Something remarkable has just been announced in Singapore, and Nigerians ought to pay attention—not merely to marvel at the figures, but to understand what purposeful government looks like.
In his 2026 National Day Rally address, Singapore’s Prime Minister, Lawrence Wong, unveiled an extensive support package for Singaporean children and their families.
Under the new arrangement, an eligible Singaporean citizen child will receive a baby gift of S$10,000. Another S$5,000 will be placed in the child’s MediSave account to meet healthcare needs. The government will also make an initial S$5,000 deposit into a Child Development Account and match the parents’ savings dollar for dollar, up to an additional S$5,000.
The support does not end at birth.
From the age of one until 16, the child will receive annual credits of S$2,000—a total of S$32,000 over 16 years. At 17, another S$10,000 will be deposited into the child’s Post-Secondary Education Account. There will also be annual Edusave top-ups during primary and secondary school.
Altogether, the maximum government contribution amounts to approximately S$67,000 for each eligible child before the age of 18.
Converted into naira, that runs into tens of millions. But the real lesson is not in the currency conversion. It is in the thinking behind the policy.
This is not S$67,000 handed to parents in one envelope at the maternity ward. Some of it is paid gradually; some is reserved for healthcare and education; and the matching contribution requires parents to save before the government adds its share. In other words, it is not a political giveaway or an election-season palliative. It is a carefully designed social investment intended to accompany the child from birth through adolescence.
That distinction is important.
Purposeful government does not merely wait for citizens to become poor before distributing bags of rice to them. It anticipates their needs. It plans for the birth of the child, the health of the infant, the cost of childcare, the pressure on the family, the education of the adolescent and the transition into adulthood.
It builds a ladder before the citizen falls into a pit.
Singapore does not produce crude oil. It has no substantial domestic petroleum reserves to boast about. It imports the crude oil used by its refining and petrochemical industries. Yet, through competent leadership, disciplined planning, effective institutions and the prudent management of public resources, it has built one of the most prosperous societies in the world.
Nigeria, on the other hand, has produced oil for decades. We have natural gas, gold, limestone, bitumen, fertile soil, a youthful population and enormous human talent. Yet millions of our children are born into deprivation. Many receive inadequate medical attention at birth. Some cannot afford vaccinations or proper nutrition. Millions are out of school, while those who manage to attend often study in overcrowded classrooms without books, laboratories, electricity or competent teachers.
For many Nigerian families, the birth of a child is accompanied not only by joy but also by anxiety: hospital bills, food costs, school fees, rent and an uncertain future. The average family is largely on its own. Government appears briefly during elections, bearing food packages, small cash transfers and promises that disappear as soon as the votes are counted.
This is not to suggest that Nigeria can simply copy Singapore overnight or pay every newborn the naira equivalent of S$67,000. The two countries differ in population, size, history, economic structure and administrative capacity. But those differences should not become excuses for indifference.
Nigeria can decide that no woman should die while giving birth because she cannot pay a hospital bill. We can ensure that every child receives proper nutrition, primary healthcare and a decent basic education. We can establish child-development accounts for vulnerable families, provide reliable school meals, fund vocational training and create education savings programmes that follow children into adulthood.
We can do these things if we recognise that public money belongs to the public.
The Singaporean package tells its citizens: “Your child matters to the nation. His health matters. Her education matters. Your family’s stability matters. We will plan with you and invest alongside you.”
What message does the Nigerian state send to its own children?
Too often, the message is: survive if you can. Find your own school. Generate your own electricity. Provide your own water. Pay for your own security. Treat yourself when you fall ill. Find work for yourself—and, after doing all these, remember to pay your taxes.
Leadership is not measured by the size of convoys, the magnificence of government houses or the number of political appointees surrounding an officeholder. It is measured by the quality of life of the ordinary citizen and by the opportunities available to a child born without privilege or powerful connections.
A purposeful government does not regard citizens as a burden. It regards them as its greatest asset. It does not simply consume today’s revenue; it invests in tomorrow’s people.
That is the lesson from Singapore.
The question for us is not whether Nigeria has enough oil. It is whether Nigeria has enough vision, discipline, compassion and accountability to make its enormous resources work for its people.