Let’s not mince words. The “generational reset” of Nigeria’s tax regime, which I wrote about last week, is no longer just a theory debated in Abuja’s air-conditioned rooms or a headline for the “Africa rising” brigade. It has landed, with a thud, in my mailbox. It arrived not as a policy brief but as a terse letter from my landlord’s agent informing me that my upcoming rent renewal includes a mandatory 10% withholding tax. The reason cited? “In line with the new tax policy.”
Therein lies the first, gritty reality of this grand gamble: monumental confusion.
The letter stated that the tax applies to rents of ₦2 million or more. My immediate question, and one I’ve seen echoed in panicked group chats and on social media, was: is this for commercial properties only, or does it bludgeon residential tenants too? The notice offered no clarification, just an account number and a deadline.
I have scoured the Nigeria Tax Act 2025, read interpretations by various experts, and found conflicting answers. Some said it targeted corporate payers; others insisted the threshold triggered it regardless. The government’s own public education campaign on the matter has been, to put it charitably, a ghost story, as elusive as the social contract it is ostensibly trying to repair.
This is where a beautiful theory collides with the battered pavement of Nigerian life. I have a decent relationship with my landlord. Over the years, he has rented his property to me; he has never been unreasonably greedy. The additional charge is clearly beyond him; he is merely passing on a cost he believes, or has been told, is now legally obligatory. The villain here isn’t an individual seeking profit, but a system that creates friction and obscurity. We are now trapped in a chain of confusion: a government creates a rule, a landlord’s agent interprets it (possibly incorrectly), and the tenant is left to foot the bill and solve the puzzle.
This is taxation by Chinese whisper.
This single example encapsulates the broader, more dangerous flaw in the reform’s rollout: a catastrophic failure to educate and clarify. The state is asking for more money from a middle class that it sees as an ATM, from businesses, and now from tenants, but has invested little in explaining the what, the why, and the how.
When you spring a new cost on people already calculating how to survive inflation in a country where the state fails to deliver light, roads, or security, you don’t get compliance; you get resentment, evasion, and a deepening of the trust deficit.
The confusion is not benign. It has a direct, inflationary effect on the cost of living. That 10% will not be absorbed; it will be passed down. For residential tenants, it is a sudden hike in the second most significant personal expense after food (SBM Intelligence research shows that the most significant after food is airtime, but that is a discussion for another day). For businesses, ambiguous rules around tax stamps or e-invoicing create compliance nightmares that “could erode the gains of the Nigeria Tax Act 2025,” per the Manufacturers Association of Nigeria.
This uncertainty is a tax on productivity itself as it forces individuals and businesses to spend time and resources seeking clarity or risking penalties, rather than doing actual work. A functioning business environment, the very thing this tax reform is supposed to foster, cannot be built on a foundation of ambiguity. Clarity is not a luxury; it is the bedrock of trust and compliance. You cannot ask people to buy into a “post-aid Nigeria” where we pay for our own schools and hospitals if you cannot first plainly tell them the rules of the new system.
The Tinubu administration has passed the law. The hard work starts now. That work is not just collecting revenue; it’s communicating, educating, and simplifying until the woman in Uselu Market and the tenant in Magodo understand not just what they owe, but what they are supposed to get in return. My rent letter is a microcosm of the gamble. The state has asked me to pay up. But until it can clearly explain why this charge is there and where it is going, it feels less like a collective investment and more like another withdrawal from a bottomless pit. We are all still checking our pockets.
Nwanze is a partner at SBM Intelligence
