In Nigeria, education is almost sacred. From crowded city streets to sleepy rural lanes, parents stretch tight budgets to keep their children in school. Mothers whisper prayers over report cards. Fathers remind their children that books are ladders out of hardship. Students read late into the night, powered by hope, candlelight, and sometimes pure stubbornness.
We clearly love education. But love, on its own, is not enough. So the quiet question remains: what exactly are we learning?
Let’s be honest — Nigerians adore certificates. Frames on living-room walls, degrees listed proudly on CVs, titles that make aunties nod with approval at family gatherings. There is nothing wrong with achievement. The problem is when the paper matters more than the person holding it.
Too often, our system rewards memorising instead of thinking. Students prepare brilliantly for exams… and then feel completely lost outside the exam hall. Employers complain that many graduates struggle with simple workplace skills: clear communication, problem-solving, teamwork, even punctuality. One might joke that some graduates can define “entrepreneurship” perfectly — but panic when asked to actually start a small business.
Every year, universities release thousands of hopeful young people into the labour market. Yet many meet a stubborn reality: no jobs, or jobs that require skills they were never taught. If education is meant to open doors, why do so many graduates keep knocking?
Part of the trouble is relevance. The world is changing quickly — powered by technology, innovation, and new ways of working. Coding, digital literacy, green skills, and entrepreneurship are becoming basic survival tools. Meanwhile, some classrooms still feel frozen in another decade, complete with outdated notes and lecturers dictating from yellowing pages that look older than the students themselves.
Government reforms have tried to push things forward, and access to schooling has improved in many places. But familiar problems remain: overcrowded classrooms, tired teachers, weak funding, missing laboratories, silent libraries. It is hard to inspire curiosity when the science lab exists only in theory.
And education is not just about academics. A truly educated person should know how to think, how to treat others, and how to live responsibly in society. Qualities like empathy, integrity, respect, and cooperation rarely appear on exam timetables — yet they shape the kind of nation we become. We are producing test-takers when we should be nurturing thoughtful citizens.
Still, there is hope. Nigerians’ deep respect for education is a powerful starting point. Imagine what could happen if we shifted focus from certificates to competence, from memorising to understanding, from schooling to real learning.
Better teacher training.
Modern, practical curricula.
Stronger links between classrooms and careers.
Spaces that encourage creativity, not just cramming.
These are not impossible dreams — just overdue decisions.
If we truly value education, it must shape both the mind and the character. It should prepare young people not only to earn a living, but to live wisely, contribute meaningfully, and build a country that works.
Because in the end, the true measure of education is not the paper on the wall…
but the life in front of it.
