Ahmed didn’t eat for days. His mother tried in vain to console him. He cried day and night. She cried too. His dreams had been trampled by a system that acts like a god over the fate of Nigerian children’s education.

He had scored 150 in the Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination (UTME). Days later, following a public outcry, his score was reviewed—downwards—to 120. JAMB crushed the future of Opesusi Faith too. She received bitter news and, in turn, delivered even more devastating news to her family. In Odogunyan, 19-year-old Faith took her own life. She had scored 190—unexpectedly low despite months of diligent study.

This is how the gross inefficiency of Nigeria’s institutions has turned the lofty dreams of young citizens into funerals for hope.

Kareem didn’t even sit the UTME; he arrived late. Yet he was awarded a score of 350. Meanwhile, Ahmed took the exam in Bauchi. He had assured his mother, Hajia Aminat, that he expected to excel—he scored just 140. This was his third attempt at university admission, and his worst performance yet. Previously, he had scored 230—insufficient for Law, but still respectable. This time, his father mocked him, suggesting he become a "rewire" (auto electrician). That comment pierced his heart and soul. He had dreamed of studying Law and was willing to wait for as long as JAMB—the gatekeeper—would allow.

Akpan in Calabar had always been one of his school’s top students. JAMB dealt a crushing blow: 120. Children have tender hearts. They live in awe, in fear, in anticipation. Any shock can be traumatic. Many now live in mourning. Poor results for brilliant minds sow the seeds of lifelong anxiety. “I don’t think I can ever make it,” one student told me—a victim of Nigeria’s repressive and inhumane systems.

About 1,230,900 candidates registered for the 2024 UTME. Roughly 1,955,69 sat for it, while 71,705 were absent. Why? Was it due to computer illiteracy or security fears? JAMB must answer. Over 1.5 million scored below 200. Just 420,415 scored above that benchmark. Only 12,401 candidates scored over 300, and a mere 4,756 scored over 320. But with the widespread hitches, who’s to say whether those high scores weren’t in fact failures and vice versa?

On social media, a candidate named Wealth shared a case where a girl’s score jumped from 155 in the morning to 299 by afternoon. A biology teacher with 18 years’ experience, John Felix Obuighken, scored 37 in biology—even though he holds a degree in the subject. He dreams of becoming a doctor. Another candidate wrote that he sat the UTME in Onitsha. His score went from 200 on the first day to 250 the next.

This isn’t new. What’s new is that Nigerians are bolder in speaking out. More disturbing is the feeling that in Nigeria, nothing works—except corruption and favouritism.

Nigerians' ability to effectively manage public institutions has deteriorated. Patriotism has declined. Today, survival—especially of those in power and their offspring—is the only concern.

JAMB reflects the rot in Nigeria’s leadership: corruption, incompetence, and disdain for the very citizens public institutions are meant to serve. Its recent defence of these failures has been shameful, lacking any empathy for the students whose mental and emotional health have been deeply harmed.

JAMB is the gateway to higher education. When that gate slams shut arbitrarily, it breeds despair.

This isn't an isolated failure. It’s a symptom of a deeply broken education system. Many claim this is JAMB’s first such scandal. It is not. For decades, the sector has wallowed in irresponsibility and decay, even as some in the media sing praises of JAMB’s so-called "profitability"—as though an education board’s primary role is to generate revenue, rather than to nurture potential.

I visited a UTME centre in Lagos one Friday. The exam was scheduled for 3 p.m. We arrived an hour early—only to find the exam already in progress under a scorching sun. Parents were charged N300 per hour to sit on plastic chairs—another money-making racket. There was no consideration for candidates with disabilities.

At the centre, students—both boys and girls—were stripped of their belts, supposedly to prevent cheating. They had to hold up their trousers with their hands. Girls judged "indecently dressed" by the warped imaginations of invigilators were sent away, forced to buy clothes from nearby markets just to gain entry. They were mocked by onlookers and harassed by street urchins who turned their shame into a street performance.

At another Lagos centre, over 200 belts were confiscated—and never returned. Likely sold. If this happened nationwide, we’re looking at over 500,000 seized belts—not to mention the emotional trauma. In Nigeria, there are educated bullies running critical institutions. They hide behind religion and law, but inflict pain with relish.

The education system, starting with JAMB, needs radical restructuring. Sadly, the current political leadership lacks the will. The National Assembly was quick to hold a session on the Senate President’s spat with Senator Natasha Akpoti—but couldn’t bother to address the crisis affecting millions of families through JAMB’s failures.

Let’s not forget: JAMB was not created through parliamentary consensus. It was born in 1978 via military decree, not thoughtful academic reform. Its founding was more political than educational. Before JAMB, universities conducted their own entrance exams. Candidates could apply to multiple institutions. JAMB was part of a broader effort to centralize power—extending political control into the realm of education.

Likewise, the National Universities Commission (NUC), now an all-powerful body, began as a small office in the Prime Minister’s cabinet. Over time, it absorbed power, culminating in the federal government's forceful takeover of regional universities in 1976. The result: university policies no longer reflect indigenous values or regional development needs.

Today, the NUC dictates which courses schools can offer. No Nigerian university teaches Zuru, Angas, Ogoni, or Ijaw. There are 283 accredited universities in Nigeria—69 federal, 66 state-owned, and 148 private. All are subject to the NUC’s centralised policies, which limit research scope, creativity, and student intake.

Did you know the University of Ife once planned to research atomic energy in the 1970s? The NUC said no. One former Vice-Chancellor told me the school could have developed nuclear power—maybe even an atomic bomb—if allowed. The University of Nigeria, Nsukka, suffered decades of neglect because it was seen as a "Biafran" institution.

This is the legacy of a garrison-style, anti-democratic state—reflected clearly in JAMB’s authoritarianism.

In the U.S., the federal government plays only a limited role in university admissions. Students choose between multiple standardised tests—SAT and ACT—and can apply to dozens of universities. Schools consider not just test scores, but overall transcripts and teacher recommendations.

Contrast this with Nigeria. Here, one failed exam can doom a student for life. WAEC and JAMB dominate the system, and failure means dreams are deferred—often permanently.

University hostels are overcrowded, off-campus housing is unsafe, and basic infrastructure is lacking. Primary and secondary schools are also deeply flawed. Greed is the motivator for many administrators. Some schools now stay open till 7 p.m., enforcing costly “extra lessons.” Holidays have been shortened to accommodate school fees, not student wellbeing.

Public education once aimed to bring children of all backgrounds together. Today, the explosion of private schools—many owned by politicians—has entrenched a class divide. The rich grow up oblivious to the suffering of the poor, yet they’re the ones who go on to make policy.

Corruption is everywhere. A mother told me her child’s school demanded half a crate of eggs per student—for "experiments." Over 200 students complied. The eggs were never returned.

Nigeria’s education system must be overhauled. But this cannot happen without first addressing the nation’s corrupt and visionless political leadership.

JAMB should be restructured—or replaced. We need regional examination boards. Students should be allowed to apply to multiple universities simultaneously. The NUC should return to its original advisory role.

Millions of children are being broken by a system that kills their dreams. We blame the youth for being aimless, yet we destroy the very paths they might walk. The education system mirrors the rot in the civil service, the customs service, the National Assembly—everywhere.

No country can survive this for long.

Something must give.

Adewale Adeoye is a multi-award-winning journalist based in Western Nigeria.