In Nigeria, the phrase “lecturers are on strike” has become painfully familiar, a recurring chorus in the soundtrack of higher education. For many students, these strikes are no longer disruptive surprises; they are now expected pauses in academic life, a predictable pattern that breeds uncertainty, delay, and emotional fatigue. The Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU), the primary union for Nigerian lecturers, has long relied on strike action to protest against underfunding, unpaid allowances, and the neglect of public tertiary institutions. While their demands are often valid and rooted in systemic injustice, the ripple effect of these actions falls squarely on the shoulders of students.
But what exactly do students do when academic life comes to a sudden halt? The answer is far from straightforward. Some pick up jobs to support themselves or their families. Others explore new skills or rediscover old passions. A few sink into depression, anxiety, or even apathy, unsure of what to make of the prolonged silence. While strikes are framed in the media as battles between unions and the government, the most untold stories lie in the limbo students endure.
A Pause in Learning, A Flood of Reality
When lecturers embark on strike, learning is suspended, but life isn’t. The rhythm of academic life, once governed by lectures, deadlines, and exams, grinds to a halt, leaving students adrift. For some, the strike period is a welcome break from the rigours of campus life. But for most, the reality sets in fast as months pass without academic progress, and the dream of graduation slips further away. In a country where time is already a fragile currency, the cost of repeated strikes is not just emotional, but economic and professional.
Students from low-income families often bear the brunt more heavily. Many of them return home to environments where productivity is hard to maintain with overcrowded houses, lack of electricity, and social pressure. Others are forced to seek temporary jobs, sometimes in physically demanding or low-paying sectors, to support themselves or ease the burden on their parents. The interruption of formal learning pushes them prematurely into the workforce, often without the safety net or preparation that a completed degree provides.
Skills Over Syllabi: A Shift in Priorities
However, not all the consequences are negative. In the vacuum left by formal education, many students turn to informal learning or personal development. Online courses, internships, apprenticeships, and entrepreneurial ventures become their new classrooms. Platforms like Coursera, Udemy, and YouTube become vital tools for self-education. Some learn coding, photography, baking, digital marketing, or content creation. Others take advantage of the time to improve their writing, learn a new language, or volunteer in their communities.
In this unstructured period, many students discover hidden talents or solidify career paths that have little to do with their degree programmes. It’s during these forced breaks that students become designers, musicians, influencers, or startup founders. The Nigerian youth spirit which is adaptive and entrepreneurial often flourishes in the absence of structure. Unfortunately, this growth is often not by design, but by necessity. And while many students are able to turn their “strike time” into “self-development time,” this shouldn’t be an excuse for a dysfunctional academic system.
Mental Health and Emotional Toll
For every student who finds inspiration during a strike, there is another battling with mental health. The unpredictability of Nigeria’s higher education calendar breeds frustration, anxiety, and helplessness. For final-year students, the uncertainty of project defence dates, NYSC mobilisation, and job market entry becomes a mental burden. Those in relationships may struggle to maintain connection over distance and disrupted routines. Friendships weaken, academic motivation wanes, and a growing sense of disillusionment takes root.
Many students report feeling lost, especially those who had just found their footing before the strike. Depression is a common but often unspoken consequence. Access to mental health services remains limited and unaffordable, and many students resort to social media or peer groups for solace, a space that can either heal or harm.
Strikes and the Graduation Delay Spiral
Every strike adds months, sometimes years, to a student’s academic journey. For a country where graduate unemployment is already high, this delay only compounds an already tense job market. Employers expect degrees to be completed in four years, but many Nigerian students graduate in six or seven. The cumulative effect of these delays is often overlooked in national planning. Postgraduate dreams are put on hold. Scholarships with tight application timelines are missed. Immigration pathways and international job opportunities slip away simply because transcripts and certificates are unavailable.
Moreover, repeated strikes erode confidence in public universities, leading to a growing preference for private institutions or foreign universities, an option only a few can afford. This educational inequality reinforces a system where the privileged continue to advance, while the less privileged remain caught in the loop of interrupted learning.
Creativity in Crisis: How Some Students Thrive
Interestingly, the strike period has been a launchpad for creativity. Music stars, content creators, writers, and actors often cite their university. The time off gave them space to develop what the school curriculum didn’t teach, confidence, experimentation, and branding.
It would be simplistic to romanticise this, though. Not every student can afford the resources or environment that allows creativity to bloom. But it underscores the point that Nigerian students are not lazy, they are simply unsupported by a system that should empower them. With institutional backing, mentorship, and infrastructure, the talents that emerge during strike periods could become powerful contributors to the economy.
In conclusion, when lecturers go on strike, what students do with their time ranges from survival to reinvention. But we must resist the urge to frame this resilience as normal. Nigerian students should not have to be resourceful in spite of the system. They deserve uninterrupted, quality education that prepares them for the future, not a system that hands them years of uncertainty wrapped in political apathy. Until then, while students continue to make the most of their “free time”, the cost of each strike is measured not just in academic calendars, but in dreams deferred, potential delayed, and futures compromised.
