Across Nigerian cities and towns, parents are moving their children out of public schools and into private alternatives. This shift is not simply a matter of image or aspiration, it is a reaction to repeated institutional failures and real, day-to-day harms that families can no longer tolerate. Parents who once viewed government-run primary and secondary schools as the natural pathway for their children’s education are now turning away from them in growing numbers. In rural communities and bustling cities alike, classrooms that were once full are increasingly emptying out, not because children have lost the desire to learn, but because their parents have lost faith in the system meant to teach them.
This shift is not driven by luxury or prestige; it is driven by frustration, fear, and the pursuit of quality. Many parents do not mind how cheap a private school is, they are of the opinion that it is still superior to a public school. What we are witnessing is a profound erosion of trust in Nigeria’s public education at the foundational level, a system that was once a source of pride, now struggling under the weight of neglect, mismanagement, and insecurity.
The statistics alone paint a sobering picture. Nigeria is home to one of the largest populations of out-of-school children in the world. UNICEF estimates that more than ten million Nigerian children of primary school age are not enrolled in school, while millions more attend schools that fail to provide even the most basic learning outcomes. According to the World Bank, over seventy per cent of ten-year-olds in the country cannot read or understand a simple passage, a phenomenon known as “learning poverty.” For parents, these numbers are not just abstract data; they are reflected in the daily experiences of children who return home from school unable to read, write, or add simple numbers.
In a country where education was once seen as the surest route out of poverty, this crisis has shaken confidence in public schooling to its core. Many parents now believe that sending their children to government-owned schools is tantamount to sacrificing their future.
At the heart of this shift lies a series of intertwined realities that have gradually eroded the credibility of public education. One of the most pressing is the issue of safety. The spate of school kidnappings in several parts of the country, particularly in northern Nigeria, has left deep scars on families and communities. The abduction of schoolchildren in Chibok, Dapchi, Kankara and countless lesser-known villages has turned education into a calculated risk. For many parents, the anxiety of sending a child to an unsecured government school outweighs the potential benefit of formal education. The fear is not irrational. Every attack on a public school reaffirms the sense that the government cannot guarantee the most basic condition for learning, safety. Consequently, some parents have withdrawn their children altogether, while others have shifted them to private institutions they perceive as better protected.
Beyond insecurity, another defining factor behind this mass withdrawal is the decay of infrastructure. In countless public schools across Nigeria, classrooms are overcrowded, roofs leak when it rains, blackboards are cracked, and desks are broken or non-existent. It is not uncommon to find pupils sitting on bare floors, learning under trees, or sharing outdated textbooks. Many schools have no electricity, no clean water, no laboratories, and no functional toilets. These are not isolated exceptions but widespread realities. In such conditions, effective learning becomes almost impossible. The physical environment of education has become a daily reminder of how little value is placed on the public school system, and parents who can afford alternatives naturally seek them.
Equally damaging is the state of teaching. Teachers remain the backbone of any education system, yet in many public schools, morale is dangerously low. Poor remuneration, irregular salary payments, and lack of professional development opportunities have drained the enthusiasm of many public school teachers. Absenteeism, lateness, and low productivity are rampant in numerous states. In some communities, pupils go for days without seeing a teacher in class. This vacuum is often filled by unqualified temporary staff or volunteer teachers with minimal training. When parents notice that their children are being taught by demotivated or underqualified teachers, the outcome is predictable: they take their wards elsewhere.
The learning crisis has further deepened this disillusionment. In a system where being in school no longer guarantees learning, parents are forced to measure value differently. They observe that after years in public school, their children still struggle with reading, writing, and basic arithmetic. National assessments and independent studies confirm this reality, revealing that many students in government schools perform far below global literacy and numeracy standards. The implications are grave, a generation of young Nigerians risks passing through school without actually being educated. Faced with this, parents are voting with their feet, turning to low-cost private schools that promise, at least, some measurable learning outcomes.
Yet, the issue is not purely academic. For many families, public schools have ceased to offer the sense of structure and discipline they once represented. Decades ago, government schools were known for strict supervision, moral instruction, and a sense of communal responsibility. Today, stories abound of indiscipline, poor management, and even negligence in many public institutions. Parents lament the absence of guidance counselling and pastoral care, elements that shape not only what children learn, but who they become. In contrast, private schools, even the modest ones, tend to offer closer supervision, regular communication with parents, and stricter codes of conduct. These qualities have become part of what families now pay for.
Another factor fuelling the abandonment of public schools is the visible collapse of accountability and governance. Many parents feel powerless to influence change within the public system. Complaints about teacher absenteeism, missing materials, or decaying infrastructure are often met with bureaucratic silence. Budgetary allocations to education, though substantial on paper, rarely translate into visible improvements at the school level. Funds meant for infrastructure or teacher training are frequently lost in administrative bottlenecks or corruption. The result is a governance vacuum that leaves parents feeling excluded from the system their taxes are supposed to support.
What has followed is the rapid rise of private education across Nigeria, particularly in urban centres and peri-urban communities. Private schools now account for a significant proportion of enrolment at both primary and secondary levels. Interestingly, many of these institutions are not elite schools serving the wealthy; they are small, low-fee establishments run by local entrepreneurs, community groups, or faith-based organisations. Parents who cannot afford high-end schools still find ways to pay modest fees, often through personal sacrifice, because they believe these schools offer something the public ones no longer do, consistency, safety, and hope. The private sector has effectively filled the vacuum created by the government’s retreat from its constitutional duty to provide quality basic education for all.
However, this shift comes with its own consequences. The flight of middle-income families from public schools has further entrenched inequality. Government schools are increasingly populated by children from the poorest households, those without the means to escape. As enrolment declines and social diversity disappears, public schools risk becoming ghettos of disadvantage. With fewer voices demanding accountability, government commitment to quality diminishes even further. Meanwhile, unregulated private schools, which now serve millions of pupils, vary widely in standards and can sometimes perpetuate new forms of educational inequity.
For a country already grappling with widespread poverty, this pattern is deeply troubling. The exodus from public schools is not just an education crisis; it is a social one. When public education fails, it weakens one of the last common spaces that bind Nigerians across class, ethnicity, and religion. It undermines social mobility, deepens mistrust in government institutions, and perpetuates a cycle of inequality.
Reversing this trend requires more than policy documents and promises. It demands visible action that restores parents’ confidence in the public education system. Teachers must be adequately trained, motivated, and supervised. Schools must be made safe through tangible investments in security and emergency response systems. Infrastructure must be repaired and maintained, not merely commissioned for photographs. Learning outcomes should be measured transparently, not buried in administrative reports. And, perhaps most importantly, parents must be made partners, not spectators, in the governance of their children’s schools.
The choice facing Nigerian parents today is not merely between public and private education; it is between trust and despair. Every time a parent withdraws a child from a government school, it signals a loss of faith in public accountability. Each empty classroom represents a silent verdict on years of policy neglect. To win back these families, the government must deliver not just promises, but proof, proof that public education in Nigeria can once again stand for quality, equity, and safety.
