Nigeria has a certificate epidemic, and we need to talk about it now
Nigeria does not have an education crisis alone.
We have a certificate epidemic.
For perhaps three or four decades, Nigerian families have been engaged in one gigantic social migration: away from craftsmanship, apprenticeship and practical work, and towards certificates.
The mechanic wanted his son to become an engineer.
The carpenter wanted his daughter to become a graduate.
The successful trader was told that his children must never โsufferโ by learning his trade.
Families sold land, borrowed money and emptied savings to send children to universities, polytechnics and colleges.
And now the chickens have come home to roost.
We have millions of certificates.
But what exactly can the certificate holders do?
That is the uncomfortable question.
Education was never supposed to be merely the ability to remember information long enough to reproduce it inside an examination hall.
Education should sharpen the mind.
It should teach people to identify problems, interrogate them, design solutions and produce something useful.
Yet much of Nigerian education has become an elaborate ceremony of memorisation.
We teach students about things rather than how to make things.
An engineering student can graduate after five years having written examinations on machines he has never built.
A computer science graduate may never have developed a functioning application.
An agricultural graduate may never have successfully cultivated an acre of land.
A graduate of building technology may never have built anything.
And then we celebrate the certificate.
First Class!
Second Class Upper!
HND!
MSc!
PhD!
Beautiful.
But what problem can you solve?
This is where countries that industrialised understood something we continue to ignore.
The serious education system asks:
How does this thing work?
How can we reproduce it?
How can we improve it?
How can we manufacture ten million of it and sell it to the world?
Ours too often asks:
Define it.
List five advantages.
Discuss its history.
Write short notes.
And after four years of writing short notes, the graduate enters a country with no short-note industry.
Then reality arrives.
There are no jobs.
He cannot create one.
He cannot manufacture anything.
He cannot repair much.
He cannot convert his theoretical knowledge into economic value.
So the certificate that was supposed to rescue the family from poverty sometimes becomes merely an expensive framed piece of paper hanging on the wall of the same poverty.
This contradiction is everywhere.
A community can contain dozens of engineers, architects, geographers and environmental scientists, yet when erosion begins to swallow the road, everybody starts shouting:
โGovernment, come and help us!โ
Graduates everywhere.
Solutions nowhere.
Then comes perhaps the saddest stage of the Nigerian certificate epidemic.
A person who has supposedly spent sixteen or twenty years being educated gradually surrenders his capacity for critical thought to prophets, miracle merchants and motivational charlatans.
The degree hangs on the wall.
Continue on page 2