Across Nigeria, thousands of children attend public primary schools that are falling apart structures with leaking roofs, missing walls, and floors made of bare earth. In many cases, pupils squeeze into overcrowded classrooms or gather under trees, struggling to learn in conditions unfit for any form of meaningful education. These environments are not just uncomfortable, they are dangerous, undignified, and a betrayal of Nigeria’s future.
In Agunu Dutse, a rural community in Kaduna State, a dilapidated block of classrooms with broken windows and cracked walls barely stands. Pupils share wooden benches or sit on the floor, balancing exercise books on their knees. Their teacher, visibly worn down by the lack of teaching materials, speaks with frustration: “We improvise everything here. No chalkboards, no textbooks, and yet we are expected to deliver quality education.”
The Universal Basic Education Commission (UBEC) reports that more than 65 percent of Nigeria’s 76,000 public primary schools lack basic infrastructure with no desks, toilets, water supply, or safe buildings. In rural states like Taraba, Zamfara, and Niger, the percentage is even higher. Only 1 in 4 public schools in these regions has access to potable water, and less than 15 percent have functioning sanitation facilities.
Despite these challenges, the Federal Government continues to boast of developments in the education sector. In 2024, the national education budget stood at ₦1.54 trillion, about 6.4 percent of the overall budget far below the 15–20 percent recommended by UNESCO. Of this, only a tiny fraction is allocated to basic education infrastructure, and even less reaches the communities most in need due to bureaucratic inefficiency and corruption.
Officials at the Ministry of Education frequently cite programs such as the National Home-Grown School Feeding Programme and the Digital Learning Initiative as proof of progress. However, such projects often serve urban or politically connected schools, leaving rural pupils in extreme neglect. In reality, many of these children attend classes without meals, electricity, or even books to read from.
The shortage of qualified teachers deepens the crisis. According to the National Teachers’ Institute, Nigeria is short by over 280,000 trained primary school teachers, with the majority of vacancies in rural areas. Many rural schools rely on untrained volunteers or NYSC corps members posted to villages they have never heard of, leading to inconsistent teaching, low morale, and poor learning outcomes.
A recent UNICEF learning assessment found that 70 percent of children in Nigerian public schools cannot read or solve simple arithmetic by age 10. This is known as “learning poverty,” and its root cause is traced back to poor foundational education, something that cannot be improved with slogans or social media campaigns. “What we have is not a school system, it’s a survival system,” said a headteacher in Nasarawa.
Parents are growing increasingly concerned. “We want our children to have a better future,” said Amina Abdullahi, a mother of three in Gombe State. “But what can they learn in a classroom with no roof, no teacher, and no textbooks?” Some parents are forced to withdraw their children or send them to farm, believing that even farming may offer more value than Nigeria’s failing education system.
Civil society organisations such as SERAP, BudgIT, and ActionAid have demanded that the government declare a state of emergency in the basic education sector. They argue that the rot in Nigeria’s rural schools is not merely a failure of governance, it is a national disgrace. “You cannot build a digital economy on children learning under trees,” said BudgIT’s education lead, Ayo Iretiolu.
Government responses have so far been tepid. While the Ministry of Education insists it is “committed to inclusive learning,” communities continue to report worsening conditions. In a public primary school in Edo State, pupils share classrooms with goats due to the school’s broken perimeter fence. In another in Adamawa, lessons are conducted outdoors all year round whether it rains or not.
These conditions are breeding inequality. While private school students learn with tablets and interactive boards, their peers in public schools do not even have notebooks. The gap is not just technological, it’s moral. A country that allows such disparities is not merely underdeveloped; it is unjust.
Nigeria cannot hope to compete in a global knowledge economy when its children are denied the most basic learning conditions. The dusty, overcrowded classrooms of today will shape the leaders, doctors, and engineers of tomorrow. If these environments continue to crumble, so will the nation’s hope for progress. Ending this crisis requires not just funding, but political will, transparency, and a commitment to equity that puts every Nigerian child first.
