By Abdulrauf Aliyu
The din of clattering plates and muffled conversations once marked the evening respite in many Nigerian households, where the dinner table was not merely a place for eating but a sanctuary of togetherness, laughter, and, sometimes, spirited debate. But today, as families gather, the conversations are laced with a new kind of disquiet. Words of worry about spiraling prices, eroding wages, and the shrinking portions of food replace the convivial banter. Under the shadow of a burgeoning economic crisis, a sinister pair of forces have crept into the heart of Nigerian life: skimflation and shrinkflation.
These twin economic phenomena, though not new in the global context, have assumed a particularly pernicious form in Nigeria’s current landscape. Skimflation, where the quality of goods and services deteriorates while prices remain the same, and shrinkflation, where the quantity of a product is reduced but sold at the same price, have become daily realities for many Nigerians. This deterioration at the dinner table, however, is not merely an unfortunate consequence of bad luck or a passing phase; it is the direct result of a series of economic policies and reforms championed by President Bola Tinubu since his ascent to power, policies that have, in their wake, deepened poverty, widened inequality, and brought the average Nigerian household to its knees.
Tinubu’s administration, in its bid to implement pro-growth economic reforms, embarked on aggressive measures that, while theoretically sound in economic circles, have had devastating impacts on the daily lives of ordinary Nigerians. Central to these reforms was the devaluation of the naira, ostensibly to attract foreign investment and correct the country’s perennial balance of payment issues. But the immediate effect of this devaluation was to ignite an inferno of inflation, driving up the cost of imported goods, fuel, and raw materials. In a country heavily reliant on imports, this set off a chain reaction that has touched every corner of the economy, but nowhere more acutely than at the dinner table.
Inflation, already a perennial issue in Nigeria, has spiraled to new heights under Tinubu’s watch. Basic foodstuffs such as rice, beans, and yams have seen price increases that defy logic, leaving even the most prudent of households scrambling to adjust their budgets. But inflation is a broad stroke; its fine brushstrokes are skimflation and shrinkflation, phenomena that insidiously undermine the consumer’s purchasing power while camouflaging the true extent of economic decay.
Consider, for instance, the humble loaf of bread—a staple in many Nigerian homes. What was once a generous, fluffy loaf that filled stomachs now arrives on the table shrunken, its slices thinner, its texture more brittle. The price tag remains the same, but the product has been diminished. This is shrinkflation in action. The same pattern can be observed in other essential goods: soap bars that dissolve faster, bottles of cooking oil that are slyly reduced from a liter to 900 milliliters, and detergent packs that hold less powder. The result is a painful recalibration of expectations and necessities; families are forced to make difficult choices, cutting back on even the most basic items as their money stretches ever thinner.
Skimflation, meanwhile, wears a different mask but is no less damaging. The quality of goods and services has plummeted. Restaurants that once served hearty, nutritious meals now skimp on ingredients, watering down soups, and reducing the portions of meat or fish in a dish. Transport services have deteriorated, with vehicles that are poorly maintained, overcrowded, and unsafe. Public services, already under strain, have seen further degradation, with hospitals and schools struggling to maintain even the most basic standards. All the while, the nominal prices of these goods and services have not fallen—if anything, they have increased, compounding the sense of betrayal and despair felt by many Nigerians.
This erosion of quality and quantity is not a mere economic abstraction; it has real, tangible effects on the lives of millions. For the average Nigerian family, it means a daily struggle to provide not just enough food, but food that is nutritious and sufficient for their children. Malnutrition, once largely confined to the rural poor, is now creeping into urban areas as well, with children in cities showing signs of stunted growth and cognitive impairment due to poor diet. The social fabric, too, is fraying as households are forced to make untenable choices between feeding their families and other essential needs like healthcare and education.
The roots of this crisis are deeply entwined with the policies pursued by Tinubu’s administration, which, in its zeal to liberalize the economy, has often disregarded the immediate welfare of the populace. The removal of fuel subsidies, for instance, while hailed by economists as a necessary step to curtail wasteful spending, has been disastrous for the average Nigerian. Transportation costs have soared, further driving up the cost of goods and services. Businesses, already struggling with high operating costs, have passed these increases onto consumers, leading to a vicious cycle of inflation and poverty that is proving difficult to break.
Worse still, the promise of job creation and economic growth that was supposed to follow these reforms has not materialized for the majority of Nigerians. Instead, the gap between the rich and the poor has widened to a chasm. The wealthy, with their access to foreign currencies and assets, have managed to weather the storm, often even benefiting from the devaluation through increased export revenues or by hedging their wealth in more stable currencies. The poor, however, have been left to bear the brunt of the economic fallout, with their wages eroded by inflation and their purchasing power decimated by the double scourge of skimflation and shrinkflation.
In many ways, the dinner table has become a microcosm of the broader Nigerian economy—a place where the inequalities and inefficiencies of the system are laid bare. What was once a place of nourishment and family bonding is now a battleground, where parents must fight to provide enough for their children and where every meal is a reminder of the country’s deepening crisis. The psychological toll of this cannot be overstated. The despair of not being able to provide adequately for one’s family, the frustration of seeing wages stagnate while prices rise, and the daily humiliation of being shortchanged by a system that no longer seems to care—all of these are part of the lived experience of millions of Nigerians today.
It is easy to get lost in the abstract language of economics, to talk of devaluation and inflation as though they are mere numbers on a page. But for the Nigerian people, these are not abstract concepts; they are the lived reality of everyday life. The dinner table, once a symbol of domestic security and comfort, has become a site of anxiety and uncertainty. And as skimflation and shrinkflation continue to gnaw away at the quality and quantity of goods, the very fabric of Nigerian society is at risk of unraveling.
What is needed now is not more of the same austerity measures and pro-growth rhetoric, but a genuine commitment to addressing the immediate needs of the people. This means rethinking policies that prioritize macroeconomic stability over human welfare and finding ways to cushion the most vulnerable from the shocks of the global economy. It means holding businesses accountable for the ways they exploit economic crises to maximize profits at the expense of consumers. And it means recognizing that the strength of a nation is not measured by its GDP alone, but by the well-being of its citizens.
As the dinner table continues to shrink, both literally and metaphorically, it serves as a stark reminder that economic reforms cannot be judged solely by the metrics of growth and investment. They must also be judged by their impact on the everyday lives of the people. And by that measure, it is clear that something has gone deeply wrong in Nigeria. It is time to confront these issues head-on, before the dinner table—and everything it represents—is irreparably lost.
