● Gross Violation of Procurement Laws: When Consultants Become Kings, the People Pay the Price
● Like Emefiele, Like Cardoso: Exorbitant Consultancy Fees Ignite Fury At CBN
There is a peculiar silence that often precedes the eruption of a storm. At the Central Bank of Nigeria (CBN), that silence has been punctured by hushed whispers, clenched jaws, and the seething grumbles of senior staff who feel dispossessed of their authority. The walls of the apex bank have become unwilling witnesses to what many insiders describe as an unparalleled breach of due process—an anomaly that reeks of privilege, opacity, and financial impunity.
At the heart of this unfolding scandal is a trio of consultants, particularly two women, whose presence within the CBN has morphed from quiet advisory roles to near-sovereign dominance. Their names are now spoken in derision, their salaries whispered with incredulity, their powers likened to those of de facto deputy governors. They are, in the parlance of aggrieved staff, ‘Cardoso’s Women’—a term dripping with both mockery and resentment. …CONTINUE READING
The story of these consultants is one that encapsulates the broader dysfunction within Nigeria’s financial governance system: a tale of unchecked authority, excessive remuneration, and an absolute disregard for statutory hiring procedures. More than that, it is an allegory of what happens when institutions built on structure and hierarchy are upended by patronage and personal discretion.
To fully grasp the depth of this controversy, one must begin where all outrage does—in the numbers. According to multiple sources within the CBN, one of the consultants, Nkiru Balonwu, earns a staggering N50 million per month. Another, Daphne Dafinone, receives N35 million monthly. In a nation where minimum wage languishes at N30,000 per month, these figures are not just excessive; they are obscene.
For context, a director at the CBN, an individual who has likely spent decades navigating the labyrinth of the financial sector, earns below N3 million per month. Ms. Balonwu’s salary alone dwarfs the combined earnings of 15 directors, while Ms. Dafinone’s surpasses that of 10 directors combined. Even the governor of the bank, under whose authority these appointments were made, takes home less than these consultants who wield extraordinary influence but whose actual deliverables remain ambiguous at best. If numbers could talk, these ones would scream.
The problem, however, extends beyond their salaries. These consultants, brought in under the directive of Governor Olayemi Cardoso, have entrenched themselves in the very fabric of the CBN’s decision-making process. Their presence is not merely advisory; it is authoritative. They occupy plush offices on the eleventh floor—directly alongside the governor—while the institution’s four deputy governors, individuals constitutionally mandated to oversee the bank’s operations, have their offices relegated to the tenth floor. In a place where hierarchy is sacrosanct, this spatial symbolism is not lost on anyone.
More troubling, perhaps, is the manner in which these consultants exert influence. They are said to write memos on official CBN letterheads. They issue directives. They bypass senior officials. They are consultants in name but executives in practice, answering to no one but Governor Cardoso himself.
Many senior directors and some deputy governors of the bank have expressed worries about the likelihood of the CBN suffering a relapse to the vulturine standards and perversion of due process emblematic of the disgraceful era of former CBN governor, Godwin Emefiele. One senior director, clearly exasperated, put it bluntly that they have no end dates to their consultancies. They are, for all intents and purposes, permanent fixtures.
More worrisome is the gross violation of procurement laws. Nigeria’s Public Procurement Act of 2007 is unequivocal about how consultants should be hired in public institutions. The law mandates a transparent and competitive process, requiring agencies to advertise consultancy positions in at least two national newspapers and the official procurement journal. Applicants must undergo a rigorous screening process, ensuring that only the most qualified candidates—those whose expertise is indispensable—are selected.
None of these steps were followed in the appointment of the so-called ‘Cardoso Women.’ Their hiring was arbitrary, their salaries astronomical, and their roles undefined. There was no public advertisement, no clear terms of reference, no measurable deliverables, and certainly no structured timeline for their engagements.
If due process was a bridge, this was an unrestrained leap over it.
For the seasoned professionals within the CBN, this development is nothing short of a coup—a silent, insidious takeover of an institution by individuals whose presence is neither merited nor wanted. The resentment among career staff is palpable. Directors, deputy directors, and department heads—many of whom have spent decades climbing the institutional ladder—find themselves sidelined by consultants with no official designations yet wielding more power than they do.
A senior official, speaking under anonymity, captured the sentiment succinctly: “These women are doing nothing. They are not adding any value to the bank. The governor is just enriching them because they are his friends. There are 29 experienced directors, 170 deputy directors, and over 400 PhD holders in CBN. There is no need to domicile consultants in the bank.”
The greatest insult, staff say, is the justification offered for these appointments. Ms. Balonwu, for instance, was hired as a corporate communications consultant—even though the CBN already boasts a well-staffed corporate communications department led by a director. Ms. Dafinone’s role is even murkier, as she appears to handle tasks assigned at the governor’s discretion, including overseeing a controversial early exit program that would see at least 1,000 staff members voluntarily retired.
The implications of this scandal extend far beyond the walls of the CBN. At stake is the credibility of Nigeria’s apex bank—an institution whose integrity is paramount to investor confidence, monetary stability, and economic growth. When due process is discarded in favour of patronage when regulatory safeguards are bypassed with impunity, the very foundation upon which financial institutions rest begins to erode.
Already, murmurs of dissent are rising in political and financial circles. Legal experts question the legitimacy of these appointments. Civil society groups decry the profligate spending in a country grappling with economic hardship. And within the bank itself, there is a growing sense of disillusionment—a feeling that meritocracy has been sacrificed at the altar of favouritism.
The questions now linger: Will these consultants be shown the door? Will the governor be held accountable for flouting procurement laws? Or will this scandal, like many before it, fade into the background, another footnote in Nigeria’s long history of institutional impunity?
Only time will tell. But if history is any guide, justice—if it comes at all—will be slow, reluctant, and incomplete.
There is an old Nigerian proverb that says: “No matter how tall a building is, if its foundation is weak, it will collapse.” The CBN, an institution meant to be the bastion of financial discipline, has found itself teetering on the precipice of reputational collapse.
The story of ‘Cardoso’s Women’ is not just about consultants and salaries. It is about a larger, more insidious problem—the corrosion of due process, the weaponization of privilege, and the slow but steady dismantling of institutional integrity.
The gilt corridor of the CBN, where decisions worth billions are made, has now become the stage for a morality tale: one that warns of what happens when power is wielded without accountability.
In the end, the question is simple: will the CBN restore order, or will it become yet another relic of a system where rules are made only to be broken?
