By Abiodun Moshood Olowokogbajo
In the heart of Lagos, within the fortified gates of “Big Private” Senior Secondary Schools, a sophisticated facade of academic excellence is meticulously maintained. Here, the corridors hum with the promise of producing the next generation of global leaders—the children of the nation’s technocratic and political elite. Yet, behind this veneer of prosperity lies a disturbing sociological reality: the very architects of this intellectual development, the educators, are being systematically reduced to a state of “working poverty.”
The neglect of the teaching profession in Nigeria is not an accident of history; it is a deliberate byproduct of a management model that prioritizes capital accumulation over human resource sustainability. As an English Language Educator operating within this framework, I have observed a widening chasm between the “mouthwatering” revenues generated by these institutions and the “penny” salaries dispensed to the faculty. This article serves as a critical intervention into the discourse of educational welfare, positing that the current treatment of private school teachers is a trigger for a mass exodus that will ultimately hollow out the quality of Nigerian education.
The economic architecture of elite private schools in Lagos is a study in extreme disparity. These institutions charge tuition fees that frequently exceed the annual minimum wage by a factor of twenty or thirty per student. With student populations numbering in the hundreds, the termly revenue is staggering. One must ask the uncomfortable question: To whose benefit?
In my professional journey, I have seen the stark contrast in regional economic scaling. Having served in Cross River State, I noted schools where fees were sixteen times lower than those in my current high-brow Lagos assignment. Logically, one would assume that a sixteen-fold increase in institutional revenue would translate to a commensurate uplift in teacher welfare. The reality, however, is a stagnant wage floor. While the “Influential Parents”—the pilots, professors, and barristers—pay premium prices for premium branding, the teachers are left to navigate a hyper-inflationary economy with salaries that often fail to rival the stipends of National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) members. This leads to a bitter irony; the teacher in a private school is responsible for educating the child of a millionaire but cannot afford to rent a modest apartment within a reasonable distance of the school. When six months of an educator’s salary cannot cover a single year’s rent, the profession ceases to be a career and becomes a form of sophisticated indentured servitude.
The workload in these institutions is characterized by “performative bureaucracy.” Management often mandates that lesson plans and comprehensive lesson notes be handwritten and submitted within a week of resumption. This task is Herculean. An educator may spend an entire week in seclusion, writing for multiple classes, only to enter the term exhausted before the first bell rings. The refusal to allow teachers to take materials home—coupled with the relentless “back-to-back” scheduling of classes—leaves zero room for intellectual reflection or professional development. We have moved from being “educators” to being “recorders.” Furthermore, the systemic “rush” to fill attendance registers, club activity records, and diaries only when the Ministry of Education announces an inspection reveals a lack of genuine administrative integrity. These documents are treated not as tools for student improvement, but as defensive shields against regulatory scrutiny, with the labour burden falling squarely on the shoulders of the overworked teacher.
Perhaps the most egregious affront to the dignity of the teaching profession is the “ceremonial exploitation” prevalent in private schools. In a bid to maximize profit, schools frequently bypass professional caterers and event planners for graduations and ceremonies, choosing instead to utilize their teaching staff as manual labor. I recall with profound indignation an instance where, during a grand graduation ceremony—for which parents had paid exorbitant sums—I was instructed to serve as a waiter. This was not a request for “community help”; it was a directive that stripped away my professional identity. To see a degree-holding English Specialist, tasked with shaping the linguistic and analytical minds of students, being told to arrange canopies, carry chairs until 7:00 PM, and serve food like a low-level service hand is a visual representation of how the “owner-class” views the “teacher-class.” When I refused, it was a stand for the sanctity of the profession. An educator is a molder of character and a transmitter of knowledge; they are not a cost-saving substitute for a janitorial crew. The “takeaway food pack” offered at the end of such days is not a benefit—it is an insult to the professional’s time and dignity.
For decades, the narrative was that private schools were the “gold standard” compared to the neglected public sector. However, the tide has turned regarding labor welfare. Today, government school teachers in Nigeria often enjoy greater job security, higher structured pay, and a level of respect that their private-sector counterparts lack. Private school owners have enriched themselves by treating teachers as “disposable assets.” This lack of “rating” or appreciation for staff is why the most passionate educators are running away. Passion cannot pay for transportation in a city as expensive as Lagos. Passion cannot provide medical care for an educator’s family.
The mantra that “the teacher’s reward is in heaven” has been used for too long as a psychological tool to justify economic neglect. We must reject this. If the teacher builds the leader, the pilot, and the professor, then the teacher must be allowed to live with the dignity afforded to those professions. The neglect of teacher welfare in private schools is a ticking time bomb. When educators are treated like “trash,” the quality of instruction inevitably suffers, regardless of how much the palace walls are repainted or how many ceremonies are held.
My call to action is simple, the Ministry of Education must enforce a salary floor for private schools that is commensurate with their tuition earnings. Teachers must also be protected from manual labour and non-academic duties that devalue their expertise.
To the owners of these great institutions, you must recognize that your “millions” are generated by the intellectual labour of your staff. Stop enriching yourselves at the cost of the poverty of your workers. Let the reward of the teacher start here, on earth, in the form of a living wage and professional respect. Only then can we truly say we are building the leaders of tomorrow.
© 2026 Abiodun Moshood Olowokogbajo
