In Nigeria, to be average is to be celebrated. To be mediocre is to be a messiah. A civil servant arrives at 11 a.m. and leaves by 2 p.m. and is hailed for “trying.” A lecturer returns scripts after six months and is called “committed.” A minister completes a single road and is praised like Mandela.
Excellence is not the standard. It is the exception. And those who dare to raise the bar are often labeled “too foreign,” “too proud,” or simply “too much.”
This is the Cult of Mediocrity. It is a belief system. A national gospel that teaches our children to aim low and be applauded. That whispers to innovators, “Don’t shine too brightly, they’ll dim you.” That tells the honest man to watch his back not because of thieves, but because he embarrasses the corrupt.
Bolaji, a brilliant young engineer from Ibadan, who redesigned a solar-powered irrigation system that could transform farming in arid regions. He presented it to a state agency. They laughed. “Who sent you?” they asked. “This is not America.” He now works in the Netherlands, building systems that Nigeria still imports at double the cost.
In sports, we rejoice over quarterfinal exits. In education, we clap for WAEC pass rates of 39%. In governance, we praise politicians for paying salaries as if it’s a divine favor. And in our homes, we warn the brilliant child to “tone it down” so other kids don’t feel bad.
Our mediocrity is not just tolerated. It is monetized. It is politicized. And worst of all, it is spiritualized. “Na God,” we say even when it’s just plain laziness.
According to the West African Examinations Council, less than 45% of Nigerian candidates in 2023 had credit passes in five core subjects, yet several state governors declared “impressive improvement.” Mediocrity isn’t just tolerated, it’s institutionalized.
When Rwanda banned plastic and built a smart city, we called them “too ambitious”.When Ghana reformed its power sector, we asked “who do they think they are?” Meanwhile, we cheer a train project delayed by 10 years because, well, at least it came.
But the worst part? Mediocrity now wears agbada. It speaks on TV. It runs for office. It sets the syllabus and writes the anthem. It gives keynote speeches at conferences it should never attend.
If Nigeria is failing, it is not just because of bad leaders. It is because of a society that hands ovations to underachievers and stones the excellent for “doing too much.”
It wasn’t always like this. In the 1970s, Nigerian universities attracted top minds across Africa. Public servants published academic papers, not birthday flyers. Teachers were national heroes. Back then, competence was currency. Today, it’s liability.
We must kill this cult. Burn it at the altar of ambition. Teach our children that excellence is not pride, it is purpose. That doing your job is not a favor, it is the floor, not the ceiling.
We need a national reset, one that rewards rigor, reforms institutions, and rewires minds. Starting with education, civil service, and public appointments, where merit should be non-negotiable. Until then, our brightest will keep packing suitcases while our loudest take the stage.
Until then, the best among us will keep leaving. And those who stay will learn the art of lowering their light.
Stephanie Shaakaa
08034861434
