By Muhammad Musa-Gombe
When one reads comments from some prominent Nigerians in the diaspora, it is often with a mixture of pride and trepidation. Pride, because they represent the best of what this country has produced. Trepidation, because sometimes, they speak of Nigeria in tones that betray a disconnect from its historical truths, its social contract, and the deeper meanings behind the institutions that shaped them.
Kemi Badenoch, the British opposition leader (Conservatives) recently commented in an interview about her time as a student at Federal Government Girls College (FGGC) Shagamu. She described the school environment in dismal terms, unkempt toilets, grass-cutting as punishment, and the general condition of the school.
For anyone familiar with Nigeria’s education system, these are not unfamiliar experiences. Yet, one is forced to ask: was that all she took away from her years at a Unity School?
I, too, am a product of a Federal Government College, proudly FGC Kaduna. Like many alumni of Unity Schools across Nigeria, I recall grass-cutting, toilet cleaning, sweeping assembly grounds, is a regimen that today’s students might consider harsh. But looking back, we know better. These were not acts of punishment. They were acts of moulding.
Recall Unity Schools were born out of the ashes of the Nigerian Civil War (1967–70), a period that tested the very soul of our nation. In response, the then Federal Government established these colleges along with the National Youth Service Corp as platforms to foster healing, integration, and national consciousness. Students from all corners of the federation, different ethnicity, languages, religions, and social classes lived together, learned together, quarreled and fought together, and matured together. That was the point. Pro Unitate was not just a motto, it was a mission.
To that end, discipline was not optional. Responsibility was not outsourced. Every student, regardless of whether they were from affluent homes or modest backgrounds, had a chore a communal task that taught humility, accountability, and teamwork. Grass cutting? It taught endurance and patience. Toilet cleaning? It taught that dignity is not in detachment from manual work but in embracing it. These tasks may probably appear crude in the West, but in the African context, they were (and still are) extensions of home training and moral upbringing.
The cultural disparity between the West and Africa has left Kemi Badenoch culturally stranded in defining her objective. Badenoch’s reference to these experiences as appalling misses a crucial point. Just like a soldier doesn’t describe crawling in trenches or enduring cold nights as punishment but as preparation, our daily routines at Unity Schools were part of a broader curriculum a non-academic one that prepared us to face life head-on. If she rose to become a respected British Cabinet Minister, perhaps she might credit not just the books she read, but the steel that those so-called “punishments” forged in her.
This is not to deny that the infrastructure in many Unity Schools leaves much to be desired it did then, and it does now. The challenge of under-funding, corruption, and poor maintenance culture is real. But to frame the entire Unity School experience around these deficiencies is to rob it of its higher ideals and the values it instilled.
Let us not forget: in these schools, children of generals, governors, diplomats, farmers, civil servants, and market women all shared the same dormitories, ate the same meals, cleaned the same toilets, and cut the same grass. That, in itself, was the magic. In those shared spaces, Nigeria was being reborn daily from the bonds formed by Hausa and Igbo bunkmates, Yoruba and Tiv classmates, to Fulani and Ijaw, Ibibio and Kuteb prefects who debated in literary societies.
What the Federal Government Colleges did and still strive to do is more than produce students who pass WASC exams. They produce Nigerians: Nigerians who can see beyond tribe and tongue, who know how to work with their hands, and who understand that leadership begins with service.
Perhaps Badenoch passed through FGGC Shagamu, but it is fair to wonder: did the school pass through her? Did it really?
Nigeria is not perfect, and neither are its institutions. But if those of us who benefited from them refuse to recognise their value especially when speaking on international platforms, then we do a disservice not just to history, but to the generation that will come after us.
My piece should serve not only as a reminder to Kemi Badenoch, but as a gentle call to all Nigerians abroad: never forget the spirit behind the schools and systems that shaped you. Their imperfections do not cancel out their impact. If anything, they enhance it.
As a country, we must continue to improve our schools, yes. But we must also preserve the ethos behind them.
The Federal Government Colleges, like NYSC, remain some of the few remaining threads holding the idea of Nigerian unity together. And in these polarised times, we need them now more than ever.
Musa-Gombe, an alumnus of FGC Kaduna, is a media practitioner and lives in Abuja.