By Godwin Okafor
For Nigerians today, the frontlines of injustice are no longer always in the battlefield or on the streets. In Plateau State’s Barkin Ladi, violence has many faces—bandits, terrorists, and now, bureaucracy. But some of the most devastating blows are invisible: letters of rejection, ignored applications, and the silent denial of opportunity.
Rev. Ezekiel Dachomo, Regional Chairman of the Church of Christ in Nations (COCIN), recently revealed that his children are being systematically denied admission into Nigerian universities. The reason? Their surname. Or more accurately, the advocacy attached to it.
The Geography of Exclusion
Rev. Dachomo has long been outspoken against the systemic killing of Christians in Plateau communities. Yet, while his advocacy threatens no one physically, it appears to unsettle powerful administrators. “Once they see the name Dachomo, the application is allegedly set aside or quietly dropped,” he lamented. This pattern, repeated over three separate admissions cycles, occurs mostly in northern institutions—a troubling trend, not coincidence.
The “sins of the father,” it seems, are being visited upon the children. Nigerian law is clear: the Child’s Right Act forbids discrimination based on a parent’s status or opinions. Yet, for the Dachomos, this principle has been ignored. Merit has been replaced with suspicion; talent with the fear of political retribution.
When Merit Meets the Blacklist
Nigeria’s university admission process is supposed to be meritocratic: objective JAMB scores, Post-UTME screening, and then final vetting. It is in this last, opaque stage that names like “Dachomo” are flagged. Students with top scores are bypassed; those with lower marks gain entry simply because their surname carries no political weight.
This “Meritocracy Gap” corrodes trust in the education system. A 280-score student rejected in favor of a 190-score candidate does more than lose an opportunity—they see the very idea of fairness crumble before their eyes.
The Emotional Toll
The damage is not just academic—it is emotional. The Dachomo children, innocent of their father’s activism, are left questioning why merit, hard work, and compliance count for nothing. Families endure repeated disappointment, children internalize rejection, and the Nigerian dream begins to feel fragile, contingent not on talent, but on which surname one carries.
Soft Persecution, Hard Consequences
This is “soft” persecution: silent, invisible, but no less damaging than bullets. By denying these children admission, the state is effectively exporting its best minds into internal or external diaspora. They become part of the “Japa” wave—not by choice, but because a system built to protect and educate has been weaponized.
There is also a broader national cost. Nigeria projects itself as a modern democracy. Yet institutions are reverting to informal tribal, regional, and religious vetting. When a child from Plateau is treated differently because of their father’s advocacy, it undermines faith in the entire nation. How can patriotism flourish when loyalty is measured not by deeds, but by a family name?
Diaspora as an Unintended Refuge
The irony is stark. While Nigeria loses its children at home, the diaspora continues to send billions back each year—over $26 billion projected in remittances in 2025. Many in that diaspora are themselves children of yesterday’s Dachomos, pushed out by systemic bias. By punishing Rev. Dachomo’s children, the state is simply repeating history: exporting talent it should be cultivating.
A Call for Justice
The Ministry of Education, the National Universities Commission (NUC), and JAMB cannot ignore these patterns. Fairness is not optional. Every child deserves access to education based on merit, not fear of reprisal. Rev. Dachomo’s plea is simple: “My children are innocent and do not deserve unfair treatment.”
This is a message that must resonate from Maiduguri to Lagos: children should not pay the price for their parents’ courage. Education is a right, not a reward for silence.
The Moral Reckoning
For the children of Barkin Ladi, the university gate has become as hostile as any war zone. They face borders built not by geography, but by bureaucracy. Nigeria has a choice: it can continue this silent war, allowing talent and dignity to be stolen in the name of political caution, or it can step in, correct these injustices, and affirm that merit and fairness are not negotiable.
Until that happens, the suitcase remains packed—not for vacation, but for permanent exit from a country that refuses to see children for who they are rather than whose children they are.
In Nigeria today, silence is not neutrality—it is complicity. And for the children of advocacy, that complicity costs their future.
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Godwin Okafor is the Publisher & CEO of Naija247news Media Group LLC, an independent investigative news platform delivering accurate, data-driven reporting on Nigerian and global politics, economy, finance, and business. Founded in October 2010, Naija247news specializes in developmental journalism, providing timely insights and analysis to readers across Nigeria and the diaspora.
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