When Intellectually Thirsty Nigerians Keep Drinking From A Polluted Fountain Of Knowledge, by Isaac Asabor

There is a strange comedy playing out in Nigeria, except that nobody should be laughing. This is as a country that proudly describes itself as the “Giant of Africa” is increasingly being confronted with questions about the authenticity of the academic qualifications of some of the people who have risen to prominence. Stories about questionable degrees, forged certificates and disputed academic credentials keep surfacing with sufficient frequency to make one wonder whether the nation has been drinking from a polluted fountain of knowledge.

And, unfortunately, the consequences may eventually be felt by everybody. For decades, the Nigerian child has been taught that education is the surest ladder to a better life. Parents make enormous sacrifices to send their children to school. Some sell land. Some borrow money. Some work themselves to the bone. As expected, the child is told: “Go to school. Read your books. Pass your examinations. Get your certificate. You will become somebody.”

Fair enough. But what happens when the child grows up and discovers that, in the same society preaching the gospel of hard work, some people may allegedly be looking for academic shortcuts?

What happens when the young graduate who spent years burning the midnight oil discovers that somebody else may have been busy forging the certificate instead? That is where the joke becomes bitter. Nigeria’s problem is not simply that questionable certificates may exist. The more disturbing question is how such credentials can travel through a system designed to detect them.

After all, certificates do not normally grow legs and walk into offices by themselves. Somebody presents them. Somebody receives them. Somebody examines them. Somebody accepts them. Somebody relies on them.

And sometimes, apparently, everybody suddenly develops selective blindness until the matter becomes too embarrassing to ignore. Then, as is often the Nigerian way, the alarm bells begin ringing after the horse has not only bolted from the stable but has crossed three states and is already attending a conference.

At this juncture it is germane to ask, “Why verify yesterday when we can investigate tomorrow? That appears to be one of the unfortunate peculiarities of our national culture. We often prefer “fire-fighting” to preventing the fire in the first place. Yet certificate fraud is not an amusing administrative irregularity. It can become a public safety issue.

A questionable qualification may not remain quietly inside a frame on somebody’s wall. It may eventually find its way into a hospital, an engineering firm, a classroom, a financial institution, a government ministry or another place where professional competence matters.

Imagine a person treating a patient without possessing the qualification claimed. Imagine someone designing a bridge without the expertise represented by the certificate hanging proudly in his office. Imagine someone teaching children while lacking the academic foundation he claims to possess. Imagine entrusting critical public decisions to someone whose supposed educational background cannot withstand proper verification. At that point, the certificate is no longer just questionable paper. It can become a loaded gun in the hands of incompetence. This is why Nigerians should resist the temptation to treat every certificate controversy as merely another social-media sensation.

In fact, we have become accustomed to scandals arriving on Monday, trending on Tuesday, generating outrage on Wednesday and being forgotten by Thursday. By Friday, everybody has moved on to another controversy. Naija no dey carry last, even in forgetting. But this particular issue should not be allowed to disappear into the bottomless pit of national amnesia.

Bad enough, there is something profoundly unfair about the situation facing the ordinary Nigerian. The honest student spends years studying. The parents pay school fees. The child sits examinations. The graduate collects the certificate. Then the job market asks for experience. After acquiring experience, another door asks for connections. After finding connections, another door asks for “settlement”. And while the honest graduate is still trying to understand the rules of the game, somebody else may allegedly be looking for a shortcut through the back door. At some point, one has to ask: What exactly are we teaching the next generation? Are we teaching them that education matters? Or are we teaching them that what matters is merely looking educated?

Given the backdrop of the lamentable situation, there is a difference as a certificate should be evidence of knowledge. Unfortunately, we sometimes behave as if a certificate is knowledge itself. Put a framed certificate on the wall and, suddenly, common sense is expected to bow.

Add “Dr.” to a name and some Nigerians immediately assume the owner has received divine revelation on every subject under the sun. A person can be a medical doctor and suddenly become an authority on economics. A lawyer becomes a security expert. An accountant becomes an epidemiologist. An academic becomes a political strategist.

And before you know it, one person is carrying enough titles to make his name resemble the minutes of a university senate meeting. But titles are not wisdom. Certificates are not character. Degrees are not integrity. And academic robes do not automatically confer competence.

Against the backdrop of the foregoing view, Nigeria must therefore recover something that seems to have been lost somewhere along the road: respect for genuine knowledge.

In fact, the danger of fake or questionable qualifications is that they contaminate the credibility of genuine ones. The graduate who honestly earned a degree should not have to explain that his certificate is genuine because someone somewhere has made the public suspicious of certificates generally. The professional who spent years acquiring legitimate training should not have his reputation dragged into the mud by people accused of taking shortcuts. This is why the issue should concern everyone, including those who never attended university.

At this juncture, it is germane to suggest the recurring challenge of certificate forgery should be taken seriously by the authorities as the consequences of incompetence do not check your educational background before visiting you. When a poorly qualified person makes a bad engineering decision, the building does not collapse only on university graduates. When an incompetent professional makes a dangerous decision, the consequences do not ask whether the victim has a degree.

When a public institution is badly managed because people are appointed on the strength of questionable credentials, everybody pays. The educated and the uneducated. The rich and the poor. The connected and the forgotten. Without sounding hyperbolical in this context, it is expedient to reiterate the fact that everybody pays. That is why Nigeria must stop treating academic verification as a ceremonial exercise.

There should be no “oga, we know you” approach to credentials. No “he is a big man” exemption. No “we will verify later” culture. No “don’t embarrass the institution” excuse. No “let sleeping dogs lie” philosophy when the dog in question is guarding the national knowledge system.

In fact, if a qualification is genuine, verification should establish it. If it is not genuine, due process should establish that too. Either way, the truth should not require a national crisis before it can be found.

There is also a need to examine the culture that creates the demand for fraudulent credentials in the first place. Why are Nigerians so obsessed with titles? Why must everybody be called “Doctor” even when the doctorate is irrelevant to the work being done?

Why do we sometimes celebrate the appearance of knowledge more than knowledge itself? Why do we admire people because of the letters after their names without asking what those letters have actually taught them?

Perhaps the answer lies partly in our collective obsession with appearances. We like big cars. We like big houses. We like big titles. We like big ceremonies. We like big men. Sometimes, even our grammar likes to dress in agbada. Everything must look impressive. But underneath the agbada, what is there? That is the question. Because a nation cannot build a knowledge economy by decorating ignorance. It cannot build strong institutions by lowering the standard of verification. It cannot build a competent workforce by allowing certificates to become mere souvenirs. And it cannot prepare its young people for a competitive global economy while sending them the message that shortcuts are sometimes more rewarding than genuine effort.

The danger is particularly serious for Nigeria because the country already faces a credibility deficit in several areas. Education should be one of the institutions where Nigerians can still say, without hesitation: “This is what I know, and this is how I earned the right to say I know it.” Once that confidence disappears, rebuilding it will not be easy. The fountain of knowledge must therefore be cleaned. Not tomorrow. Not after another scandal. Not after another embarrassing revelation. It should be now.

Universities must maintain credible and accessible verification systems. Employers must verify qualifications before relying on them. Professional bodies must strengthen their checks. Government agencies must stop allowing bureaucratic convenience to replace due diligence.

And where wrongdoing is established through proper investigation and due process, consequences should follow.

The message must be clear: Nigeria has no room for counterfeit knowledge.