JAMB 2025: One exam, high stakes, and a broken system

In Nigeria where the Joint Admission and Matriculation Board (JAMB) examination is the only route to tertiary education, the pressure on candidates is unparalleled. For many a candidate, JAMB examination is a do-or-die affair, as not just pass but very high score, guarantees university admission to study the candidate’s preferred course in the university of his or her choice.

University degree is seen as a sure route to escape poverty, earn respect, or fulfill parental expectations. When the stakes are that high, the system cannot afford to fail, and yet, JAMB failed enormously.

Many candidates are now forced to rewrite the examination, repeating an emotionally draining process often without the financial means or emotional stability to try again.

Yes, failure is part of life, but what happens when failure feels imposed, not earned? Even more tragic is the death of Miss Timilehin Faith Opesusi, who committed suicide over poor scores in the recent Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination (UTME). She reportedly took her life in Ikorodu area of Lagos State after she discovered that she scored 190 out of a possible 400 marks in the exam.

Though JAMB has admitted to a systematic error, but this deflection cannot hold under proper scrutiny.

The 2025 UTME debacle must not be swept under the rug as just another bad year. It must be a turning point, a call to reimagine Nigeria’s approach to entry qualifications to tertiary institutions.

For some time now, JAMB has been held up as an oasis of success among MDAs and its Registrar, Prof. Ishaq Oloyede, almost elevated to sainthood on account of his perceived transparency and efficiency in managing the affairs of the pre-university examination body.

But the “glitch” recorded in the conduct of this year’s University Matriculation Tertiary Examination(UMTE) is a rude awakening not only to the management of JAMB, but to the entire nation.

It is time to confront the hard truth because the tragedy UMTE 2025 has become, is not just a failure of strategy but it is a betrayal of a generation. The question is no longer: “Can JAMB do better?” The real question is how many more lives must be lost before we demand that our institutions must work?

If more than 70% of candidates failed to meet a basic threshold in a national exam, the system, not the students, must be interrogated. Are we adequately preparing students in secondary schools? Are the exam questions aligned with the curriculum? Is the computer-based system robust, fair, and accessible to all?

More importantly, does JAMB recognize the emotional and mental toll its processes now take on the youths? Across Nigeria, the psychological effects of the mass failure are becoming evident as a growing number of students are slipping into depression. There is tension among candidates who sat for the UMTE and their parents   following the release of the results.

Some candidates, having staked everything on this single test, now face the unbearable weight of shame and hopelessness. If JAMB is to be a fair arbiter of academic performance, then it must be held to the highest standard. The failure to live up to this threshold in this year’s examination has had very fatal consequences, to say the least.

The tragic case of the teenager who took her life as a result of low score in the UMTE, is not an isolated incident; it is a symptom of a larger crisis. For a country with large number of citizens already struggling with mental health issues, this mass failure will definitely exacerbate it. And with limited access to care, the consequences could be catastrophic.

What was supposed to be a celebration of academic ambition has turned into mourning, heartbreak, and psychological trauma for countless families. This is no longer just about low scores. It is about lost dreams, broken spirits, and a system that seems deaf to the cries of its youth.

This mass failure was not the result of widespread laziness or poor preparation. Instead, it revealed the cracks in a system that has long been broken. A system that punishes, rather than uplifts; that demands perfection in the face of chaos; and offers no second chances in a country where education remains the only escape route out of poverty.

In Lagos, a 16 -year old boy saw his result and disowned it immediately because he scored 172 instead of about 260 he had hoped to score to gain admission to study Law.

He was proved right when the outcry began and luckily he is among the candidates that JAMB has given a second chance   to rewrite the exam.  This is   not an isolated complaint.  There is a chorus of disillusionment from every corner of the nation. The JAMB 2025 crisis did not only affect the candidates. It rippled through families, stretching finances and emotions to the brink.

Many parents had borrowed money to register their children, some even selling assets to pay for coaching lessons. For these parents, who watched their children study late into the night, the results were not just disappointing, there were devastating. Parents now face the crushing weight of watching their children’s dreams slip away, knowing they may not have the resources to attempt again.

Some families cannot afford another round. For them, this failure caused not by lack of hard work but by technical glitches, poor coordination, and a rigid system might be the end of the academic journey. For rural students, particularly girls, this failure could mean opting to learn a trade or early marriage.  The big question is why must the future of a Nigerian child hinge on a single two-hour exam conducted under unconducive conditions?

The current structure of JAMB with its one-exam-fits-all mentality offers no buffer for error, no room for grace. It disregards the unequal learning environments across states, the disparity in access to technology, and the high emotional burden placed on 16- and 17-year-olds. What kind of system pushes children to suicide over a test? What kind of country allows it to keep happening?

Many students feel robbed not just of a score, but of their identity. In a society where academic success is deeply tied to personal worth, failing the UMTE often seems like failing at life. The shame, the stigma, and the whispers from neighbors can be louder than any treatment.

Yet mental health support for these young candidates is almost non-existent. Few schools offer counseling. And in many communities, psychological trauma is dismissed as weakness or spiritual affliction.

The JAMB system is not beyond irredeemable, but it is in desperate need of reform. Multiple assessment points, rather than one high-stakes exam, could allow students to showcase their abilities more holistically. Improved CBT infrastructure must be prioritized, especially in rural areas. Independent audits of examination processes, question standardization, and result analysis must be conducted to restore public trust.

Mental health support should be integrated into every phase of the process, before, during, and after the exam. Above all, JAMB must stop hiding behind excuses. A system that fails 70% of its users has not tested them, it has failed them.

UMTE 2025 was not just an exam. It was a test of Nigeria’s conscience and we failed. We failed the students who trusted us. We failed the parents who sacrificed everything. And we failed the bright, hopeful teenagers who will never get another chance because they died believing they were not good enough.

It is time to change the system before more dreams die, before more lives are lost and before the next UMTE become another tragedy waiting to happen.

Indeed, no examination should ever be worth a child’s life.

Okoronkwo, a leadership and good governance advocate wrote from Lagos and can reached via [email protected]