It is often said that the academic journey is a blend of hard work, determination, and a bit of luck. But sometimes, it also becomes a story of politics, ego, and the personal biases of those meant to guide students to success. Such was the case narrated by Barrister Maruf Muhammed, who took to his Facebook wall to share a painful academic experience that changed the trajectory of his university career forever.
Muhammed began his story by explaining the dilemma he faced in his 400-level year. As part of his elective options, he had to choose between two heavy courses: Energy Law and International Law. Each carried 4 credit units making them decisive in determining the final Cumulative Grade Point Average (CGPA). With a 4.40 CGPA at the time, every grade mattered greatly for his ambition of crossing the 4.50 threshold to graduate with first-class honours.
He explained that many seniors advised students to pick courses not necessarily out of interest, but strategically selecting lecturers known to award generous grades. His then Head of Department (HOD) even warned him against taking Energy Law, recounting a story of how a colleague had deliberately denied a student an A in the course, thereby shattering her first-class dream with a final CGPA of 4.48.
Following this advice, Muhammed reluctantly chose International Law, despite finding the lecturer’s teaching style boring and unengaging. He hoped at least for a fair chance at securing the all-important A grade. But when the 500-level first semester results were released, he was stunned to find he had scored 69B in International Law just one mark short of an A.
Heartbroken, Muhammed went straight to the lecturer’s office to plead his case, citing the Senate Rules that allowed for a score to be rounded up when on the borderline. The conversation, however, took an unexpected and painful turn. The lecturer first asked for his CGPA, and upon hearing “4.40,” flatly refused to adjust the score, saying there was nothing he could do.
In a desperate plea, Muhammed even went as far as prostrating before the lecturer, begging him to help protect his chances of graduating with a first class. But the response was curt and humiliating: “Will you stand up and leave my office, Muhammed? Don’t be silly.” The rejection was as final as it was cold.
Muhammed then took the matter to his HOD, who immediately sent the result back to the lecturer with a clear instruction to round it up to 70. But to his shock, the lecturer still refused openly declaring, “I didn’t graduate with a first class either. Why should I bother helping him?” The matter escalated to the faculty board meeting, where the lecturer was eventually compelled to comply with Senate regulations and add the single mark.
At first glance, it seemed like a small victory for the determined student. But what came next revealed just how personal and vindictive academic politics could get. Before the incident, Muhammed had already registered for another course taught by the same lecturer, Administrative Law.
For the rest of that academic year, his fate was sealed. In both semesters of Administrative Law, he received grades far below his usual performance: 54C and 62B. The damage was irreversible. His final CGPA stood at 4.48 agonisingly close to, but short of, the coveted 4.50 needed for first class.
Years later, when he submitted his transcript for postgraduate admission, the Dean of the Faculty of Law at the receiving institution could not hide his shock. “What kind of ridiculous CGPA is this? Did you offend the university you graduated from?” he reportedly asked. The numbers told the story of a bright student whose academic ambition was derailed by more than just exam scores.
Muhammed admits this was not his only encounter with what he describes as “toxic lecturers” during his undergraduate years. But it was, perhaps, the most memorable because it directly impacted the ultimate symbol of academic achievement: a first-class degree.
His story has since sparked conversations online about the unchecked power some lecturers wield in Nigerian universities, the lack of accountability in grading systems, and the emotional toll such experiences take on students. Many commenters shared similar experiences, with some lamenting how subjective bias, rather than merit, determined their final grades.
Education experts argue that while no student is entitled to a grade they have not earned, transparency and fairness in grading are non-negotiable. Arbitrary decisions especially when influenced by personal feelings undermine the integrity of the academic system and can have lifelong consequences for students.
Muhammed’s post, while deeply personal, mirrors a broader systemic problem in Nigerian higher education, one in which personal egos, grudges, and outdated mentalities can still dictate academic outcomes. His decision to share the story is, in his words, “not for pity, but for awareness.”
The painful reality is that for every Muhammed who speaks out, there are countless other students who quietly endure similar injustices, their academic dreams cut short not by their own failings, but by the misplaced pride or resentment of those tasked with nurturing them.
