In 2017, Lolade* graduated from university with a degree in political science to become an early childhood teacher. Earlier this year, she quit to become a plantain chips vendor. 

On the side, she’s a sign language interpreter – a skill she learnt in addition to an NCE in Social Studies and Special Education – together, these two side-hustles pay more than she has ever earned in teaching 

She has taught in four standard private elementary schools in the last eight years, and when asked to describe her salary range during that period, she mentioned that it was within ₦0-₦100k. After the interviewer misinterpreted her answer to mean that she earns about ₦100k.  Lolade* clarified that she meant her average income was well below that amount. At the height of her career, she earned a grand total of ₦35k monthly. 

In Nigeria, there are 1.6 million teachers in basic education alone, and according to a survey by the National Bureau of Statistics, women make up 60% of this population, making the teaching profession female-dominated. Coincidentally, education is one of the poorest-paying fields in Nigeria, with many private school teachers earning well below minimum wage.

To many people, teaching is a profession of poverty. Women like 21-year-old Amanda* (who teaches at an online academy) were told while growing up that wanting to be a teacher was to choose poverty wilfully. 

“I’ve wanted to be a teacher as far back as JSS3, but even my teachers were not very supportive of my career choice. They would come to class to lament about not being able to afford good cars and tell us how they would have been able to afford a better standard of living if they had not chosen to work in education.”

While studying for her French degree, Amanda started teaching French to Nigerian children in the diaspora. She would later come to find out that her secondary school class teacher’s assessment of the profession was not entirely wrong. 

“At the time I started this job, it felt like a godsend. I was getting the opportunity to make what seemed like a lot of money at the time. The income was also stable, and I would get to do what I loved. The only downside was that I would have to be up for two to three hours a night at very odd hours.”

What seemed like a perfect opportunity soon turned out to be a honeytrap. Aside from the two hours of teaching she put in every night, Amanda* was also expected to create lesson notes, quizzes and lesson guides in her spare time. Her pay of ₦1,250 per hour only covers the two hours she spends in the classroom. At the end of each month, she walks away with ₦60k for about 80 hours of work. She says if she removes the amount she spends on data and keeping up with the electricity needs of the job, it’s even less.

She would also later find out that a screen would not protect her from the culture of undervaluation and underappreciation of teachers prevalent in Nigerian society. 

“At first, I was eager to please, so I would show up in class fifteen minutes early and submit my lesson notes before anyone else. It later came back to bite me in the ass because my boss started to increase my workload without increasing my pay. She would assign special needs students to me, even though I was unqualified to handle them and the difficult students that no one wanted to handle. I drew the line when she asked me (a French major) to teach calculus to the special needs students. I nearly lost my job for politely refusing to do it.” Amanda* says. 

When asked how teachers cope with the poor working conditions, Jane*, who quit after teaching for six months in 2022, says it’s almost impossible to survive on a teacher’s salary. The teachers at her school then were earning between N25k-₦50k. According to her, if a teacher didn’t live within 5 kilometres of the school, there would be nothing left to take home from her salary after deducting transport costs. 

“Every teacher I knew then had a side hustle. There was a vendor for everything at the school I used to teach at. There was nothing you could not find there, from jewellery to puff-puff. At the end of each month, we contributed part of our salary into a thrift that paid at the end of each term. It was the only way to ensure that we had something to show from our salary.’ she tells Zikoko.

Professionals in the private sector typically earn more than those in the public sector, but in education,  the difference is barely noticeable. When asked what the root of the problem was, Amanda* says it’s undervaluation.

“There will always be a demand for teachers and an excess supply because a lot of people believe anybody can teach. It also doesn’t help that it’s a female-dominated field. At my academy, there are twenty-four teachers, but only four of those teachers are male. Teaching is a thankless job, and on a lot of days, it’s underpaid carework. I believe that if teaching were a more male-dominated space, there would be better consideration for teachers.”

She mentions that part of why teachers receive such low wages is that school-owners prioritise personal expenses and taking care of their families over paying teachers well. She says that the few schools that offer decent pay overwork their teachers.

Out of the six women Zikoko spoke to, only three were still holding teaching jobs and fewer than that number still had passion for it. Ironically, Bisola*, one of the two women who spoke highly about the profession, is not a teacher but a lawyer, currently doing her Master’s in a very lucrative area of law. Unlike most women who get a hard launch into the harsh reality of teaching, Bisola witnessed it firsthand growing up, and this, in turn, informed her career choice.

“My mum is a retired school principal and an academic author. Till she retired, she never earned up to ₦100k. I remember that when I was in uni, she was earning ₦30k. I grew up watching her run through one side hustle after another to make ends meet. I don’t think teachers are underpaid; I know they are. As much passion as I have for education, I chose not to study it on purpose. Money was a very big consideration for me.” 

She says that even though she’s not teaching at the moment, she sees lecturing in her future. She believes the law provides a platform big enough to accommodate her passion and give her financial freedom as a professional. 

Amanda*, the only other woman with a passion for the profession, says she’ll be leaving Nigeria to go where educators are valued. 

“If we’re being honest, teaching is not the field you go into if your goal in life is to be filthy rich. I know that this is what I want to do with my life, but at the same time, I’m not going to open my eyes and willingly walk into poverty. I know that teachers are treated better than this in other countries. My plan is to get out of this country on a scholarship and land a lecturing job in a country like Belgium, teaching something like film studies while earning a shit ton of money doing what I love.”

According to Amanda* and Bisola*, the worst thing you can do for yourself as a woman in education is to enter the job market with only your first degree. The more value you have, the more value you can demand. 

“My mum didn’t find out that she could sell the textbooks she wrote and earn royalties on them until much later in her career. The money she made from the books went a long way in supporting my siblings and me through university. What I’d advise any woman willing to go into teaching against all odds is to stop looking at traditional teaching as the only way to make a living. There are so many things you can do: start an online academy, create a YouTube channel and monetise your teaching or be like my mum and decide to write a couple of textbooks.”

It is rare to find a teaching job that adequately values educators at this time in Nigeria, and in the absence of systems put in place to correct this problem, they believe that with the right strategy, it is difficult but possible to make a decent living as a teacher working in Nigeria. 

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