Opinion
Tackling Fear Of Failing Exams
The desperate clamour for admission into institutions of higher learning by post-primary students has reached a feverish height, mainly due to the high premium today on paper qualification.
Every year, millions register for the UTME examinations conducted by the Joint Admission and Matriculations Board (JAMB) but out of the lot, very few are given admission into universities based on their performances.
This writer’s concern is not who applies for admission but who gets admitted in the end and what they do with the opportunity, especially their approach to studies and how they perceive the university community.
The learning structure and style was perfectly put together by academic experts to mould and prepare the lives of students for the advancement and development of a nation’s economy. Hence, the concept of re-writing of failed courses. But today, the fear of failing has become the root of all corrupt practices amongst students and lecturers alike. My question is: Is failing a course the student’s fault?
In class one Monday morning, for instance, I overhead a girl complaining to her friend that one of her lecturers failed her. The choice of words used to describe the lecturer’s alleged attitude was so insulting and demeaning that I was forced to eavesdrop. The girl said she did ‘everything’ to pass the course but the lecturer still ‘failed’ her. But after carefully listening to her criticism, I figured that the truth of the matter was that she did ‘everything’ to pass the said lecturer’s course, except ‘reading’.
Of all my years in the university, I have come to understand that students believe that they cannot fail and on no account should an “F” be reflected in their result. Yet, the rate at which students fail is alarming.
This failure is usually attributed to the lecturers who they believe must have done it to ‘victimise’ the student for one ‘sin’ committed or another. This may be true in some cases, but the question is: How many students read not just to pass but to acquire knowledge?
Clearly, if a student reads merely to pass a course, he or she would just be 30 per cent sure of avoiding failure. That is not a good grade, hence not good enough. But that is what most students do, and in the end, claim to have been failed by the lecturer.
Many well-meaning Nigerians complain that the reading culture in the country is declining drastically. Why would it not be so when students now pursue education not for academic freedom but only as a mean ticket, using the wealth of their families or the level of their ‘hustling’, as the means to an end?
You will agree with me that both our schools and the post-graduate lot today are full of half-baked products who bought their way into the universities, hopeful that they could also pay their way through their academic pursuits, a reason that explains why many graduates are rejected by employers every year.
If the ultimate reason of going to university is to pass examinations and acquire certificate without properly learning and acquiring academic knowledge through the formal process, how can one prove himself or herself in any chosen career? Does that make one truly educated? I think that adequate study and assimilation of what has been learnt over a period of time helps in preparing the student for the task of defending his or her certificate.
Therefore, re-writing a course does not necessarily mean that a student is a failure. No! It simply means that for all mistakes, there is always a second chance to give it another shot. Thus, Mary Rickford’s view of failure which reads: “If you have made mistakes (failing a course), even serious ones (in the organization you’d find yourself), there is always another chance for you. What we call failure is not the falling down but the staying down.”
If the average Nigerian student would understand this principle, face it with all sincerity and apply it in all life’s endeavours, then, the university community would be filled with positive minds that believe in the concept of ‘perseverance’ which will foster creativity, keeping the monopolistic market at advantage because her labour force will be effective.
I think students need to strive to be educated and not just passing a given course. I know it is hard but it can be achieved if all students can devote a minimum of two hours daily to reading instead of loafing about until examinations timetable is released. This can be achieved through the construction of a personal timetable that allows for the reading of a course every day.
Now, if this is done, then there would be no need for name-calling, and ‘victimisation’ of students would be reduced (sometimes, students are victimized because they cannot hold their ground academically. In other words, we give the lecturers reason to victimize us). Students should not forget that they have to give a much better account of themselves tomorrow than they ever did yesterday.
Therefore, let us as students, resist the familiar tendency to waste away precious time in the hope that we will buy our way through every examination, and in our failure, blame the lecturers. Instead, students should prepare for that task today by doing what is right at the right time so when they graduate, they would have no fear over how to face the seemingly difficult yet enduring monopolistic market by putting smiles on the faces of employers of labour via their charisma and confidence while trudging on in the most fascinating ‘city’ in the world, the ‘university’.
Perhaps, the words of Carl Bard, “through no one can go back and make a new start, anyone can start from now and make a new end.” Goodluck in the quest for academic freedom should be the source of strength students require to do it right, the fear of failing is no option!
West, a Mass Communication student of RSUST, writes from Port Harcourt.
Christiana William West
The events that unfolded in Abuja on Tuesday November 11, 2025 between the Minister of the Federal Capital Territory, Chief Nyesom Wike and a detachment of soldiers guarding a disputed property, led by Adams Yerima, a commissioned Naval Officer, may go down as one of the defining images of Nigeria’s democratic contradictions. It was not merely a quarrel over land. It was a confrontation between civil authority and the military legacy that still hovers over our national life.
Nyesom Wike, fiery and fearless as always, was seen on video exchanging words with a uniformed officer who refused to grant him passage to inspect a parcel of land alleged to have been illegally acquired. The minister’s voice rose, his temper flared, and the soldier, too, stood his ground, insisting on his own authority. Around them, aides, security men, and bystanders watched, stunned, as two embodiments of the Nigerian state clashed in the open.
The images spread fast, igniting debates across drawing rooms, beer parlours, and social media platforms. Some hailed Wike for standing up to military arrogance; others scolded him for perceived disrespect to the armed forces. Yet beneath the noise lies a deeper question about what sort of society we are building and whether power in Nigeria truly understands the limits of its own reach.
It is tragic that, more than two decades into civil rule, the relationship between the civilian arm of government and the military remains fragile and poorly understood. The presence of soldiers in a land dispute between private individuals and the city administration is, by all civic standards, an aberration. It recalls a dark era when might was right, and uniforms conferred immunity against accountability.
Wike’s anger, even if fiery, was rooted in a legitimate concern: that no individual, however connected or retired, should deploy the military to protect personal interests. That sentiment echoes the fundamental democratic creed that the law is supreme, not personalities. If his passion overshot decorum, it was perhaps a reflection of a nation weary of impunity.
On the other hand, the soldier in question is a symbol of another truth: that discipline, respect for order, and duty to hierarchy are ingrained in our armed forces. He may have been caught between conflicting instructions one from his superiors, another from a civilian minister exercising his lawful authority. The confusion points not to personal failure but to institutional dysfunction.
It is, therefore, simplistic to turn the incident into a morality play of good versus evil.
*********”**** What happened was an institutional embarrassment. Both men represented facets of the same failing system a polity still learning how to reconcile authority with civility, law with loyalty, and service with restraint.
In fairness, Wike has shown himself as a man of uncommon courage. Whether in Rivers State or at the FCTA, he does not shy away from confrontation. Yet courage without composure often feeds misunderstanding. A public officer must always be the cooler head, even when provoked, because the power of example outweighs the satisfaction of winning an argument.
Conversely, soldiers, too, must be reminded that their uniforms do not place them above civilian oversight. The military exists to defend the nation, not to enforce property claims or intimidate lawful authorities. Their participation in purely civil matters corrodes the image of the institution and erodes public trust.
One cannot overlook the irony: in a country where kidnappers roam highways and bandits sack villages, armed men are posted to guard contested land in the capital. It reflects misplaced priorities and distorted values. The Nigerian soldier, trained to defend sovereignty, should not be drawn into private or bureaucratic tussles.
Sycophancy remains the greatest ailment of our political culture. Many of those who now cheer one side or the other do so not out of conviction but out of convenience. Tomorrow they will switch allegiance. True patriotism lies not in defending personalities but in defending principles. A people enslaved by flattery cannot nurture a culture of justice.
The Nigerian elite must learn to submit to the same laws that govern the poor. When big men fence off public land and use connections to shield their interests, they mock the very constitution they swore to uphold. The FCT, as the mirror of national order, must not become a jungle where only the powerful can build.
The lesson for Wike himself is also clear: power is best exercised with calmness. The weight of his office demands more than bravery; it demands statesmanship. To lead is not merely to command, but to persuade — even those who resist your authority.
Equally, the lesson for the armed forces is that professionalism shines brightest in restraint. Obedience to illegal orders is not loyalty; it is complicity. The soldier who stands on the side of justice protects both his honour and the dignity of his uniform.
The Presidency, too, must see this episode as a wake-up call to clarify institutional boundaries. If soldiers can be drawn into civil enforcement without authorization, then our democracy remains at risk of subtle militarization. The constitution must speak louder than confusion.
The Nigerian public deserves better than spectacles of ego. We crave leaders who rise above emotion and officers who respect civilian supremacy. Our children must not inherit a nation where authority means shouting matches and intimidation in public glare.
Every democracy matures through such tests. What matters is whether we learn the right lessons. The British once had generals who defied parliament; the Americans once fought over states’ rights; Nigeria, too, must pass through her own growing pains but with humility, not hubris.
If the confrontation has stirred discomfort, then perhaps it has done the nation some good. It forces a conversation long overdue: Who truly owns the state — the citizen or the powerful? Can we build a Nigeria where institutions, not individuals, define our destiny?
As the dust settles, both the FCTA and the military hierarchy must conduct impartial investigations. The truth must be established — not to shame anyone, but to restore order. Where laws were broken, consequences must follow. Where misunderstandings occurred, apologies must be offered.
Let the rule of law triumph over the rule of impulse. Let civility triumph over confrontation. Let governance return to the path of dialogue and procedure.
Nigeria cannot continue to oscillate between civilian bravado and military arrogance. Both impulses spring from the same insecurity — the fear of losing control. True leadership lies in the ability to trust institutions to do their work without coercion.
Those who witnessed the clash saw a drama of two gladiators. One in starched khaki, one in well-cut suit. Both proud, both unyielding. But a nation cannot be built on stubbornness; it must be built on understanding. Power, when it meets power, should produce order, not chaos.
We must resist the temptation to glorify temper. Governance is not warfare; it is stewardship. The citizen watches, the world observes, and history records. How we handle moments like this will define our collective maturity.
The confrontation may have ended without violence, but it left deep questions in the national conscience. When men of authority quarrel in the open, institutions tremble. The people, once again, become spectators in a theatre of misplaced pride.
It is time for all who hold office — civilian or military — to remember that they serve under the same flag. That flag is neither khaki nor political colour; it is green-white-green, and it demands humility.
No victor, no vanquish only a lesson for a nation still learning to govern itself with dignity.
By; King Onunwor
