Though largely unregulated, private tutoring sometimes called “lesson”, “home coaching”, or “extra moral” has become embedded in the Nigerian education experience. It thrives in cities and rural areas alike, across all socio-economic classes. It starts quietly. A concerned parent calls a recommended tutor. A group of students crowd around a teacher’s rented parlour after school hours. A university undergraduate picks up extra cash by helping a neighbour’s child with maths. Then it spreads, through word-of-mouth, WhatsApp groups, or fliers outside school gates.
In Nigeria today, this seemingly informal ecosystem has ballooned into a parallel education economy: private tutoring. From exam preparation to remedial classes, it now extends beyond students struggling to keep up, to high-achievers seeking an academic edge. Beneath its surface lies a growing shadow industry worth billions of naira annually largely off the books, barely documented, yet shaping how Nigerian children learn.
At its core, this economy is powered by a deep dissatisfaction with mainstream education. Overcrowded classrooms, underpaid teachers, erratic curriculums, and inconsistent government policy have eroded confidence in formal schooling. Parents increasingly see tutoring as a necessary top-up, not a luxury. In many urban centres, hiring a tutor is no longer seen as a sign that a child is falling behind, it’s a signal of proactive parenting.
In Lagos, Abuja, Port Harcourt, and other high-pressure educational zones, private tutoring centres now advertise in the same spaces as banks and hospitals. Billboards boast of “guaranteed A1 in WAEC” or “100% JAMB success”. And parents, faced with limited public school resources or competitive private school expectations, often feel boxed in. If their children don’t receive these additional lessons, they fear being left behind. This creates a cycle of dependence that makes tutoring feel indispensable, regardless of its cost.
What’s especially striking is how widespread tutoring has become at even the earliest levels. Children in nursery and primary school are now enrolled in after-school coaching, often from 4 p.m. till 7 p.m. on weekdays, and full-day weekend sessions. Some children as young as six are already being prepped for common entrance exams and private school admissions. This intensity reflects Nigeria’s larger education culture, one where grades are currency, exams are gatekeepers, and failure carries social shame.
At the centre of this thriving economy are the tutors themselves some trained educators, others freelancers, youth corps members, or unemployed graduates. For many, it’s not just a side hustle; it’s a primary source of income. Because the tutoring industry operates in a grey zone, neither fully professionalised nor legislated, its workers remain largely invisible to the formal economy. They pay no taxes, enjoy no health benefits, and navigate a market with no regulatory guardrails. Yet, they bear significant responsibility for the academic performance of thousands of students across the country.
In more affluent areas, elite tutoring services have taken the model several notches higher. These aren’t just individuals with a chalkboard, they are branded education consultancies offering tailored, curriculum-aligned learning plans, diagnostic assessments, and sometimes digital tracking tools for parents. A growing number of these firms cater to families preparing their children for international exams like the SAT, IGCSE, or TOEFL, creating a premium segment within the tutoring sector. Some tutors charge as much as ₦10,000 per hour, turning what began as remedial support into a status symbol.
The problem is not that tutoring exists, it’s that it has become a substitute for structural reform. Instead of strengthening schools, training teachers, or updating syllabuses, society has outsourced educational accountability to individuals outside the system. This has widened inequality. While wealthy families can afford experienced tutors or prep schools, poor households are often left behind, with their children fending for themselves in broken classrooms. In this way, private tutoring reproduces the same divides it claims to correct.
Moreover, because tutoring operates outside any national pedagogical oversight, its quality is wildly uneven. Some tutors reinforce outdated or incorrect content. Others use fear-based teaching tactics to produce short-term gains. And because most operate without formal training, there’s no standard on how learning difficulties, behavioural issues, or mental health are handled during sessions. Parents, driven by exam results, rarely question pedagogy, only performance.
Yet, the appeal of tutoring remains powerful because of its flexibility and customisation. Unlike the rigid school timetable, tutoring can be scheduled around a family’s convenience. It offers one-on-one attention often missing in large classrooms. In many cases, tutors also play mentorship roles, providing encouragement or discipline that overstretched parents cannot consistently provide. For students afraid of asking “stupid” questions in school, tutoring becomes a safe space to relearn and rebuild confidence.
Technology has further reshaped this hidden economy. Platforms like Tuteria, PrepClass, and Edukoya have created online marketplaces where parents can book vetted tutors based on reviews, qualifications, and pricing. WhatsApp groups serve as informal directories. YouTube, Telegram, and Google Classroom are used for content delivery. Especially after COVID-19, virtual tutoring has gained momentum, expanding reach but also blurring the lines between formal and informal education further.
This raises pressing questions for policymakers and educators. Should tutoring be regulated? Should tutors be certified? Can the sector be taxed? And perhaps more urgently: should we be comfortable with an education system that requires external reinforcement to function adequately?
To be clear, private tutoring is not a Nigerian anomaly. Globally, from China to the United Kingdom, “shadow education” is a multi-billion-dollar sector. But in Nigeria, where so many depend on it not by choice but necessity, its growth underscores a deeper problem. It reveals a schooling system that cannot, on its own, guarantee learning outcomes for all students. And until public education is equipped to meet those expectations, the tutoring industry will continue to thrive in the cracks. For some families, tutoring is an empowering intervention. For others, it is an economic burden. For many tutors, it is an essential lifeline. But for Nigeria as a whole, it is a mirror, showing us what’s broken, what’s being done to fix it, and who is paying the price.
