Education Is What Happens Inside You,
Not Around You

Let me tell you something that might step on a few toes.

We have turned teaching into a decorating competition.

Walk into any staff room across Nigeria—from Lagos to Maiduguri, from Port Harcourt to Sokoto—and what do we talk about? Lesson notes. Scheme of work. The new government policy. The fact that our salary is late (again). The parents who won't buy textbooks. The classrooms that are too crowded. The government that doesn't care.

And yes, all these things matter. I'm not saying they don't.

But here's the question that keeps me awake at night: if we fixed all of that tomorrow—if salaries came on time, if classes had thirty students instead of 129 (looking at you, Northwest Nigeria), if every school had computers like that UNICEF project in Borno—would our students automatically become brilliant?

You know the answer.

Because education is not what happens around a child. It's what happens inside them.

The Download Myth

See, we've been sold this idea that teaching is like transferring files. You know how when you buy a new phone, you just click "transfer data" and everything moves from the old phone to the new one? Pshhhhhh—done.

Many of us walk into class thinking that's our job. I talk, they listen. I pour knowledge into their heads like garri into a bag. At the end of the term, they pour it back onto an exam paper. If what comes out matches what went in, we call it success.

But my brother, that is not education. That is memorization at best, and noise at worst.

The Real Story

I remember visiting a secondary school in Lagos where they tried something different with mathematics. Instead of drilling formulas, they created market-day simulations. Students had to calculate prices, give discounts, determine profit margins—real things their mothers do every day at the market.

You know what happened? Kids who used to dread maths started staying back after class. Not because the environment changed—the classroom was still the same broken-down building. But because something clicked inside them. They saw relevance. They saw themselves in the learning.

That's what I mean by education happening inside you.

The Nigerian Context We Cannot Ignore

Now, let's be real with ourselves. We are not teaching in Switzerland. We are teaching in Nigeria, where:

• Some classrooms hold 280 pupils (Plateau State, I'm looking at you) (UBEC 2022)
• Over 50% of teachers in Zamfara and Sokoto have never seen professional development (NUT 2023)
• Only 10% of Nigerian teachers are considered highly trained (World Bank, 2024)
• Schools in Taraba, Sokoto, Imo, and Abia have no access to water at all (WASH 2023)
• Millions of qualified students are locked out of university every year because there's simply no space (JAMB 2025)

These are the facts. They are depressing. They are real.

But here's the thing: while we're waiting for government to fix these problems (abeg, don't hold your breath), students are still sitting in our classrooms. Right now. Today. And they need something to happen inside them.

So what do we do? How do we reach the inside when everything around is chaos?

That's what this series is about.

A Quick Disclaimer Before We Go Deep

I'm not going to stand here and tell you I have all the answers. Wetin I know? I'm just an educator like you, tired of seeing students sleep through classes, tired of the "copy and submit" syndrome, tired of teaching to exams instead of teaching to minds.

But I've noticed something. Over years of teaching, observing, failing, and trying again, I've seen a pattern. The moments when real learning happens—the moments that change students—they all have one thing in common.

They start with a question.

Not any question. A good question. A careful question. A question that refuses to let the student remain the same.

And that, my dear colleague, is where we will spend our time today.

Because if education is what happens inside you, then our job is not to fill heads. Our job is to open doors. And the key that opens those doors?

It's a question.

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Part 1: Learning How to Ask Good Question

Oya, Let's Talk About Questions

Imagine this scene.

You're in class. You've just finished explaining something—let's say it's civic education, and you're teaching about responsible citizenship. You've given your examples, you've referenced the constitution, you've even told a story about your own experience.

Then you ask the class: "Any questions?"

Silence.

Not just silence. The kind of silence where students suddenly become very interested in their fingernails. The kind where they avoid eye contact like you're about to collect offering.

You wait. Nothing.

So you say, "Okay, since nobody has questions, turn to page 45 and answer questions 1-10."

Class dismissed. Sort of.

Now tell me: did anyone learn anything? Did anything happen inside those students?

The Problem with "Any Questions?"

That question—"Any questions?"—is what I call a dead question. It's not really a question at all. It's a closing statement disguised as a question. What we're really saying is: "I'm done. Let's move on."

And students know this. They've learned that asking a question means:

• Extending the class
• Looking foolish in front of their mates
• Getting the teacher annoyed because now we're behind schedule
• Being labeled "the one who asks too many questions"

So they stay quiet. They nod along. They copy notes. And nothing happens inside.

But here's the truth we need to accept: if there are no questions, there is no learning.

Think about it. When was the last time you learned something meaningful without asking questions? Even when you read alone, your mind is asking: "What does this mean? How does this apply to me? Do I agree with this?"

Questions are the engine of learning. Remove the questions, and the engine stops.

What Makes a Question Good?

Now, I'm not saying every question is powerful. Some questions are like using a cutlass to kill a mosquito—too heavy, too clumsy, missing the point.

Good questions have character. They have ingredients. Let me break it down for you.

1. Clear Purpose (Wetin You Want Achieve)
Before you open your mouth to ask a question, you need to know: why am I asking this?

Are you checking if they remember what you just said? That's a recall question. "What is the capital of Niger State?" That has its place, but it's not transformative.

Are you trying to make them think deeper? That's different. "Why do you think Minna became the capital and not another town?" Now we're cooking.

Are you trying to connect the lesson to their lives? Even better. "If you were the governor of Niger State, where would you put the capital and why?"

Same topic. Three different purposes. Three different kinds of thinking. When you know your purpose, your question becomes sharp. Like a needle instead of a blunt object.

2. A Question to Be Solved (E Get Answer Wey We Need Find)
Good questions create a sense of mission. They make students feel like detectives on a case.

Instead of: "What are the causes of the Nigerian Civil War?"
Try: "Could the Nigerian Civil War have been avoided? If you were the leader in 1967, what would you have done differently?"

You see the difference? The first question asks for a list. The second asks for judgment, empathy, historical thinking. It creates a problem to be solved, not just information to be regurgitated.

This is what those researchers studying flipped classrooms in Niger State discovered—when students have to actively solve problems instead of passively receive information, their performance and retention improve significantly.

3. Important (No Be Anyhow Question)
Here's the thing: students have a built-in nonsense detector. It's highly sophisticated. The moment you ask a question they consider irrelevant, they mentally check out.

I learned this the hard way. Early in my teaching career, I asked a class of rural students in Ogun State: "If you have ₦500,000 to invest in the stock market, which stocks would you choose?"

Blank faces. Stock market? These children whose parents struggle to buy beans? The question meant nothing to them.

A colleague pulled me aside and said, "Ask them something that matters to them."

So I changed it: "If your mother gives you ₦500 to buy tomatoes at the market, but the price has gone up, how do you decide what to do? Do you buy fewer tomatoes? Do you ask for more money? Do you bargain?"

The class exploded. Every hand went up. Because now the question mattered.

Important questions connect to the student's world. They respect where the student is coming from. They say, "Your life, your experience—that counts here."

4. Relevant (E Concern Them)
This is similar to importance, but slightly different. Relevance means the question connects to something beyond the classroom.

"Why do we need to learn this?" is the question students are always asking, even when they don't say it out loud. Your questions need to answer that before they ask it.

If you're teaching about elections, ask: "In your compound, how do people decide who becomes the landlord association chairman? Is it fair? How is it different from government elections?"

If you're teaching about fractions, ask: "When you share meat in your family pot, how do you make sure it's fair? What happens when someone gets a bigger piece?"

Relevance is the bridge between school and life. Without that bridge, learning stays in the classroom and dies at the end of term.

The Questions We Ask Ourselves (This One Deep)

Now, let me shift gears. Because it's not just about the questions we ask our students.

The most important questions in education—the ones that determine whether we grow or stagnate—are the questions we ask ourselves.

Why This Matters Now More Than Ever

Nigeria is changing. Fast.

We have digital learning platforms reaching over 81,000 children in Borno State. We have Nigerian students studying tuition-free at American universities online. We have words like "japa," "nyash," and "amala" entering the Oxford English Dictionary.

The world our students will inherit is not the world we grew up in. It's not even the world of five years ago.

In that world, knowing facts is useless—Google knows more facts than any human. But asking the right questions? That skill never gets old. That skill becomes more valuable every day.

Because in a world of information, the scarce resource is not answers. It's the ability to ask questions that matter.

Practical Things You Can Do Tomorrow

Okay, enough theory. Let's talk about what you can actually do.

A Story to End With

The Challenge I'm Leaving With You

This week, I want you to try something. Pick one class. One lesson. And before you teach it, write down three questions you plan to ask.

Not just any questions. Questions with purpose. Questions that matter. Questions that connect to their lives.

Ask them. And then listen. Really listen.

Watch what happens inside your students.

Watch what happens inside you.

Because when we learn to ask good questions—careful questions, thoughtful questions, questions that respect the person on the other end—we stop being just teachers. We become something rarer.

We become people who help other people become more than they were.

And isn't that why we got into this in the first place?

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