In Nigeria, no wedding, birthday, or high-society bash feels complete without the unmistakable flutter of naira notes raining down on a jubilant dance floor. It’s called “spraying,” and it’s as Nigerian as jollof rice. But in 2025, this flashy tradition has come under fire—not from party poopers, but from the government.
The Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC), armed with a 2007 law prohibiting the abuse and defacement of the naira, has launched a sweeping crackdown on partygoers and celebrities who engage in the age-old practice of spraying money at public events. In the past few weeks, Lagos has witnessed a flurry of arrests targeting socialites, entertainers, and influencers accused of spraying cash or, worse, stepping on banknotes as they dance.
To be clear, this isn’t just a war on wealth flaunting—it’s a legal campaign against what authorities describe as “currency mutilation.” The Central Bank of Nigeria has long maintained that the naira deserves more respect, citing concerns over soiled and damaged notes in circulation. And now, with inflation high and the economy strained, the optics of people spraying thousands of naira in revelry while others queue at ATMs have added urgency to the campaign.
But the law, dusty and largely ignored for nearly two decades, has sparked a cultural standoff. For many Nigerians, especially the Yoruba and Igbo communities where party culture is deeply rooted, spraying is more than ostentation—it’s a sign of joy, celebration, and support. It’s how guests say, “I see you. I honor you. And here’s a bit of cash for your effort.”
In response to the crackdown, some creative solutions have emerged. At recent events in Lagos and Abuja, attendees have been seen using fake naira notes that are indistinguishable from the real thing at a glance. Others have switched to placing their gifts in baskets passed quietly through the crowd. There are even apps now experimenting with digital “spray” features, letting guests send cash electronically with the sound of fluttering notes as a quirky touch.
Still, the question lingers: why now?
The EFCC insists that this is about the rule of law, not culture. Officials argue that turning a blind eye to spraying sets a dangerous precedent, especially when the same laws apply to street hawkers who accidentally deface a banknote. The commission also contends that such displays of wealth are often funded by shady means—from money laundering to online fraud—and that tighter enforcement is a deterrent against illicit wealth.
But critics aren’t buying it.
“If this is really about protecting the naira, why not go after the black-market money dealers? Why humiliate entertainers and dancers who just want to enjoy themselves?” asked one Lagos-based event planner. Others argue the enforcement is selective and disproportionately targets those in the public eye, especially social media influencers who post videos of parties online.
There’s also the fear that the crackdown could hurt industries that thrive on party culture. Event decorators, musicians, caterers, traditional drummers—all depend on lavish celebrations to survive. If guests become too nervous to express their happiness openly, will the soul of Nigerian parties be lost?
Some legal experts have weighed in, calling for reform rather than repression. They propose clearer guidelines—perhaps setting limits on how cash is handled at events rather than criminalizing an entire cultural expression. There’s also talk of updating the law to reflect a more modern reality, including options for digital gifts that keep the spirit of spraying alive without the physical cash.
In the meantime, the message from the authorities is clear: if you’re going to show love, do it discreetly—and keep your naira off the floor. Nigeria may still be a country that loves to party, but the rules of the dance floor are changing fast.
And for now, if you’re headed to an owambe, it might be wise to leave your spray gun at home—or at least switch it to “virtual mode.
