The Cost of Neglect: Nigeria’s Failing Education System and Its Consequences

Rianat Ademola

Last year, the issue came with the voice of a militant: a sudden hike in school fees that sent a wave of panic across the University of Ibadan. There was no room for compromise, and it was quite true. Students dropped their placards when Aluta songs ceased to be melodic, succumbing hurriedly to carry their individual crosses. This year, the same visitor has returned without regard for the burden it adds to already strained students. Unlike last year’s protests, which led to a three-week shutdown, this time the response has been met with silence, disbelief, and an unenthusiastic attitude; neither the students nor the UI Students’ Union have dared to tell management that they cannot afford the frivolous lifestyle imposed by this visitor.

The education system has vanished into the sands of time. Chinua Achebe, when narrating the inspiration behind his famous book “Things Fall Apart“, wrote that it was meant to help his society regain belief in itself and chart a path towards real change. He said this two years before Nigeria’s independence, when the “things” falling apart were the culture, power, and values of African societies under colonial rule.

Today, something as vital as education is falling apart in Nigeria’s democratic state. Education is one of the core principles of governance. That was what the nationalists imagined. That was the Nigeria they fought for, with their voices and their lives. But the present is not what they envisioned. Students no longer believe in education’s promise of posterity. Sixty-seven years after independence, things remain far apart. Students are lost. Last year, several students dropped out of university because they could not afford the fees. Yet again, this session, the sequel is about to unfold.

Back when Nigerian nationalists fought to reclaim their land, it was a farewell to sanctuary. According to The Punch, Nigeria spends just $23 per person on education as of 2024. Imagine—what can that possibly fix? Certainly not the broken windows or the sorry state of seats in lecture theatres. This highlights the harsh truth about Nigeria’s education system today. A country that does not invest in education is like watching through a cracked lens; it will inevitably see the other side of things. So, we ask: what can this allocation really do for the ailing state of education?

Chinua Achebe further reveals the other side of the truth about colonisation in his book “The Education of the British-Protected Child.” He once described education in his generation as a bright future—a job, a salary, and hope. This is both hair-raising and bone-chilling because what was once a golden ticket is now unrelatable. Thanks to this skewed telling of history, we were told of stipends students were entitled to and the free lunches they once received. But we missed this—whether to call it luck or ill-luck. What we inherited were relics, old photographs, and dusty memories.

It reminds us that the broken chairs and relics of our facilities had once seen better days. We know this only through the rose-tinted glasses of history. But as a country, is it not retrogressive when the past is better than the present?

We speak of colonisers and independence but refuse to confront our own failures. Education under colonialism promised a path forward. Today, it barely knows its essence. Yet we continue to romanticise the past while ignoring the fire burning in our present.

Who Will Teach Us to Lead Ourselves?

Now that the good state of the education system can be traced to the past, can we stop telling tales by moonlight and focus on the present? Can we stop being mesmerised by the past? We complain endlessly—and rightly so. The incessant hikes in school fees amid this tight-hearted economy. The uncertainty of life after school ticks alarmingly in students’ hearts. Under a dying lamp, a student reads—disturbed not only by the dim light but by the fate of his academic journey, as reality presses deep into his chest. It is no exaggeration to say that we are fed up with our leaders. But then what? Should we beg our colonial masters to return?

No. Colonialism was exploitative, brutal, unjust, and vile. There are two hands stretched out. One belongs to a stranger who takes your rights and imposes his ways. The other belongs to a close relative who beckons—but has no respect for logic, law, or life. The sad truth is that the second wears our language and eats our food.

And yet, the answer is clear.