Balancing CGPA with Family Ledger

By Oyinnijesu Omope, Jacinta Emeka, and Success Essien

On any given afternoon at the University of Lagos, the walkways are crowded with students whose primary concern is a looming test or a missing lecture note. But scattered among them is another group, those for whom a university degree is only the second most important thing on their daily to-do list. For these students, the “hustle” is not a choice or a path to luxury; it is the survival strategy of a primary provider.

In the Nigerian university system, it has long been a quiet norm: the student who pays their own tuition, covers their own rent, and still finds enough in their account to “send something home.” They are the silent pillars of their families, navigating the rigorous demands of school while carrying the financial weight of households located miles away.

Akor Elizabeth, a part-time Mass Communication student, is one of those voices. Her life is a revolving door of responsibilities that leaves little room for the typical social liberties of youth.

“I do not have enough time to sleep,” Akor explains. “Most of the time, when I am supposed to be out partying and doing all the fun things I am supposed to be doing at my age, I am sleeping because when I am not sleeping, I am working or in school.”

For many who find themselves in this position, the role of breadwinner is often thrust upon them by circumstance rather than design. In the case of Akor, the turning point was the sudden loss of her father just as her academic journey was beginning. As the sole provider for a large family, his passing meant that the protection of a breadwinner vanished overnight.

“Losing him meant that basically we had no one providing for any of us,” Akor said. “I have lots of siblings, so I had to step up.”

This stepping up has forced her into a life of extreme multitasking. She is a makeup artist, a shoemaker, and a social media manager. For Akor and others like her, these are not mere side hustles to fund a lifestyle; they are the essential lifelines that keep younger siblings in school and food on the family table.

Being the one who “made it to university” often puts a student on a pedestal, but for the student-provider, that pedestal is heavy. There is a psychological burden in knowing that a failed business deal or a late client payment does not just affect one’s pocket, it affects a mother’s peace of mind or a sibling’s future.

Akor recalls the immense satisfaction and the underlying pressure of being the one to fund her younger sister’s WAEC examinations. When the results returned with straight A grades, the victory belonged to both of them.

However, the weight is constant. “I cannot just stand up and leave some jobs that I am currently doing because I know that if I do, I have people who are depending on me,” Akor admitted. Even when the work induces anxiety, the needs of the home take precedence over personal mental health. “I have to forfeit my wants for the needs of my family.”

The struggle of the self-sponsored student is often made harder by an academic system that assumes every student has a benefactor. From rigid portal closures to the high costs of part-time tuition, the university environment can sometimes feel like it is punishing those who are working the hardest to stay within its walls.

Akor noted that she has seen coursemates miss life-changing examinations simply because their hard-earned money did not arrive in time to meet a portal deadline. “We are struggling,” Akor said. “We do not have anyone to help us.”

The story of the student-provider is a long-standing norm in the Nigerian education system. It is a story of grit that exists in every lecture hall, hidden behind the smiles of students who are doing everything they can to ensure their families survive. For Akor and many others, the weight of the home is a constant companion on the journey to a degree, a journey that is defined by resilience, sacrifice, and the refusal to fail.