This year, the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB) released results that shook the nation—76% of candidates scored below 200 out of 400.

Chinonso, age 20, scored 265 in last year’s JAMB. This attempt was her third. Her older brother jokingly calls her “Professor” at home, yet every morning she folds her bedsheet like a boarding student and washes the uniform of frustration. Her dream of studying Medicine at UNN is real, but in Nigeria, dreams are often shaped not by effort but by systems—and JAMB is one of them.

In Nigeria’s higher education system, JAMB stands not as a gateway to opportunity, but as a gatekeeper. Originally envisioned as a meritocratic solution for equal access to university education, it now often feels like an obstacle, weighed down by its own contradictions.

JAMB was established in 1978 to unify and standardize university admissions in Nigeria. Before its creation, each university conducted its own entrance exams, leading to overlaps and inefficiencies—some students were admitted multiple times, while others were left out. JAMB was designed to simplify admissions, lower costs, and ensure fairness by introducing one standardized exam.

Over time, JAMB’s mandate extended to include admissions to polytechnics and colleges of education. With the adoption of Computer-Based Testing (CBT), technological upgrades were introduced to modernize the process.

Despite these efforts, significant problems persist. Concerns such as the one-year validity of results, post-UTME screenings, and inefficiencies in the overall process continue to plague the system. These issues highlight the need for ongoing reforms to ensure that JAMB serves its original purpose fairly and effectively.

Many students travel long distances to take the UTME, enduring stressful conditions—unstable power supply, unfamiliar digital environments, and tight supervision. Even after passing, some face rejection without explanation. The admission portal remains silent.

JAMB is perhaps the only exam in Nigeria where one can excel and still be denied.

The 2025 results are in: out of 1.9 million candidates, 1.5 million scored below 200. The reaction has been one of widespread distress—parents are heartbroken, students frustrated, and schools outraged.

These cracks in the system have become gaping holes. Hashtags like #ThisIsNotMyResult trended as students took to social media, believing their futures were jeopardized. The silence from education authorities only fueled the concern.

The country remains in limbo. Was it a grading error? A software failure? Or yet another sign of a crumbling educational foundation? No one knows for sure. The Registrar cited an error, but JAMB has offered little beyond statistics.

Behind these numbers are names—real lives and aspirations stalled like cars on a broken Nigerian road, waiting for the system to clear the path.

To make matters worse, JAMB results have a one-year expiration, unlike WAEC or NECO, which are valid for life. As if intelligence has a shelf life. The same student, same knowledge, same test—but now deemed unqualified.

Their aspirations are entangled in red tape, like a candle blown out before it can light the way.

Rewriting JAMB comes at a cost: over eight thousand naira in fees, plus transport, food, and lodging. For some families, this is two months’ income. Many students take JAMB five to seven times, each attempt bruising their confidence further.

A system that repeatedly tests the same students it failed to admit isn’t efficient—it’s punishing.

How do you explain to a child that they didn’t fail—the system did?

Where did we go wrong?

The irony is that even after passing JAMB, students still face Post-UTME, implying that universities lack confidence in JAMB. So, what purpose does JAMB serve if it neither secures admission nor garners institutional trust?

Technology has streamlined JAMB’s processes—CBT, CCTV monitoring, faster results—but these are cosmetic fixes on a structurally flawed system.

We must ask hard questions:

Why only two choices of university? Why rigid cut-off marks in a country teeming with diverse talents? Why has admission become a battleground instead of a gateway?

The reality is, JAMB is no longer serving students—it’s confining them. It no longer opens doors—it adds more locks. Nigeria is stifling its own future.

A country in need of professionals—doctors, engineers, teachers—shouldn’t place barbed wire at the gates of education. We’re turning ambition into anxiety and replacing merit with hardship.

It’s time to restore admission authority to universities. Let them create entrance systems that reflect their disciplines and values. Encourage regional collaboration. Build holistic assessments that factor in passion, character, and academic performance. No student should be told they’re not enough just because a system failed to see them.

Other countries like South Africa use blended models. In the U.S., applications consider personal essays, grades, and community service. These systems try to understand the student—not just score them.

Nigeria can do this too. But we must first admit the truth: JAMB, as it is, no longer serves its purpose.

The Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) must face this reality. The Ministry of Education must act with courage. Former President Obasanjo once defended JAMB as a unifying force—he would be disheartened by its current state.

Chinonso is still studying at home. She sat for the latest JAMB, but her scores fell far below her past performances. Why? The Registrar said it was a system glitch; students must re-sit the exam. But this time, something inside her is breaking. “Maybe God doesn’t want me to go to school,” she told her mother.

But it’s not God. It’s the system.

JAMB is flawed, but this time, under its current leadership, it displayed rare integrity.

In a moment where most public bodies double down on mistakes, JAMB did the opposite. It acknowledged its failure.

Instead of deflecting blame or staying silent amidst public outcry over the technical issues that disrupted the UTME in 157 centres across Lagos, Ebonyi, Anambra, Imo, Abia, and Enugu, JAMB took action.

They listened, investigated, found the fault, and took responsibility.

Over 379,000 students were affected. Many feared their academic journeys had ended. But JAMB didn’t look away. It organized makeup exams from May 16–19. That level of transparency is rare.

Making a mistake is one thing. Publicly admitting it is another. In a system often driven by ego, Professor Ishaq Oloyede chose truth. He didn’t shift the blame or hide the facts. He owned it.

This kind of leadership is uncommon. It is honest, human, and commendable.

Nigeria needs more of that—people who put integrity above pride. Professor Oloyede deserves acknowledgment.

The 2025 UTME results have exposed deep-rooted challenges in the education sector. These figures reflect not only student performance but a failing system.

Technical setbacks, insufficient preparation, and poor infrastructure all played a part.

One question remains: why not allow all candidates to retake the exam?

This moment calls for a complete review of Nigeria’s admissions and examination framework. We must tackle these challenges head-on, to rebuild confidence in the system and ensure students are evaluated fairly.

The future of Nigerian youth depends on the credibility of its education system. Stakeholders must learn from this moment and implement reforms that prioritize student success and academic integrity.