Grade F(uture): What Comes After Falling Short? An End Of the Game Or A New Beginning?

Let’s face it—no one enjoys failing. Whether it's a failed exam, a broken dream, or a missed opportunity, it stings. Yes, it stings! For many young Nigerians who sat for the 2025 Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination (UTME), that sting is still fresh and painful. Out of nearly two million hopefuls, over 78 percent scored below the 200 mark—far below the cutoff for most universities. It’s more than a number; it’s a punch to the gut. And in that moment, a question quietly crawls into the heart: “Am I good enough?” But here’s the thing: failing an exam doesn’t mean you’ve failed at life. As the great philosopher Confucius once said, “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” So maybe the real question isn't “Why did I fail?” but “What can I become because I failed?”

To begin, think of failure as a rainy day. It can ruin your plans, drench your clothes, and leave you shivering. But it also nourishes the soil, fills the rivers, and helps things grow. Failure is supposedly not the end of one's story—it’s the storm before the sunrise. The low UTME scores don’t make anyone less intelligent, less valuable, or less deserving of a future. They are part of a bigger picture—a reflection not only of individual performance but also of the challenges in our educational system. From poor funding and outdated curricula to technical glitches and overcrowded classrooms, students are expected to thrive in an environment that often works against them.

Moving forward, the 2025 UTME wasn’t just difficult—it was chaotic for many candidates that sat for it. Technical failures affected over 379,000 candidates, especially in places like Lagos and Owerri. Servers crashed, questions didn’t load, and some students left exam halls more confused than when they entered. It’s hard to perform well when the very tools you're supposed to use are broken. Yet, year after year, students carry the blame alone. Meanwhile, the cracks in the system are brushed aside. What the heck! Isn’t this ironic? We measure success with a ruler that's already crooked.

Still, the pressure to succeed academically feels like a mountain pressing on the chest. Parents, friends, neighbours—even strangers—ask, “What was your score?” as if it defines your worth. Many students sink into silence. Depression whispers that they’re not enough. The Mentally Aware Nigeria Initiative reports that one in four Nigerian youths struggles with depression, much of it tied to academic stress. And sadly, some sink too deep. Around the world, suicide is one of the leading causes of death among young people. One moment of perceived failure, I believe, should not end a precious life. It behoves us to remember what Viktor Frankl once said: “When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves.”

And change, indeed, is what we need, starting with how we see success. Success is not just a university admission letter or a first-class degree. Success can be resilience, growth, compassion, or even just the courage to keep going. Not every journey follows the same road. Some go to university; some take vocational paths; some become entrepreneurs, artisans, creators. But all of them matter. All of them are valid. We must stop using one narrow path as the only way to success and open our eyes to the many ways through which a person can shine.

Furthermore, education itself must evolve. Nigeria’s education sector receives less than 7% of the national budget, far below UNESCO’s recommendation of 15–20%. That means underpaid teachers, broken chairs, outdated books, and crammed classrooms. It is like planting seeds in dry soil and expecting a lush harvest. We need policies that invest in the future, not just punish its symptoms. We need guidance counselors in schools, not just exam invigilators. We need fewer insults and more encouragement. Just as Plato said, “Do not train a child to learn by force or harshness, but direct them to it by what amuses their minds.”

But this change cannot come from the government alone. You will agree with me that parents, communities, religious groups, and even the media have roles to play here. Parents should be in the know that it's better to comfort rather than compare their children with others. Even teachers must teach with empathy, not just red pens. And our pastors and imams must preach hope to the brokenhearted. Then social media—it should amplify stories of growth, not just grades. This also extends to employers: they should begin to value creativity, integrity, and soft skills—not just certificates. In this way, I believe, we can create a society that doesn’t treat failure as a death sentence but as a crossroad with more than one way forward.

What is more, real-life stories can serve as mirrors. There are engineers who once failed physics, lawyers who struggled with literature, and artists who never passed math. They failed, yes, but they didn’t quit. J.K. Rowling was rejected by 12 publishers before Harry Potter saw the light. Thomas Edison made 1,000 failed attempts at the lightbulb. These aren’t just quotes for wall posters; they are proof that success often comes wearing the clothes of failure. Now, the question is: Will you wait for the change or walk towards it?

At the heart of it all, we must teach our young people that pain is not pointless. Setbacks can be powerful teachers. That missed score might just be the moment you start discovering what you’re truly good at. That heartbreak might redirect you to a better dream. Be in the know that failure isn’t the opposite of success—it’s part of the journey. As Seneca wisely put it, “A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a person perfected without trials.” So, the next time you fall, don’t just ask, “Why me?” Instead ask, “What now?”

Because the truth is, you are more than a score. You are a prose work in progress. And sometimes, the best stories have rough beginnings. Do not let a temporary failure define your permanent value. Pick up the pieces, dust off your hopes, and take another step. Yes, another step. Whether it’s trying again, choosing a different path, or simply breathing and healing—you have the right to rise. As the Yoruba say, “Ìyà kì í pa ọmọ tí kò níyà”—suffering does not kill a (motherless) child (destined for greatness).

To end, dear Nigerian youths, if you're reading this with a heavy heart, know that you are not alone. You were not born to give up. You were born to rise, to learn, to grow. Let failure sharpen you, not shatter you. Let it teach you patience, not bitterness. The road ahead may be longer, but it is still yours to walk. And if no one else says it to you today, let this be your reminder: You are not finished. You are just getting started.

Sakariyah, Ridwanullah wrote in from the department of English, Lagos State University.