When Bola Ahmed Tinubu, then a presidential candidate, said in January 2023 that he would “convert Yahoo boys and make them useful by converting their talents and intellects to produce chips for industries,” the statement triggered outrage, mockery, and confusion. Some interpreted it as an endorsement of cybercrime. Others dismissed it as careless rhetoric. But stripped of emotion, the statement raises a serious policy question Nigeria has yet to answer honestly: can the Nigerian state offer legal economic alternatives that compete with the financial incentives of cybercrime?
Over two years into the Tinubu administration, the answer remains uncomfortable.
Nigeria has not suffered from a shortage of youth programmes. What it suffers from is a shortage of programmes that pay quickly, reliably, and at scale at levels that can rival the underground economy many young people are drawn to. This is the gap between intention and outcome that any serious discussion must confront.
To understand the problem, we must first be clear about what draws young Nigerians into internet fraud. The popular caricature of the “Yahoo boy” as merely lazy or morally bankrupt ignores the economic logic behind the choice. Cybercrime offers speed, liquidity, and visibility. Entry-level participants may earn in weeks what formal-sector workers struggle to make in months, years, decades. Mid-level actors can earn millions of naira monthly. Top-tier actors live conspicuously, reinforcing the perception that fraud is not only profitable but socially rewarding.
This is the financial reality against which government programmes must compete.
Since assuming office, the Tinubu administration has rolled out or expanded several youth-focused initiatives: the 3 Million Technical Talent (3MTT) programme, the Nigerian Youth Academy (NiYA), Technical and Vocational Education and Training (TVET) schemes with stipends, the National Directorate of Employment (NDE) initiatives, the National Jubilee Fellows Programme (NJFP) in partnership with United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), and the Youth Economic Intervention and De-Radicalization Programme (YEIDEP).
On paper, this ecosystem looks robust. In practice, its success is limited when measured by income outcomes.
Take 3MTT, often cited as the administration’s flagship youth skills initiative. The programme is well-designed, partners with credible institutions, and focuses on globally relevant digital skills such as software development, data analysis, cybersecurity, and artificial intelligence. It is also one of the few programmes with genuine long-term promise. However, promise is not the same as performance at scale. The pathway from training to stable, high-paying employment is slow. Even successful participants typically start with internships, junior roles, or freelance gigs paying modestly by global tech standards. These are respectable outcomes, but they do not rival the immediate financial pull of cybercrime.
A young person earning ₦300,000 to ₦700,000 monthly after months or years of skill-building is doing well—but still operates far below the income levels that motivate many to enter online fraud.
TVET programmes fare worse in this comparison. With stipends reportedly around ₦22,500 monthly, they are clearly designed as social support mechanisms rather than wealth-generation pathways. They help trainees survive during training, not transform their economic status. No serious observer would argue that such stipends can deter someone who believes they can make several hundred thousand naira from a single successful scam.
Even if every stipend were paid promptly, the numbers simply do not compete against yahoo yahoo.
The National Directorate of Employment, a long-standing institution predating the Tinubu administration, suffers from an even deeper problem: credibility. Many participants are unsure if and when stipends will be paid. The uncertainty alone undermines its attractiveness. People drawn to illicit income are not only chasing high rewards; they are also chasing predictability. A programme that cannot guarantee timely payments cannot compete with an underground economy that, while illegal, is perceived by participants as financially reliable.
YEIDEP deserves particular scrutiny because it was marketed as a game-changer. Unfortunately, this one is lost to endless postponements. With promises of grants ranging from ₦50,000 to ₦500,000 and massive nationwide registrations, expectations were high. Yet as 2025 draws to a close, public perception is dominated by delays, verification bottlenecks, and unmet timelines. Even if grants eventually reach beneficiaries, a one-off payment of ₦500,000 cannot match sustained monthly incomes running into millions. Worse, repeated delays erode trust. In economic behaviour, trust is currency. Once lost, it is difficult to regain. Official YEIDEP statements have acknowledged postponements and repeatedly cautioned applicants about misinformation and fraudulent actors claiming to be affiliated with the programme. While social-media posts allege dissatisfaction, there is no verified evidence that the core programme itself is a scam.
The National Jubilee Fellows Programme stands apart in that it is relatively successful within its niche. It offers structured work placements, mentorship, and stipends. But its niche is narrow: educated graduates who already possess social capital. It was never designed to engage the demographic most associated with cybercrime, nor does it promise rapid wealth accumulation. Its success does not translate into a solution for financially motivated youth crime.
The Nigerian Youth Academy, meanwhile, functions more as an exposure and orientation platform than a direct income pipeline. Leadership training and civic education have value, but they do not address the immediate economic calculus facing unemployed or underemployed youth. Moral appeals without material backing rarely change behaviour.
When these programmes are assessed honestly, a pattern emerges. They prioritize training over income, long-term potential over short-term survival, and participation metrics over measurable earnings. None are structured to produce fast, liquid, high-visibility income at scale. Yet these are precisely the attributes that make cybercrime attractive.
This is where Tinubu’s “convert Yahoo boys” statement collides with reality. Conversion is not primarily a moral process; it is an economic one. People exit lucrative illegal markets when legal alternatives become more attractive, not merely more virtuous. In countries that have successfully reduced organized crime participation, the state did not rely on training alone. It combined aggressive enforcement with credible economic substitutes—paid apprenticeships, guaranteed employment, and rapid income stabilization.
Nigeria’s current approach lacks this balance. Enforcement exists, but economic alternatives lag. Training exists, but monetization pathways are weak. Announcements are loud, but outcomes are quiet.
This does not mean the administration’s efforts are meaningless. It simply means they are incomplete. The absence of large-scale success stories, i.e., people who moved from government programmes into sustained incomes comparable to those of cybercriminal networks, is not due to individual failure. It is structural.
An honest position, therefore, is not that Tinubu was wrong to talk about conversion of yahoo boys, but that the state has not yet built the machinery to make conversion economically rational.
Dear President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, please take note:
You cannot out-train an economy that rewards crime faster than work. Until legal programmes offer speed, certainty, and visible upward mobility, they will remain moral statements rather than competitive alternatives.
Nigeria’s youth do not need more slogans. They need systems that pay, if the promise to redirect so-called Yahoo boys is to mean anything. If the goal is to redirect talent away from cybercrime, then training must be tightly linked to paid placements, living-wage stipends, rapid startup capital with transparent delivery, and clear market access. Anything less will continue to lose the economic argument, no matter how noble the intention.
In the end, the question is not whether young Nigerians can be trained. It is whether the country is willing to pay what it costs to keep talent on the right side of the law.
Until that question is answered honestly, the promise to “convert Yahoo boys” will remain an aspiration—well-meaning, but unrealised.
Disclaimer
This editorial is based on publicly available information, official programme descriptions, and reported outcomes. It does not accuse any institution or individual of wrongdoing, nor does it endorse or promote criminal activity. The analysis reflects economic outcomes and policy performance, not moral judgments.
