You see them at the cyber cafe every day, hunched over laptops, trying to finish assignments for courses they hope will change their lives. But for too many students here, that hope is turning into a heavy debt and a certificate that's not worth the paper it's printed on. The word on the street is clear: a growing number of young people are getting trapped in unaccredited programmes.
Parents are scraping together school fees from market sales and okada rides, only to find out later the qualification won't get their child a job. 'We sold our small piece of land to pay for my son's IT course,' one mother at the bus stop shared. 'Now he can't even apply for the jobs he trained for.' It's a story you hear again and again in this community, where every naira for education is a sacrifice.
The problem isn't just about wasted money—it's about wasted years. Students who spend two or three years on these courses come out the other side no closer to employment than when they started. They've missed other opportunities, and that time is gone forever. For families counting on one child's success to lift the whole household, it's a devastating blow.
These unaccredited programmes pop up everywhere—online, in small storefront academies, even advertised on community radio. They promise good jobs and quick certification, playing on the desperation of young people who see education as their only way out. The flashy brochures and smooth talk don't mention the accreditation issue until it's too late.
When students finally try to use their qualifications, the reality hits hard. Employers take one look at the certificate and shake their heads. Other schools won't accept the credits for further study. The student is left holding empty paper, often with a loan still to pay off. It creates a cycle of disappointment that affects whole families.
Community elders are starting to speak up about the problem at local meetings. They're asking why these programmes are allowed to operate when they drain resources from families already struggling. There's growing anger about the lack of warning signs for students and parents who aren't education experts.
The solution starts with information, people here say. Students need to know how to check if a programme is properly accredited before they pay a single kobo. Community centers could keep lists of recognized institutions. Local leaders could spread the word through churches and mosques about which courses actually lead somewhere.
What happens next matters to every family saving for school fees. The conversation needs to move from frustration to action—community workshops on spotting fake programmes, pressure on providers to be transparent, and support for students who've already been caught out. The market talk says this problem won't fix itself while our children's futures are on the line.
