Classroom to Catwalk

Once upon a time, moving from one class to the next in a Nigerian primary or secondary school was marked by nothing more than the joy of promotion. A child who completed Primary Six simply looked forward to starting JSS1. Parents, on their part, were more concerned about raising money for the next term’s school fees, buying new textbooks, and perhaps getting their child a fresh uniform. That was the trend in the 1990s and early 2000s. Simple, stress-free, and focused on education.

Fast forward to today, and the story has changed. It has become a “trend” for schools—especially private schools—to stage elaborate “graduation parties” for pupils and students at every level, from nursery to secondary school.

These parties, far from being voluntary celebrations, have been made compulsory, with parents forced to pay levies, buy costumes, sew uniforms, and sometimes even rent halls. What should be a milestone marked with simplicity has become a financial racket that exploits families, overburdens teachers, and distorts the very purpose of education.

Nigeria is in the middle of a biting economic downturn. Families grappling with inflation, unemployment, and ever-rising school fees. Yet, schools continue to pile extra costs on parents under the guise of graduation ceremonies. Parents are told to pay “graduation fees,” buy new clothes for their children, contribute to dance costumes, and in some cases, rent ceremonial gowns—all for a child who is merely moving from Nursery 3 to Primary 1.

The question is: to what end? What exactly is being celebrated? Is it really an achievement that a child successfully moved from Nursery 1 to Nursery 2? Shouldn’t the real celebration come at the end of basic or secondary education when the child has truly completed a phase? Instead, schools are exploiting parents by commercialising every transition and turning it into a compulsory financial project.

It is not just parents who suffer. Teachers too are drawn into this circus. Weeks before the supposed “graduation day,” pupils are subjected to endless rehearsals: dancing, singing, choreography, and drama practice. Academic lessons are often sidelined, and the pressure mounts on both children and teachers. In the name of preparing for a party, the main duty of the school—to educate most times take back seat.

Teachers, who are already poorly remunerated in many schools, are left to spend extra hours training children for performances that add no real value to learning outcomes. Instead of channeling time into preparing students for entrance exams or remedial work, they are turned into event managers.

Another ugly side of these so-called graduation parties is the culture of showmanship they encourage. Children of the wealthy come dressed in expensive clothes, sometimes even arriving in rented limousines or flashy cars, while children from low-income families turn up in modest wear, if they can afford to attend at all. What is supposed to be a “celebration” becomes an opportunity to rub class differences in the faces of young children, fostering feelings of inferiority and resentment.

Education, by its very nature, is meant to be a leveler—a space where the son of a millionaire and the daughter of a farmer can sit side-by-side, dream the same dreams, and pursue the same opportunities. These lavish parties undermine that principle, turning schools into runways for flaunting wealth rather than sanctuaries for learning.

It is heartening that some state governments in the South East have begun to ban these graduation parties. However, as with many policies in Nigeria, enforcement remains weak. Schools, especially private schools, continue to defy the directives, confident that no one will hold them accountable.

Why was this practice allowed to thrive in the first place? How did we reach a point where nursery school graduation is treated with the pomp and costliness of a university convocation? The answer lies in years of government neglect of the education sector, leaving private school owners to make rules as they please, with little or no regulation.

If education is truly about learning, then it must return to basics. Promotion from one class to another should be celebrated in the home with a simple “Well done” or perhaps a family treat.

The real recognition should come at the end of significant milestones—completing primary school, junior secondary, or senior secondary education. Even then, the celebration should be modest and focused on academic achievement, not wasteful spending.

Parents should also resist the pressure to conform. It is high time parents began to question school authorities, refuse unnecessary levies, and demand accountability.

The Parents Teachers Association (PTA) should be at the forefront of this crusade. Education is already expensive in Nigeria; adding the needless burden of graduation parties only worsens the strain on struggling households.

Graduation parties for nursery, primary, and even junior classes are nothing but a misplaced tradition that enriches school owners at the expense of parents and teachers.

At a time when Nigeria is economically down, such practices are not just frivolous, they are irresponsible. Government must not only ban them but enforce the ban with strict monitoring and penalties for defaulters.Our children deserve better.

They deserve schools that prioritise learning over pageantry, teachers that focus on academics instead of rehearsals, and parents who can spend their money on books and school fees rather than costumes and cakes. If education is truly the foundation of our nation’s future, then it must be protected from such exploitative trends.

It is time to end this culture of compulsory graduation parties and return schools to their primary mission: building minds, not hosting ceremonies.

Ejike Agbata writes from Nri,

Anaocha LGA,

Anambra State