For over a decade, the Cabotage Vessel Financing Fund (CVFF) has been the talk of the maritime sector—a supposed lifeline for indigenous shipowners that has, in reality, become a myth woven into the fabric of bureaucratic storytelling. Successive Director-Generals of the Nigerian Maritime Administration and Safety Agency (NIMASA) came with big promises of unlocking the much-hyped fund, only to leave office with those promises gathering dust.
The CVFF was established to promote the growth of Nigeria’s shipping industry. Instead, it became a legendary pot of gold that everyone spoke about but no one could access. From one DG to another, the pattern was the same: press conferences, committee inaugurations, endless assurances, yet not a single kobo disbursed. The hope kept shipowners tied to a dream that was never intended to come true.
Some Director-Generals quietly saw their tenure as an opportunity to grab their own share of “the national cake” rather than drive the industry’s true growth. Meetings were held, policies were drafted, communiqués were issued—all sounding good on paper but ultimately empty in action. While shipowners waited for the promised lifeline, the administrators moved on to greener pastures, their tenures defined by ceremonies rather than substance.
At different points, federal ministries and even the National Assembly weighed in, promising that the CVFF disbursement was “closer than ever.” But year after year, it became painfully clear that “closer” was an illusion—an unending circle of bureaucratic excuses, shifting blame, and political gamesmanship.
“Who is deceiving who?” became the silent question echoing across the maritime corridors. Those who knew the system understood that the disbursement was never really meant to happen in the first place; it was a convenient campaign song to score points with stakeholders, to maintain relevance, or to extend influence.
Today, many of the original shipowners who lobbied and waited for the CVFF are either out of business or have moved on. Some have even passed away, their dreams of fleet expansion buried with them. Newer players in the sector treat the CVFF promise with well-earned skepticism, viewing it as just another government ghost story.
The sad truth remains: Unless radical transparency and true industry commitment are injected into the process, the CVFF will remain a beautiful idea doomed to the graveyard of unrealized policies. It serves as a cautionary tale of how ambition without accountability turns hope into heartbreak—and how in the corridors of power, some promises are only made to be broken.
Until then, the CVFF disbursement is just another chapter in the Nigerian story of “much talk, no action
“Every time a new DG comes in, we hear the same story: ‘The CVFF will be disbursed soon.’ But for us, it’s a broken record. What we need isn’t more promises, it’s action. The CVFF could have transformed the entire maritime sector, but instead, it’s just become another tool for political games. We’ve been waiting for so long, yet all we have are empty words.”
— A frustrated shipowner, 2023
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