The other day, while minding my business on the blue app (Facebook), a quote slapped me harder than fuel price hikes: “A degree is a sign that you’ve beaten illiteracy, not poverty.” At first, I wanted to argue. But after reflecting deeply — the type of reflection Nigerians do when NEPA takes light mid-way into a football match — I had to agree. Why? Because despite our alphabet soup of certificates — Diploma, HND, B.Sc, M.Sc, Ph.D — poverty still sits comfortably in too many households. I know a Ph.D holder who avoids the title because his social and economic reality does not respect the degree. Imagine being called “Doctor” when poverty still calls you “customer.” So let’s ask the hard question: Does education automatically translate into wealth? The honest answer is NO!
Take a tour of Nigeria’s informal economy. Visit spare parts markets, and you’ll find traders who can barely string a sentence in English but move millions daily in wheelbarrows. Stroll into Kanti Kwari in Kano and you’ll meet men who never saw the four walls of secondary school, yet are far richer than civil servants waiting for alerts that disappear faster than data bundles. Here’s the bitter pill: Education and poverty reduction are not the same medicine. If you don’t engage in deliberate poverty-fighting actions, you’ll carry certificates like trophies and still dine with poverty every evening.
The structure is even rigged against us. Employment policies in most organizations bar workers from side businesses. Your own colleagues will happily report you for “double hustling.” Our university system locks students into “full-time” study which means full-time economic paralysis, no space to learn practical survival skills. Meanwhile, abroad, people legally work two or three jobs if they can. Here, try it, and HR will drag you before a panel before you even say “side hustle.” So yes, certificates give you arsenals to fight poverty, but they are not weapons by themselves. In fact, too many Nigerians treat certificates like meal tickets — frame them on the wall and stare at them as though rice will fall out. My brother, my sister, certificate no get hand o!
What truly matters is skill and its marketability. Recently, I watched some men close to me display amazing knowledge in plumbing, electrical work, and masonry. I told them straight: “You people have no business being broke. All you need now is marketing.” Because, whether we like it or not, skill + marketing = money. My trip to China some years back confirmed it further. At a program in Changsha, Hunan Province, we were told there’d be a test on the first day. Being a Nigerian, I assumed it was a written exam, so I crammed like WAEC night prep — from midnight till dawn. Only to discover the “test” was practical: construct something of a given height using provided materials. My jaw dropped. In Nigeria, we would have written essays, begged for extra sheets, and collected “carryover” at the end. That’s why our graduates can define “spanner” but can’t tighten a bolt.
The moral? Education is valuable, yes. But without skill, creativity, and deliberate poverty-fighting strategies, poverty will happily renew its tenancy in your life. So, stop staring at your certificate as if it’s a magic ATM card. Use your brain. Use your hands. Market your skills. Because at the end of the day: Certificate no get hand — but your hand can put food on the table.
In Nigeria today, the real certificate is skill — the paper one is just decoration. Frame your certificate for the wall, but train your hands for the wallet.
