Odita Sunday 
They Ruin Our Schools, Yet School Their Children Abroad, By Emmanuel Nnadozie Onwubiko
One of the greatest contradictions in Nigeria’s public life has once again been thrust into the spotlight. Across the country, politicians who preside over an education system plagued by strikes, decaying infrastructure, inadequate funding and declining standards continue to send their own children to some of the world’s most expensive universities. Even more striking is that many now proudly publicise these foreign graduations, celebrating them in the media as though they are symbols of national achievement rather than reminders of the widening gulf between the governing elite and the citizens they serve.
This growing trend raises an uncomfortable but necessary question: if those entrusted with managing Nigeria’s educational system have so little confidence in it that they refuse to educate their own children here, why should ordinary Nigerians continue to trust that system?
French philosopher and psychiatrist Frantz Fanon famously described the oppressed as “the wretched of the earth.” That description sadly resonates with millions of Nigerians today, many of whom struggle daily to secure basic education for their children while watching public officials celebrate educational opportunities that remain beyond the reach of the overwhelming majority.
Recent events illustrate this contradiction vividly.
The Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Mr. Nyesom Wike, recently travelled to the United Kingdom alongside political associates to celebrate the graduation of his daughter from a prestigious British university. The event received extensive publicity across major Nigerian newspapers and broadcast platforms. Photographs of the minister, his family and guests attending elaborate celebrations circulated widely, portraying the occasion as a major public event.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with a father celebrating the success of his child. Every parent deserves that joy. The issue, however, lies elsewhere. It is the irony that a senior public official overseeing one of Nigeria’s most strategic territories—and serving in a country where public universities battle chronic underfunding—would showcase an educational path that remains inaccessible to millions of citizens whose taxes sustain government institutions.
The publicity surrounding the event was hardly surprising. Under Wike’s administration, the Federal Capital Territory Administration has invested heavily in media campaigns promoting completed infrastructure projects. Newspapers and media organisations have benefited from these advertising expenditures. Consequently, the minister’s family celebration also received considerable media attention.
Yet these celebratory images appeared against the backdrop of grim national realities. Humanitarian organisations, including Save the Children, have continued to warn that tens of millions of Nigerians across several states face severe food insecurity and worsening economic hardship. While many households struggle to provide even one nutritious meal a day, images of lavish graduation celebrations by political elites naturally provoke difficult questions about priorities, leadership and empathy.
Nor is this phenomenon limited to one political figure.
The Governor of Anambra State similarly celebrated the graduation of his daughter from a university in the United Kingdom, with official statements praising her academic accomplishments. Again, no reasonable person begrudges any family the opportunity to celebrate educational success. What concerns many Nigerians is the consistent pattern whereby those responsible for improving local institutions appear unwilling to entrust those same institutions with the education of their own children.
An interesting exception emerged in Osun State, where Governor Ademola Adeleke’s daughter graduated from a Nigerian university owned by a member of the Adeleke family. While private institutions differ significantly from public universities, the decision nevertheless demonstrated confidence in a Nigerian-based institution, offering a contrast to the prevailing trend among many political office holders.
The pattern extends well beyond governors and ministers. Numerous senators, members of the House of Representatives and other senior public officials have children studying or permanently residing abroad. Many possess dual citizenship or second passports, providing options unavailable to ordinary Nigerians.
The recent appearance of Seyi Tinubu, son of President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, at the FIFA Club World Cup also attracted public attention. During the event, popular American content creator IShowSpeed jokingly asked Nigeria’s First Son to persuade his father to give him a Nigerian passport. While clearly made in jest, the exchange nevertheless reflected international perceptions about the extraordinary influence often wielded by African political leaders.
The larger question, however, remains unresolved. Why do so many leaders who formulate education policies demonstrate so little faith in the institutions they supervise?
Perhaps the most ironic example is that of politicians who establish private universities in Nigeria while still choosing foreign universities for their own children. Such decisions inevitably raise questions about confidence in the quality and competitiveness of even the institutions they personally own.
The answer may lie less in educational preference than in economic privilege.
Political office in Nigeria increasingly appears to offer access to enormous financial resources. Winning elections has become, in the eyes of many observers, not merely an opportunity for public service but an avenue to extraordinary personal wealth. While many public officials undoubtedly serve with integrity, numerous corruption cases investigated over the years have reinforced public perceptions that political office often brings financial advantages far beyond legitimate earnings.
The recent judgment involving former Attorney-General of the Federation and Minister of Justice, Abubakar Malami (SAN), illustrates the scale of assets that sometimes become subjects of judicial scrutiny. A Federal High Court ordered the permanent forfeiture of dozens of properties after concluding that the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission had established sufficient legal grounds linking them to suspected unlawful proceeds, while the respondents failed to satisfactorily account for their acquisition. The assets reportedly included educational institutions, hotels, commercial properties, factories and extensive real estate holdings spread across several states.
Without commenting on the broader political implications of that case, it demonstrates why Nigerians increasingly question how enormous wealth accumulates around public office while critical sectors such as education continue to deteriorate.
The consequences are visible everywhere.
Public universities suffer repeated industrial disputes. Laboratories remain outdated. Student hostels are overcrowded. Research funding is grossly inadequate. Lecturers leave for better opportunities overseas. Basic facilities—from electricity to internet access—remain unreliable in many institutions.
Yet the children of those responsible for reversing this decline study comfortably in London, New York, Toronto, Dubai and other global education hubs.
This disconnect creates a dangerous incentive structure. Leaders whose families never experience the realities of Nigeria’s educational system face little personal pressure to improve it. If one’s own child studies abroad, prolonged strikes in Nigerian universities become someone else’s problem. Dilapidated classrooms affect someone else’s family. Poorly equipped laboratories become somebody else’s concern.
That is perhaps the greatest tragedy.
No nation develops sustainably when its ruling class systematically opts out of the public institutions it governs. Whether in education, healthcare or transportation, meaningful reform usually begins when policymakers depend on the same services available to ordinary citizens.
Ultimately, responsibility also rests with the electorate.
As long as vote-buying remains widespread and accountability remains weak, many politicians may see little incentive to invest seriously in public education. Elections should reward competence, integrity and measurable performance rather than patronage, temporary inducements or ethnic and partisan loyalties.
Equally important is the responsibility of institutions such as the Independent National Electoral Commission to intensify civic education on the dangers of vote-buying and the importance of informed electoral participation. Democracy cannot produce better governance when citizens repeatedly exchange long-term national interests for short-term political incentives.
The celebration of foreign university graduations is not, in itself, the problem. Every parent has every right to celebrate a child’s achievement. The real issue is that these celebrations expose a painful contradiction at the heart of Nigerian governance. Those entrusted with rebuilding public education frequently demonstrate, through their own personal choices, that they lack confidence in the very system they administer.
Nigeria deserves leaders who do more than commission school buildings or issue policy statements. It deserves leaders whose actions affirm their confidence in the nation’s educational institutions—leaders willing to entrust those institutions with the education of their own children.
Only then can Nigerians truly believe that the country’s education system is being rebuilt not merely for the poor, but for everyone.
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