By Dr. Desmond O. Echeta
A Striking Story
It was a Saturday morning in Abuja. A small private school in Gwarinpa had lined up its nursery pupils — barely five years old — in graduation gowns rented for ₦15,000 each. Parents were asked to pay an additional ₦50,000 “graduation fee” that covered the cost of the hall, decorations, and photography. Many grumbled, but almost all complied. The children were handed “certificates” of completion for kindergarten and posed for endless photoshoots.
Contrast this with what happened in Enugu barely a month earlier: after writing their final exams, over 400 final-year students from a federal university poured into the streets with ink- stained shirts, spray paint, whistles, and alcohol. Roads were blocked, traffic halted, and residents complained of rowdiness. What was meant to be an academic transition had turned into a carnival.
Both stories reveal an uncomfortable truth — across Nigeria, from nursery to university,graduation has become more about performance and spectacle than about education itself. The question is unavoidable: are we celebrating progress, or are we trivializing it?
The Issue at Hand
In today’s Nigeria, graduation ceremonies and signing-out rituals have become deeply entrenched. What was once a quiet and dignified recognition of achievement has transformed into an elaborate, and often costly, tradition.
Private schools now host end-of-term “graduations” at nearly every level — pre-nursery, nursery, primary, and junior secondary. According to the National Bureau of Statistics (2024), the average parent in Lagos spends between ₦30,000 and ₦80,000 per child on these ceremonies, covering costumes, hall rentals, and entertainment. Some elite schools charge far more, with reports of parents spending as much as ₦150,000 per child for what is essentially a routine promotion ceremony.
In tertiary institutions, the practice is less commercial but more chaotic. “Signing out” — the ritual of scribbling on shirts, parading through campuses, and staging noisy processions — has become a standard practice. Yet, this tradition is neither sanctioned by universities nor tied to any official convocation. Despite this, it has grown in intensity, often spilling onto public roads, sometimes leading to confrontations with security agencies.
This is not simply a harmless cultural evolution. It represents a deeper shift in how Nigerians perceive education — less as a pursuit of knowledge and more as a stage for celebration.
Causes, Consequences, and Power Dynamics
Several forces fuel this culture.
First is commercialization. Private schools, especially in urban centers, have turned graduations into money-making ventures. With education increasingly treated as a business, proprietors use these events to enhance their reputation and compete with rival schools. The Education Market
Survey (2023) estimated that the graduation industry in Lagos alone was worth over ₦4.2 billion annually. In many cases, parents have little choice but to pay, as refusing might stigmatize their child.
Second is social prestige. In a society where status symbols carry weight, elaborate graduations become a way for families to showcase success. Even struggling families feel pressured to keep up appearances, borrowing money or cutting essential expenses to ensure their children do not miss out.
Third is regulatory neglect. Neither the Ministry of Education nor universities have established guidelines for such practices. This absence of oversight has allowed private proprietors to exploit parents unchecked, while universities look away as students hijack public spaces in the name of “signing out.”
The consequences are serious. Parents are financially drained; children are conditioned to expect pomp for the smallest milestone; and in universities, public order is disrupted. More dangerously, the true meaning of academic achievement is eroded — with the “noise” of signing out remembered long after the actual convocation ceremony fades.
Real-Life Perspectives and Data
The debate over graduation culture is far from one-sided.
Parents are often the loudest critics. “My daughter is only in Primary 3, but I’ve already paid for two graduations. Each one cost me almost ₦40,000,” complained a parent in Owerri. Another in Kaduna noted: “The school insists on uniforms, food, and hiring photographers. It feels like extortion, but you cannot deny your child when others are celebrating.”
Students, however, defend their practices. A 22-year-old final-year student at the University of Benin put it bluntly: “After four years of hardship, strikes, and financial struggle, signing out is our freedom. It’s the one day we feel in control.”
Surveys confirm these sentiments. According to SBM Intelligence (2022):
67% of parents believe private school graduations are financially exploitative.
72% of undergraduates see signing out as “necessary for closure.”
58% of lecturers interviewed at public universities described the practice as “disruptive and undisciplined.”
In 2021–2023, universities in Lagos, Enugu, and Kano reported multiple incidents of road blockages and minor injuries linked to signing-out celebrations. Yet, some parents argue that ceremonies, however flamboyant, motivate children to value education. A mother in Ibadan reflected: “My son still remembers his nursery graduation at age 6. It made him want to achieve more.”
Clearly, Nigerians are divided — torn between the joy of celebration and the cost, chaos, and cultural distortions it creates.
Call to Action
What then is the way forward? The challenge is not to abolish celebrations but to restore perspective.
Policymakers must step in. The Ministry of Education should establish guidelines that curb excessive graduation practices in private schools, limiting financial exploitation and ensuring that ceremonies align with real academic milestones.
Universities should not turn a blind eye to signing-out chaos. Instead, they should channel the energy into structured, creative outlets — entrepreneurship exhibitions, community service projects, or cultural festivals. Imagine final-year students in UNN or ABU marking their transition by donating books to libraries, organizing concerts of Nigerian innovation, or staging plays that reflect their journey. Such practices would both celebrate and educate.
Parents need to rethink their roles. By resisting status-driven graduations, they can teach their children that true achievement lies not in rented gowns or decorated halls but in knowledge, discipline, and service.
Students too must be challenged. Celebration is natural, but it should not be destructive. The real “signing out” should be into competence, dignity, and national responsibility.
Nigeria cannot afford to trivialize education in an era of falling standards. Graduation is not the end of learning; it is a call to higher responsibility. If we must celebrate, let us celebrate with meaning, moderation, and purpose. Only then will the culture of graduation uplift rather than diminish our educational values.
