By Muyiwa Olaoye
Once a noble calling, teaching in Nigeria stood tall in honour, if not in wealth. In the 1980s, 1990s, and early 2000s, teachers were revered as custodians of knowledge and character, shaping the leaders of tomorrow. They earned little, but held their heads high—respected by parents, admired by students, and regarded by society as nation builders. You could count the number of cars in a school compound on one hand, but their integrity was unquestioned.
Then, something changed.
As time passed, a new generation of teachers emerged. These younger educators no longer saw honour as enough. For them, nobility was tied to financial reward. How could they believe otherwise when former students, many of whom were academically weak, now flaunted lavish lifestyles and wealth of questionable origin? The once-inspiring mantra that “the reward of teachers is in heaven” began to feel like a cruel joke. Teachers who preached hard work and academic excellence now struggled to justify their own poverty. Their authority was challenged; their sacrifice mocked.
The return to democratic rule in 1999 brought hope. Several state governments improved teachers’ salaries and welfare in a bid to win political favour. This ushered in some progress—teachers could now afford decent clothing, cars, and had regained some dignity. But this was short-lived. Public schools could not accommodate Nigeria’s ballooning student population, and so private schools sprang up—licensed in large numbers to bridge the gap and create jobs.
Yet many of these private institutions couldn’t match government pay or welfare benefits. Teachers, desperate to survive in an economy where jobs are scarce and workers are exploited, were forced to make painful compromises. In a country where job offers are seen as miracles and employers act like saviours, survival often trumps principle.
With no unions to speak for them and no platform to air their grievances, some teachers found themselves in a corner. Stripped of support, dignity gave way to desperation. Honour—the only currency left—was now up for trade.
Some began to solicit money from parents. It started subtly but grew into a practice that tarnished the entire profession—both public and private. These teachers were not lazy or incompetent; they were victims of a broken system. Many had braved the challenges of higher education without support or influence. They watched peers who landed plum jobs in top schools or government positions live comfortably while they struggled for survival.
The working conditions remain harsh: no health insurance, no transport or clothing allowance, no pension, yet teachers are expected to show up daily in corporate attire, regardless of weather or hardship. They are required to inspire hope while they quietly battle despair.
In the end, the system failed them—and some failed the system in return.
The teaching profession in Nigeria, once a pillar of moral strength, now stands at a crossroads. Unless urgent reforms are implemented to restore dignity and proper compensation, more teachers may be forced to trade their honour, not out of greed, but out of sheer necessity.
