Cruelty in the Classroom: Nigerian Man Laments as Woman’s Child Faces Discrimination Over School Fees

The Nigerian online space was set abuzz after a man, identified on X (formerly Twitter) as Ayekooto (@thebardogbamola), shared a troubling experience that has once again thrown the spotlight on the issues of empathy, classism, and the treatment of children in the country’s education system. In a heartfelt narration, he described how a woman was openly criticized and her child ostracized simply because she had not yet paid the school fees in full, despite her assurance to settle the balance by month’s end. His post sparked debates on the lack of compassion that seems to be spreading like wildfire in Nigerian society, especially in places where empathy should naturally take root.

According to his narration, the incident unfolded when he went to drop his own child at school after managing to pay a bulk of the fees he owed. With his own experience of struggling to raise money for fees, he arrived at the school only to witness a woman lamenting bitterly about the treatment meted out to her child. The woman complained that her child had been sidelined, denied homework, and made to feel excluded simply because she had promised to complete payment at the end of the month. Shockingly, instead of receiving support or at least understanding, she was met with scornful murmurs from other parents who openly ridiculed her situation.

“Guess what they were saying,” Ayekooto wrote. “‘If you can’t pay money, let your child stay at home!’ Another said, ‘The holiday was long now, how much is the money?’”

He explained that as he stood there, he shook his head in disbelief at how quick people were to bad-mouth the struggling woman. For him, this behavior was not only disheartening but also a reflection of the deeply ingrained classism that has become normalized in Nigerian society. “I don’t know why we gain pleasure with this ‘I pass my neighbor’ behavior,” he added, highlighting the tendency of many Nigerians to belittle others in order to feel superior, rather than showing solidarity in shared struggles.

What made the situation even more heartbreaking was that the woman reportedly insisted she had never defaulted on her child’s fees in the past. She emphasized that her delay was only temporary and due to pressing financial constraints, yet the other parents treated her like an outcast. For Ayekooto, this was not just a simple matter of school fees; it was a mirror reflecting how society has gradually lost touch with empathy, understanding, and compassion.

“I know what I have been through trying to raise money for fees and I know how I reach out to people. Is it not this same Nigeria that we all are living? How easy is it to raise money? Why do we act like we have no empathy for each other? Why?” he lamented, his words resonating with many Nigerians who could relate to the harsh reality of financial struggles in a battered economy.

The reaction to his post online was immediate and widespread. Many Nigerians echoed his frustration, sharing similar experiences of being humiliated over unpaid school fees. Others recounted stories of their own parents’ sacrifices during tough times, while some narrated how schools often punish children for financial issues beyond their control. Social commentators argued that while schools have a right to enforce payment of fees to survive, humiliating children or treating them as second-class pupils is inhumane and counterproductive.

At the center of the debate is the moral question: Should children be penalized for circumstances entirely beyond their control? While it is true that private schools rely on fees for sustainability, critics insist that punishing children or sidelining them from academic activities not only damages their self-esteem but also creates divisions that could affect their psychological growth. Many argued that this system of ostracism is nothing but a continuation of the classist mindset that divides Nigerians into “haves” and “have-nots,” stripping away any sense of collective humanity.

Another disturbing aspect of the incident was the reaction of fellow parents. Instead of rallying around the woman, or at least offering words of comfort, they seemed to derive satisfaction from mocking her struggles. “The holiday was long now, how much is the money?” one parent was quoted as saying—a statement that reflected not just insensitivity but a lack of awareness of the financial strain many families endure in today’s Nigeria.

In recent years, economic hardship has bitten deeper into the lives of many Nigerians. Rising inflation, unemployment, and stagnant wages have left countless families barely able to put food on the table, let alone meet the high costs of private school education. Yet, the growing culture of judgment and ridicule has created an environment where people in distress are shamed rather than supported.

This is not an isolated incident. Across the country, stories abound of children sent home for unpaid fees, humiliated in front of classmates, or denied participation in school activities. These practices not only stigmatize the affected children but also reinforce the idea that education is a privilege reserved for those with financial stability rather than a right for every child.

The story also touches on a broader cultural issue in Nigeria—what many refer to as the “I pass my neighbor” mentality. This attitude, rooted in competition and class consciousness, makes people feel superior by highlighting the struggles of others. Rather than offering empathy, they mock, ridicule, and distance themselves from those who are vulnerable. Ayekooto’s frustration with this cultural flaw resonated strongly with readers who saw themselves reflected in the scenario, either as past victims or as observers of the same patterns in their communities.

For many, the incident raises deeper questions about the role of schools, parents, and society at large in shaping children’s values. If children observe their parents ridiculing others for financial hardship, what lessons are they internalizing? If schools teach children that being poor or struggling financially makes them unworthy of equal treatment, what kind of citizens are we raising? These are questions that continue to haunt the conscience of Nigerians grappling with systemic inequality.

Ayekooto’s post, while a simple narration of a morning at school, has become symbolic of the bigger battle Nigerians face: the erosion of empathy in a society already burdened by hardship. His words, “I have given up on Nigeria,” reflect the disillusionment of many who believe that beyond bad governance and economic woes, the real tragedy is the way Nigerians treat each other.

At its core, this story is a reminder that while financial struggles are temporary, the scars of humiliation can last a lifetime. A child denied homework today because of unpaid fees may grow up with a deep sense of inferiority, while a parent mocked for struggling may carry wounds that never heal. Yet, if there is one thing that Nigerians can draw from this story, it is the urgent need to revive the culture of empathy.

Empathy, as simple as it sounds, could change how Nigerians relate to one another. Instead of mocking, one could offer support. Instead of ostracizing, one could encourage. And instead of perpetuating classism, one could foster community. After all, as Ayekooto pointed out, “Is it not this same Nigeria that we all are living?” If everyone is navigating the same harsh economy, why then the cruelty towards those who stumble?

This story of a woman, her child, and a crowd of mocking parents should not just be another viral moment on social media. It should serve as a wake-up call—a reminder that society cannot thrive without compassion. If Nigerians continue down this path of ridicule and classism, then truly, as Ayekooto lamented, many may have no choice but to “give up” on a system that has forgotten its humanity.