By Funke Babs Kufeji
There’s a moment at every Nigerian party that everyone waits for — the one where music, joy, and chaos collide. The DJ drops a banger, the celebrant makes their grand entrance, and someone reaches into their pocket, eyes gleaming with mischief. The first few naira notes fly, then another handful follows. Before long, the dance floor turns into a money storm. The crowd cheers. Phones flash. And for a few glittering minutes, it feels like anything is possible under that rain of naira.
It’s beautiful, it’s dramatic — and it’s very Nigerian. But in a country where spraying money has become both a symbol of joy and a punishable offence, one can’t help but wonder: is this culture of celebration slowly tipping into excess?
The Heart of the Tradition
Long before Instagram, naira guns, and camera flashes, spraying was a simple gesture of love and community. In Yoruba culture, it symbolised blessing and prosperity. Among the Igbo, it was a mark of honour — a way to show support and pride in someone’s success.
When a bride danced and guests showered her in money, it was more than a display — it was a prayer in motion. The money, often gathered by friends and family, wasn’t about extravagance; it was about sharing in the joy of another. Over time, it became the heartbeat of celebration across tribes and occasions. Whether it was a naming ceremony, a birthday, or even a funeral, spraying was how Nigerians said, “We see you, we celebrate you.”
From Tradition to Performance
But as with everything in the age of social media, what started as sincerity soon turned into spectacle.
Now, the spraying moment isn’t spontaneous — it’s choreographed. DJs build it up, photographers hover, and planners pencil in “money rain” on the programme. Guests no longer spray in quiet joy; they spray in slow motion for Instagram Stories. Bundles of cash are flung with precision, sometimes accompanied by foreign currency for effect.
In some circles, it’s no longer about why you spray but how much you spray. And if you don’t? People notice. Because in the new Nigerian social playbook, not spraying — especially if you’re “somebody” — can almost feel like disrespect.
When the Party Meets the Law
However, this act of joy is technically a crime.
Under Section 21 of the Central Bank of Nigeria Act (2007), “spraying, throwing, or dancing on the naira” is classified as currency abuse. The punishment? Up to six months in prison or a fine. The CBN argues that defacing money disrespects the nation’s currency — and they’ve started enforcing it. In 2024, socialite Bobrisky was sentenced to six months in prison for spraying naira at a party — no fine, no warning. Around the same time, E-Money and other celebrities were questioned after videos of them spraying naira and dollars went viral. Even in Kano, a makeup artist and a TikTok influencer were jailed for doing the same at their weddings. The government’s message was loud and clear: it’s time to stop turning the naira into party décor.
Nigerians, Being Nigerians…
Except, of course, Nigerians aren’t known for backing down when it comes to celebration. If one door closes, they’ll spray through another.
Many have simply found creative workarounds. Some now spray foreign currency, insisting the law only applies to naira. Others use prop money — high-quality imitations printed purely for aesthetics. Some parties have even gone “cashless,” where guests drop envelopes in sleek money boxes or scan QR codes to “spray” digitally.
And then there are those who’ve evolved the gesture entirely, choosing to donate the sprayed cash to charity or community causes afterward — redefining abundance with a purpose.
One thing’s certain: Nigerians are not letting go of the naira rain. It’s too much a part of who we are — the rhythm, the colour, the energy. It’s not just about money; it’s about mood.
Between Pride and Pressure
Still, the conversation lingers. What happens when celebration becomes competition? When generosity turns into performance?
For some, spraying is cultural pride. A way to express joy without restraint. For others, it’s a symptom of social pressure, a silent contest of who can outshine who. And in a country grappling with inflation and economic disparity, the optics can be hard to ignore — cash flying at parties while many struggle to afford essentials.
But this is Nigeria, a nation that knows how to dance even in the rain — especially when it’s raining money.
So maybe the question isn’t whether spraying should stop, but what it really represents today. For some, it’s still love made visible. For others, it’s showmanship turned art. Either way, the naira will keep falling — from joy, from pride, from habit — as we keep celebrating ourselves the only way we know how: loudly, lavishly, and without apology.
