For many Nigerian girls, school is not a right but a dream — stolen by poverty, fear, or an early marriage.
I came across a tweet recently that stopped me in my tracks. Someone asked, “Are Nigerian girls really being excluded from education?” This was in response to a post advocating for the education of the girl-child. While this may be a simple question and may seem easy to brush off, after all, we often see campaigns encouraging girl-child education. Schools exist, girls attend them, and there’s even a growing movement encouraging female empowerment. But the more I thought about that question, the more uncomfortable it became. Because beneath the surface lies a harsher truth than we like to admit: many Nigerian girls are still systematically denied access to education. And the data, unfortunately, tells the story in painful detail.
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Recently, a Nigerian teenager, Joy Ogah, symbolically took over the seat of Vice President Kashim Shettima for a day. She used that platform to advocate for the education and empowerment of girls. Her act was powerful — not only because she spoke truth to power, but because she reminded us what happens when girls are given the chance to learn and lead.
For every Joy Ogah, there are millions of other girls who never get the chance to dream that big.
The numbers tell the story
According to UNICEF, around 7.6 million girls in Nigeria are out of school. Roughly 3.9 million at the primary level and another 3.7 million at junior secondary. That means girls account for over 60% of Nigeria’s out-of-school children, with nearly half of them concentrated in the North-East and North-West regions.
The picture grows even bleaker when you examine progression and completion rates. A survey by the Centre for Girl Child Education found that in Northern Nigeria, only 25% of girls move from primary to secondary school, and a mere 4% actually complete secondary education. In some parts of the region, that number drops to around 3%.
To put this in perspective, imagine 100 girls starting primary school in Northern Nigeria. Only three or four of them will finish secondary school. The rest will drop out along the way, not because they are incapable, but because their society, economy, and culture often make it nearly impossible for them to stay.
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Child marriage: the other half of the problem
You cannot talk about girls’ education in Nigeria without mentioning child marriage. The two are deeply connected because one feeds the other.
In the North-West and North-East, 48% of girls are married by age 15, and 78% by age 18, according to Save the Children International. Nationally, Nigeria is home to about 23 million child brides, that’s 23 million women who were married before they turned 18. For most of these girls, marriage marks the end of their education.
Once a girl becomes a wife, school becomes secondary or entirely out of reach. Pregnancy, domestic duties, social expectations, and even stigma push her further away from classrooms. The tragedy is not just that her education stops — it’s that her dreams, ambitions, and independence often stop with it.
Read also: The alarming reality of girls’ education in Africa – Marie Claire Nigeria
Why education matters for the girl-child
Education is not just about learning to read or write; it’s about unlocking choices. It’s about seeing possibilities beyond the boundaries of your home or community. When a girl stays in school longer, she’s far more likely to delay marriage and childbirth, earn a higher income, and participate in decisions that affect her life.
However, when she’s excluded — whether through poverty, insecurity, cultural pressure, or child marriage — the impact is lifelong. The exclusion of girls from education isn’t just a personal tragedy; it’s a national loss. It limits Nigeria’s economic growth, perpetuates poverty, and weakens social development.
And it’s not just statistics; it’s lived experience.
The barriers are deep but not unbreakable
The reasons behind girls’ exclusion from education, especially in Northern Nigeria, are complex but interconnected:
Cultural norms that prioritise early marriage or domestic roles over schooling.
Poverty forces families to choose which child to educate — and all too often, boys come first.
Insecurity: kidnappings, insurgency, and attacks on schools make many parents afraid to send their daughters to class.
Sexual assault: Due to the fear of being sexually assaulted at school or enroute, some families choose to keep their girls indoors.
Poor infrastructure, including a lack of safe toilets or separate facilities for girls.
Weak education systems that fail to engage or support girls through adolescence.
All these barriers combine to create a silent but powerful exclusion that happens not because someone locks the school gate, but because everything around the girl tells her she doesn’t belong there.
What we can do — and why we must
Despite the bleak statistics, there is hope. Initiatives like the Adolescent Girls Initiative for Learning and Empowerment (AGILE), supported by the World Bank, are working to bring millions of out-of-school girls back into classrooms, particularly in Northern states. These programs focus not just on enrolment, but on retention, transition, and completion, because keeping girls in school is as important as getting them there.
We also need stronger laws and enforcement against child marriage, community engagement to shift cultural attitudes, and policies that make education safer and more accessible for girls, especially in rural areas. Education must not be seen as a privilege; it’s a right.
That tweet asked, “Are Nigerian girls really being excluded from education?” The honest answer is yes — they are. Yet, the conversation doesn’t end there. The question isn’t only whether girls are being excluded. It’s whether, as a society, we are willing to do something about it. Because when we do educate our girls, the ripple effects are extraordinary. Educated girls can transform communities and our country for the better.
A stronger Nigeria — safer, stronger, and more equitable — begins with giving every girl, in every region, the chance to sit in a classroom and learn. When a girl sits in a classroom, she isn’t just learning; she’s rewriting her destiny. Every educated girl is a quiet revolution, a promise that Nigeria’s story can still change. But that change begins only when we decide that her future matters as much as anyone else’s.
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