Why Your Savings Account Is Quietly Robbing You – And How to Fight Back

[justseyi]

Ramat still remembers the day she opened her first savings account. She was 22, fresh out of NYSC, and her auntie marched her to the bank with ₦50,000 wrapped in a black nylon. “This is how you build wealth,” the woman declared. “Put it away and watch it grow.”

Ten years later, Ramat laughs at the memory. That ₦50,000 is still there—technically. The balance reads the same. But the Ankara blouse it could buy in 2015 now costs triple. The money didn’t grow. It shrank, quietly, while she slept.

“I don’t have up to ₦100,000 in my savings account,” she says now, sipping tea in her Victoria Island office. “But the MTN shares I bought six months ago? They’ve already doubled what I put in.”

Ramat is an accountant with a portfolio that would make most bankers blush. And her gospel is simple: the worst thing you can do with your money is save it.

The Rainy Day That Never Stops Raining
In Nigerian homes, we’re raised on piggy banks and “keep something aside.” But today’s Nigeria doesn’t reward patience—it punishes it. Inflation is a thief in a suit, slipping into your account every month and walking out with your purchasing power.

That ₦100,000 you’re proud of? Next month, it won’t buy the same tomatoes. The bank isn’t holding your money—they’re lending it out, earning interest on your cash while paying you crumbs. You’re not saving. You’re subsidizing their profits.

And let’s be honest: most “savings” aren’t sacred. There’s always a reason to touch it. Your friend’s “emergency.” The asoebi you must attend. The wig sale that ends at midnight. Before you know it, you’re withdrawing and replacing the same ₦20,000, like a hamster on a wheel.

Emergency Fund vs. Everything Else
Ramat draws a hard line.

“An emergency fund is different,” she says. “That’s three months of expenses—rent, feeding, transport—locked away for when life actually breaks. Build it slowly. ₦10,000 a month. But the rest? That money needs to work.”

Leave it dormant, and inflation eats it alive. Move it, and it starts eating for you.

₦1,000 Can Change the Game
You don’t need millions to start. Ramat began with ₦5,000 in a money market fund. Then ₦10,000 in MTN shares. Then ₦20,000 in a real estate REIT.

“I don’t save to buy land in Ikoyi,” she says. “That’s ₦200 million. I save to buy shares in the company building Ikoyi.”

Apps like Cowrywise, Bamboo, and Piggyvest let you start with ₦1,000. Turn on auto-invest. Watch compound interest—interest on your interest—do the heavy lifting.

“Reinvest your profits,” Ramat advises. “Don’t let them hit your Opay balance. That’s where good intentions go to die.”

Risk Isn’t Gambling—If You’re Smart
Yes, stocks can crash. Ramat winces remembering the day she almost bought Netflix. “Their report looked strong. Then Brazil happened. Stock dropped 80% overnight.”

But smart risk isn’t random. Before she buys:

She checks the stock price on Nairametrics or Bloomberg.
She reads the company’s financials—revenue growth, debt, profit margins.
She watches economic news. Is the sector rising? Is the naira stable?
And she never puts all her eggs in one basket. “Diversify,” she says. “Tech. Real estate. Consumer goods. If one falls, the others catch you.”

The Professional Edge
Can’t decode balance sheets? Hire help. A wealth manager costs ₦50,000–₦200,000 yearly, but many offer free consultations. Or join investment communities on Twitter and WhatsApp—vetted ones, not “guaranteed 100% returns” scams.

The New Nigerian Money Rule
Save for emergencies. Invest the rest.

Your piggy bank was cute at 10. At 30, it’s a liability.

Ramat closes her laptop and smiles. “My money doesn’t sleep. Neither should yours.”

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