people, it may not be much, but to me, it means a lot. It reminds me that there are still people who care,” she said.
Like Kenneth, Doris has discovered that surviving in today’s Nigeria often depends not only on income but also on the kindness of others.
For Kenneth, however, financial pressure extends beyond his immediate household.
As the eldest son, much of the family’s responsibility rests on his shoulders. His father is late, leaving him as the primary source of support for his widowed mother and younger brother, who is still at university.
There was a time when he regularly sent money to both his mother and his mother-in-law.
Not anymore.
“The hardest decision I have made was reducing the money I send home. My sisters now help with some responsibilities because I simply cannot carry everything alone,” he admitted.
Medical bills have become another source of anxiety. What once required little thought now demands weeks of planning. School fees are approached the same way.
Nothing happens spontaneously anymore. Every expense is planned, every priority weighed, while every naira has an assignment.
For Kenneth, financial pressure has become a constant companion. Yet he refuses to surrender to despair.
Instead, he clings to the belief that tomorrow can still be better.
That hope, he said, is what keeps him going.
It is the same quiet resilience found in markets, offices, classrooms and homes across Nigeria, where families are learning to stretch shrinking incomes, parents are making impossible choices between equally important needs, and dreams are being postponed—but not abandoned.
While the economic crisis affects every generation, perhaps no group feels its uncertainty more acutely than young Nigerians preparing for a future they can no longer predict.
By the time Gabriel finishes his lectures at Delta State Polytechnic, Ogwashi-Uku, his day is far from over.
While some classmates return to their hostels to rest or study, the National Diploma student heads to a dry-cleaning shop, where he works part-time.
The money he earns is not for comfort.
It is for survival.
Transportation alone can cost as much as N1,500 a day, depending on his movements.
“I don’t receive a fixed allowance from my parents. When I first gained admission, things were manageable, but as prices kept increasing, I realised I had to find something to do,” he said.
Buying clothes has become a luxury he can no longer justify.
“Before, I could buy clothes occasionally. Now, whatever money I have goes into transport, books, and school materials,” he said.
Like many young Nigerians, he has also found it increasingly difficult to ask relatives for help.
He recalled sending a message to an uncle, exchanging greetings and asking after the family, before explaining his financial situation.
“The conversation ended immediately after I mentioned money,” he said. “I don’t like asking people for help anymore.”
Even calling his parents makes him uncomfortable because he knows they are already struggling to keep him in school.
Several kilometres away in Asaba, Gloria, a 300-level Criminology student at Dennis Osadebay University, has also adjusted to the country’s economic realities.
Instead of buying prepared meals, she now cooks most of her food herself.
“I didn’t really enjoy cooking before. But buying food regularly has become too expensive,” she said with a smile.
She avoids asking her parents for extra money unless it is necessary.
Her greatest fear is not hunger.
It is graduating without good grades, or worse, graduating into unemployment.
“My father graduated with a Second Class degree. I want to make him proud. But beyond that, I worry about what happens after school. Many graduates don’t have jobs,” she said.
That anxiety is becoming increasingly common among young Nigerians.
For many students, graduation is no longer viewed as the beginning of financial independence but as the start of another uncertain chapter.
Dr. Matthias Ovire, Head of the Department of Sociology and Criminology/Security Studies at Dennis Osadebay University, said the economic crisis is reshaping not only household finances but also family relationships and social values.
“The pressure on Nigerian families today is enormous. What may appear like a reasonable household income is often no longer enough once you consider food, transportation, school fees, rent, healthcare and other basic expenses,” he said.
According to him, prolonged financial hardship inevitably creates tension within households.
Parents become more frustrated. Couples argue more often and children absorb the emotional strain.
“The family is usually the first institution to experience the effects of an economic crisis. When parents are constantly worried about money, it affects communication, relationships and even the emotional well-being of the children,” he said.
He also warned that economic hardship is pushing some young people toward choices they might never have considered under different circumstances.
“Economic pressure pushes some people into decisions they never imagined making. We are seeing increasing cases of exploitation and transactional relationships because survival has become the priority,” he said.
The desire to leave Nigeria has also grown stronger.
“In many classrooms today, students openly talk about relocating abroad immediately after graduation,” Ovire said.
He described the growing migration aspirations as a reflection of the economic realities confronting many young Nigerians.
Professor Augustine Monye-Emina, an economist at Dennis Osadebay University, believes the greatest challenge facing households is not necessarily how they spend money, but how little remains after paying for life’s necessities.
“Housing, transportation, and food continue to consume most household income. The pattern of spending has not changed significantly. What has changed is the cost of meeting those needs,” he said.
According to him, low-income families are bearing the heaviest burden. Many now skip meals, reduce portion sizes or replace nutritious foods with cheaper alternatives.
“These are coping strategies. But they are not sustainable,” he said.
He warned that prolonged economic hardship could have lasting consequences for nutrition, health and productivity.
“People are surviving. But many are not truly living,” he said.
Back at Okpanam Market, Prophetess Blessing Obi witnesses those realities every day from behind her tomato stall.
She watches customers count every naira before making a purchase. She sees mothers quietly remove items from their shopping baskets after calculating the total cost. She hears fathers apologise to their children for buying less than they had hoped.
“The hardship is obvious,” she said. “People who used to buy plenty now buy very little.”
Still, she refuses to lose hope.
“I cannot give up,” she said. “This business feeds my family.”
Her determination reflects a quiet resilience shared by millions of Nigerians.
Across the country, families continue to adapt. Some now grow vegetables in small spaces behind their homes. Others buy food in bulk whenever prices fall slightly. Many have abandoned non-essential spending, taken on second jobs, or learned new skills to supplement their income.
Every strategy is driven by one pressing question: “How do we survive another month?”
For Kenneth, the answer lies in faith, discipline, and careful planning.
He believes that while today’s reality is painful, tomorrow still holds possibilities.
“We cannot stop believing.If we manage our resources wisely and continue working hard, better days will come,” he said.
Patrick shares that optimism.
To him, financial stability is no longer about becoming wealthy.
“It simply means reaching a point where you no longer worry about basic needs,” he said. “It means sleeping peacefully without wondering how tomorrow’s meals will come.”
For Doris, simply getting through each day has become an achievement.
She wakes up every morning, goes to work and returns home determined to provide for her child.
Some days are harder than others but she keeps going.
“Life is difficult,” she said quietly. “But we have no choice except to keep going.”
As dusk settles over homes across Nigeria, parents quietly calculate tomorrow’s expenses. Children complete their homework under rechargeable lamps as they wait for electricity to return. Market traders prepare for another uncertain day of business. Civil servants wait for salaries that disappear almost as soon as they arrive. Students study, hoping education will eventually unlock opportunities that seem increasingly out of reach.
The hardship is real, the sacrifices are painful and the uncertainty is exhausting.
Yet, amid rising prices and shrinking incomes, one thing has endured: hope.
It lives in the father who now teaches his children after work because he can no longer afford a private tutor.
It lives in the student who works long hours yet refuses to give up on graduation.
It lives in the single mother who finds strength in unexpected acts of kindness.
And it lives in the trader who returns to her stall each morning, arranging baskets of tomatoes in the belief that tomorrow’s customers may bring better news than today’s.
As another day ends at Okpanam Market, Blessing packs away the tomatoes that remain unsold. Before sunrise, she will return to arrange them once again and wait for customers whose needs have not changed — only their means.
Across Nigeria, millions of families will wake to another day of impossible calculations, stretching every naira and postponing yet another dream. Their resilience has become routine, their sacrifices almost invisible.
For now, that quiet determination may be the country’s most valuable resource—one that inflation, however relentless, has yet to take away.
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