WHEN an elder defecates in an inappropriate place in the night, when the day breaks, the young ones in the compound are held responsible.”
Translation:
“Ti agbalagba ba s’umi oganjo B’ojumo ba mo, a d’imi ewe”
Consider this too.
“A country that makes its brightest children feel foolish for studying is quietly negotiating its own future downward.”
Pause and think about the above quote and Yoruba saying for a moment and then look around you.
A young Nigerian watches two people struggle and grow.
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One spends ten years becoming a surgeon. Ten years of sleepless nights, anatomy textbooks thicker than family Bibles, examinations that determine whether someone lives or dies, internship, residency, endless sacrifice. While his mates are partying, he is memorising how to cut through arteries and sew back uterus, studying diseases and learning how to save lives.
The second person spends 10 months perfecting content that deliberately celebrates guesswork, comic relief and half-truths. He discovers that acting “olodo” attracts millions of views. He learns that the louder the blunder, the richer the reward.
The more he pretends not to know, the more the algorithm smiles on him.
Then one day, almost a year later, the ‘olodo’ is a celebrity, online celebrity with a nice car. He now lives in a better neighbourhood than the doctor and his fellow university graduates. The content creator decides he is more blessed and so calls the doctor on a livestream.
“D- Doc, come and collect giveaway.”
The audience laughs.
The doctor smiles politely.
But somewhere in that laughter is the ‘gone-too-soon’ of what once was in this community, the death of something precious. And it is not the doctor’s dignity or even his profession. What died is a community’s understanding of what deserves honour.
Now, before y’all misunderstand this conversation, this is not an attack on skit makers, comedians or content creators. I love them. They cheer me up. When I am upset, there are pages I visit. When I want to laugh, dance, learn makeup, DIY gele, even stir worship in my spirit, these great guys are all on my payroll, am I the one on their payroll? Anyhow, we go everywhere together. They are entrepreneurs. Many are hardworking, brilliantly creative and legitimately successful. They have built careers where none existed before, employed people and put Nigerian humour on the global map. I am missing Jesse Adisa and Baba Aaliyah even as I type this.
They deserve every honest Naira they earn.
The problem is not content creation.
The problem is when ignorance becomes a brand.
The problem is when pretending not to know becomes more profitable than striving to know. The problem is when a generation begins to mistake education for foolishness and virality for wisdom.
The worrisome problem is what Nigeria now rewards.
Every society gets more of whatever it celebrates.
Reward integrity, and more people will choose integrity. Reward innovation, and inventors will multiply.
Reward excellence, and children will dream of becoming excellent.
But reward noise, spectacle and instant wealth without asking what values produced them, and don’t be surprised when young people abandon the library for the ring light.
This is the tragedy hidden inside what many now jokingly call the Olodo Uprising.
It didn’t begin on TikTok or Instagram.
It certainly didn’t begin with skit makers.
It began years ago when we quietly started changing the definition of success.
Parents stopped asking, “What do you want to become?” They began asking, “How much are you making?”
The conversation at family gatherings changed.
Nobody asks the young engineer how his designs are coming.
Nobody asks the researcher what breakthrough she has made.
Nobody celebrates the teacher shaping hundreds of young lives.
The loudest applause is reserved for whoever arrives in the most expensive car.
Never mind how he got it.
As long as the convoy is long enough, respect is automatic.
What lesson did we think our children would learn?
Omo Oba Abipa was the last king who reigned at Gboho, according to The Rev Samuel Johnson’s record of the History of the Yorubas. On his deathbed, Prince Abipa’s father made his son promise to return the seat of government to the ancient capital. Upon ascension to the throne, Abipa told his chiefs of the late king’s last wish. These ‘noble men’ tried to dissuade the new king from carrying out his father’s wish but when they couldn’t, they resorted to a deep underhand conspiracy. They conspired to send ‘ghosts and spirits’ to sabotage the movement of the seat of power. They knew the king was going to send emmisaries to check the new site and make sacrifices. The Bashorun sent a hunchback. The Alapinni sent an albino. Th Ashipa sent a leper, the Samu a prognathi, the Laguna a dwarf, the Akiniku a cripple. In Yoruba tradition, all these people because of their ‘handicaps’ are considered special people or ‘Eni Orisa’. Their presence was to scare the king’s advance team to Oyo, for their selfish reasons. These were elders the people looked up to for guidance but they were willing to use the weaknesses of others to feather their already cushy nests. These chiefs were eventually caught in their lies, their pants around their ankles.
The relevance of the story? When old men lay bad precedence, the youths follow their lead. When a father drinks until he’s inebriated, his son most likely may follow his footsteps. And when a community celebrates bad behaviour, it soon becomes a way of life.
Children are excellent observers.
They notice what we clap for. They notice who gets invited to the high table and who becomes the star attraction at weddings.
They notice who receives chieftaincy titles and adjust their dreams accordingly.
Then we complain that young people no longer value education.
Really?
Did we value it? Did we uphold that value?
We told children to read hard.
Then they watched graduates roam the streets for years looking for jobs.
We preached patience.
Then they watched some people become millionaires overnight.
We told them that education is the key.
Then they watched connections kick down doors that certificates could not even knock on.
We cannot keep sending one message with our mouths and another with our actions.
That contradiction has become one of Nigeria’s greatest teachers.
Government has not helped either.
A nation that genuinely values education does not leave its manufacturing sector unprotected, unencouraged.
It does not watch multibillion investments leave with thousands of jobs and job opportunities in tow while it celebrates political appointments.
It does not budget generously for luxury cars while laboratories decay.
How many children today dream of becoming professors?
How many dream of becoming scientists?
How many dream of discovering a vaccine, designing a satellite or revolutionising agriculture?
We know they do not lack ability. They are brilliant, ambitious but society has quietly whispered to them that those dreams no longer pay.
Unfortunately, social media amplifies everything. Algorithms don’t reward depth.
They reward attention and attention is not always intelligence.
Sometimes it is simply entertainment.
Yes, entertainment has its place.
A nation needs laughter.
God knows Nigerians have earned the right to laugh. But when laughter begins to mock learning, we are no longer laughing together.
We are laughing at our own future.
The irony there is painful.
The influencer who ridicules education still depends on educated people every single day. The plane he boards was designed by engineers.
The doctor who treats him spent years studying.
The lawyer who protects his contracts did not learn law on YouTube.
The software powering his social media platforms was built by programmers.
The bank safeguarding his earnings relies on economists, accountants and technology experts.
Civilisation rests on knowledge.
No country has ever danced its way into development. Nigeria won’t be an exception.
No nation has joked itself into prosperity.
The universe will not allow Nigeria growth on jokes.
No economy has become globally competitive by making ignorance fashionable.
Nigerians will pay the price before it gets the prize.
This is why parents must also look in the mirror.
Have we taught our children that success is only measured by money? Did we remember to teach them that respect should follow character?
Did we show them that excellence matters even when it is not immediately profitable?
Or did we become so dazzled by wealth that we forgot to ask what kind of person stood behind it?
Children inherit values more than vocabulary. If all they hear is, “Make money,” they will make money the only god worth serving.
But if they hear, “Become useful. Become excellent. Build something that outlives you,” then they will understand that wealth is a consequence, not a purpose.
Does Nigeria owe this generation an apology? Oh yes!
We handed many of them a broken ladder.
We promised that education guaranteed opportunity.
Too often, it guaranteed frustration.
We told them hard work pays.
Then we rewarded shortcuts, nepotism.
We celebrated merit in speeches and connections in practice.
That hypocrisy has been very expensive.
Still, surrender is not an option.
The answer is not to despise education because the system has disappointed many educated people.
The answer is to repair the system until education once again opens doors instead of merely decorating walls with certificates.
We need a Nigeria where professors and professionals can live with dignity, not where researchers are looked at with pity.
Our teachers must command respect not looked down on.
Our skilled artisans must be encouraged.
Our children must be taught that being smart is not an embarrassment but an asset.
And yes, where content creators continue to thrive — not because they celebrate ignorance, but because they celebrate wit, creativity and imagination.
There is a world of difference between making people laugh and making ignorance aspirational.
One enriches culture.
The other impoverishes it.
The Olodo Uprising should therefore be more than a social media phrase.
It should be a mirror reflecting the uncomfortable truth that our children are becoming exactly what we have rewarded them to become.
If we don’t like the reflection, smashing the mirror won’t help.
We must change what stands before it. Our elders and leaders, our parents and life coaches must change our ways and messaging.
Because the child watching today is tomorrow’s doctor, governor, engineer, teacher, entrepreneur, journalist and president.
The applause we give today will determine the ambitions they pursue tomorrow.
If Nigeria continues to make its brightest children feel foolish for studying, while making ignorance look glamorous, then we should not act surprised when excellence quietly packs its bags, boards the next flight out, or simply gives up.
We must renegotiate Nigeria’s future, not just in conference halls but in classrooms, in living rooms, on our timelines.
We must take second looks at the people we celebrate, who we honour and the values we choose to reward.
The real uprising is not of the “olodo.” The real uprising is of a culture that has begun to confuse visibility with value, popularity with purpose, and wealth with wisdom.
The views expressed by contributors are strictly personal and not of Law & Society Magazine.
