Exams in Darkness and Collapsed Buildings, Futures in Doubt: WAEC and the National Betrayal
I cry as I type this.
Since we began raising our son, just 3 years old, I’ve carried a growing burden. I often reflect on how we are nurturing him, the kind of world his peers are being raised in, and the broken systems we may one day bequeath to them.
It saddens me that the Nigerian child is fast becoming stateless, unprotected, unheard, and uncatered for.
I shared these thoughts in my Children’s Day message on Monday. By Tuesday, we were faced with more devastating proof: pure state neglect of our precious children.
Who bears the brunt?
Not just the children of the poor, though they are the most exposed.
All Nigerian children are affected.
While privileged children may have buffers, private schools, private hospitals, international passports, the reality is, their parents are standing in for a failing state. But for the children of the poor, there is no such substitute. They are left to the mercy of a system that seems determined to fail them.
These children are being prepped, deliberately and systematically, to inherit their parents’ state-inflicted poverty by sabotaging their only true ladder out: education.
This week, the WAEC examination crisis became the latest chapter in this heartbreaking narrative, a catastrophic failure of planning, dignity, and responsibility.
- In Delta State, students reportedly received question papers late into the night. With no electricity, many wrote their exams using candlelight or the flashlight from their phones.
- In another state, an examination hall collapsed while students were inside.
- Across multiple centers, students waited for hours, anxious, disoriented, only to be dismissed mid-exam due to WAEC’s logistical failures.
- Insecurity was also reported at several exam venues.
- And adding insult to injury, rumors of leaked question papers continue to spread, undermining any sense of credibility in the entire process.
WAEC operates across five Anglophone West African nations, Nigeria, Ghana, Liberia, Sierra Leone, and The Gambia. Yet, Nigeria, the so-called giant of Africa, the most populous Black nation on earth, from whom leadership is expected is arguably the worst hit by systemic exam failures. This is not just ironic; it is tragic.
This is not merely administrative failure.
It is betrayal.
How does a nation so casually rob its children of access to the one passport that could secure them a future greater than their parents’ and still demand patriotism?
How do we chant “leaders of tomorrow” while sabotaging their today?
Let me be clear: I do not believe children are leaders of tomorrow. They are leaders today, because leadership is not about age or position, but responsibility. And our children are showing up every day with courage and resilience despite the odds we stack against them.
When I say the Nigerian child is stateless, some think I exaggerate.
But what else do you call a child whose nation offers no stake, no voice, no shield, and no ladder?
When JAMB faltered weeks ago, we said “never again.”
Now WAEC is failing, spectacularly.
And yet, the silence from leadership is deafening.
Nelson Mandela once said, “Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world.” It is the power that enables the child of a factory worker to become a factory owner.
But Nigeria keeps disarming its children, especially the poor, through sustained systemic neglect.
Still, I believe the tables will turn.
But for the tables to turn, we must keep speaking for the Nigerian child. Power doesn’t shift simply because people suffer. It shifts when we organize, mobilize, and conscientize, until our collective soul becomes a force of resistance and hope.
Let us raise our voices, not only in outrage but in strategic advocacy. Because the hands that clutch torches in dark exam halls are not just seeking light.
They are sending a signal.
Are we watching?
